"In good sooth, sweet lady, thou art beautiful beyond all women that I,
old as I am, have ever seen," said the Prince, in curious repetition of
the Queen's description of himself, as he and Myra walked in the palace
gardens that night.
"But thou art not old, thou art very young, my lord; and perhaps it is
thy lack of experience which makes thee think so," answered the
Princess, modestly hanging her head and seeking to hide her face.
A deep shadow passed over his countenance, and his heart bled at the
thought of the pain that his trick would cause the maiden by his side.
Of the everlasting wound it would inflict on him he dared not think.
"And thou hast lived here all thy life?" he asked, desirous of changing
the subject.
"All my life," she answered.
[Illustration]
"And art thou quite happy?"
"Good sir, I thought I was; I never wished to change my lot until
to-day."
"Ah! I have heard of thy dislike of the many suitors who sought thy
hand."
"Not my dislike, but my indifference. I did not believe in Love. Though
it was all around me in Nature, still I had never known it; and there
was something so imperfect, so earthly, in the great princes who wished
to marry me. Until to-day I was blindly ignorant."
"Until to-day!" reiterated the Prince, gazing at her with eyes
indescribably tender and yearning.
"But since thou hast asked my father for my hand, and he hath given his
consent, I may tell thee all I feel, may I not?"
"Ah, sweet Princess! I know all that thou dost feel; I feel all that
thou wouldst say."
Then they were silent for some time. The moon shone, and the floor of
heaven was studded with silver stars. The flowers were asleep, excepting
the Evening Primrose. Myra saw her in the arms of Night, and heard their
gentle voices. She thought of the Rose-Mallow, and pondered with
new-born sympathy on the Violet's pain.
"Dear one, we must part now," said the Prince, as they paused before
the palace gates. "But ere thou goest, tell me, wouldst thou be very
unhappy if I never came to thee again?"
A cold fear entered the Princess's heart.
"My dear lord," she said, "I was only born to-day. My past was not life,
therefore I am as a little child, and cannot answer thee with wisdom;
but inquire of the flowers, whether they would be sad should the sun
rise no more. Ah! would they not perish? Would not the world lie down
and die from cold? Then, good my lord, and thou lovest me, ask me not so
cruel a question."
"It is fate," he murmured, as he held her in his arms and soothed away
her pain with tender words.
The Princess awoke the next morning to find the Queen seated beside her
bed. Myra was too much in love to notice things which would have
impressed her under ordinary circumstances, else she would have thought
her royal mother's manner unnecessarily excitable, and would have
wondered what secret trouble had suddenly so changed the stately Queen's
appearance.
"My child, thy lover waits for thee in thy workroom, therefore rise and
robe thee. But before thou goest to him I want thee to refuse the gift
with which he will present thee. I am sure it will bring thee
ill-luck."
"But good my mother, the Prince loves me too well to offer me aught that
could be a source of sorrow to me. What is the gift?"
"It is an AEolian harp," said the Queen, in a whisper.
"An AEolian harp! I have never seen one. Methinks it must be a sweet
instrument."
The Queen sighed heavily. She feared that her sin against truth would
overtake her at last.
Myra found the Prince and his attendants engaged in fixing the wind harp
outside her casement.
"There," he said, as he bent his knee and saluted her hand, "when I am
away this will discourse to thee of love."
"But why place it outside the casement, good my lord? I cannot learn to
play upon it there."
"Sweet Princess, thou couldst never play upon it, nor could I. The Wind
alone can draw music from its heart. When he sweeps the strings the
melody is as the very breath of love, so tender and yet so wailing is
the strain."
"The Wind!" exclaimed the Princess. "Hast ever seen the Wind?"
"Ay, and romped with him and flown with him over sea and earth."
"Ah! now thou art pleased to be merry, as thou wert yesterday when I
saw thee talking to the King, ere we had met. Thy countenance was full
of mirth and sunlight then. Tell me, why art thou changed? Wherefore art
thou sad?"
"Dear one, I am not sad when I have thy companionship. It is only the
thought of losing thee that shadows my face."
So they passed out of the chamber into the garden.
Thus the time wore away. Summer began to wane. The nights grew longer
and the days more brief.
The King's impatience to see his daughter married increased hourly. Yet
the Prince daily put him off with excuses when asked to fix the date of
the wedding. At length His Majesty grew angry at the delay.
"It is time," he said to Myra, "that thou wast settled in life. We are
old, and in all probability have little longer to live. Thy good lord
seemeth all he should be. In grace of form and beauty of face he stands
unsurpassed. But methinks, for all that, he means thee ill."
"Indeed, my father, thou art wrong to say so," replied the Princess,
with difficulty suppressing her anger. "He is truth itself, and he loves
me."
"But he will not marry thee!" the King muttered.
"There, again, thou art mistaken, my lord. He will marry me to-day--at
once, so thou stand pleased withal!"
"Bring him before us, then, and let us hear his vow."
Myra made a deep obeisance, and left the King's closet.
Immediately she had gone His Majesty despatched a page to summon the
Queen and Council. They were all assembled before Myra entered with her
lover. She had not told him for what reason she had been sent in search
of him; therefore, when he saw the grave faces of those present, he was
surprised. The King rose and addressed him in dignified words, Myra
making her way to her royal mother's side.
"Good my lord, our daughter tells us that thou art willing thy nuptials
should be celebrated as soon as we consider meet. We have conferred with
these grave counsellors, and they think with us that the ceremony should
take place to-day."
"To-day, most powerful sovereign! Is not to-day somewhat soon? Methinks
it were not well to hurry the Princess."
"Our child hath given her consent, noble sir. Hast thou not, my
daughter?"
"An' it please my dear lord, I have," was the low reply.
There was a long silence in the chamber. Every eye was fixed on Myra's
lover. He stood gazing on the beautiful face of her whom he
worshipped--a gloomy figure in his purple garments, his eyes full of
infinite sorrow.
"It seemeth that the Prince hesitateth," said the King, in a threatening
voice.
Myra left the Queen, and with bent head approached her love.
"My good knight," she said, "methinks I do but dream; or, if I am awake,
then hast thou changed, or some trouble hath befallen thee. Speak; my
father awaits thine answer. Shall our wedding be to-day?"
"Fair lady, nothing could change my love, nor hath any trouble befallen
me; and yet, our marriage ceremony cannot be solemnised to-day."
"Then to-morrow, good sir," said the King, "or the week after?"
"Your Majesty, the daughters of earth will never see the celebration of
our nuptials."
The King turned grey with wrath, and gasped for breath as if death was
upon him. The Council rose; the Queen rushed to her royal consort's
side. Myra sank down in a heap at her lover's feet. He knelt beside her
for one brief second.
"Forgive me," he murmured, "forgive me, in that I shall suffer
eternally, whilst thy pain will end in the grave. Farewell, dear one;
would I were mortal for thy sake. Love bids thee farewell."
When the King recovered his senses the Prince had disappeared. The
country was scoured for miles round, but not a trace of him nor his
followers could be found. No member of the royal household noticed a
hundred beautiful red chrysanthemums, which had suddenly rooted
themselves in the palace garden.