"For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were
dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens."
The Jewel of the Order of the King's Own.
—————
ONCE on the sea-shore, in a land a long way off, I met an old man
dressed as a galley-slave, and toiling at convicts' work, with a
heavy chain around one of his arms; but his face and bearing were
stamped with the truest nobility. I felt sure he must be a victim of
some political cabal, and not a criminal, for not a trace of crime
or remorse debased that calm brow and those clear, honest eyes. This
might not have struck me as remarkable, since such unmerited sufferings
were but too common in that country. What arrested my attention was
the expression of unfeigned and lofty joy which irradiated his aged
countenance.
In the interval of noon-day rest allowed him, as well as the other
convicts, I sate down beside him and entered into conversation with
him. I found he was an old soldier. And at length, I was encouraged by
his frankness to inquire the cause of the strange contrast between his
expression and his circumstances.
The veteran lifted his cap, and said mysteriously, "The King shall
enjoy his own again. The spring will come, and with it the violets."
The thought struck me that some harmless and happy insanity had risen,
like a soft mist, to veil from him his miserable lot. And, following
his train of thought, I said, "You wait for a king, and hope cheers
you. Yet you must have waited long; and hope deferred maketh the heart
sick."
"The uncertainty of hope," he replied, "often makes the heart sick with
fear of disappointment, but my hope is sure, and every day of delay
certainly brings me nearer to it. Every night, as I look out from my
convict's cell over the sea, before I lie down to sleep, I think before
to-morrow the white sails of his fleet may stud the blue waters—for
he will not return alone; and when morning dawns gray across the bare
horizon, I am not cast down, because I know the morning we wait for
will surely come at last."
"But," I said, reverently, and half hesitating to disturb his happy
dream, "when that morning dawns will you still be here?"
"Here or there," he answered, solemnly. "Either with the few who look
for him here, or with the countless multitudes who will accompany him
thence."
Knowing how such legends of the return of exiled princes linger in the
hearts of a nation, and wondering whether the old man spoke from the
delusion of his own peculiar madness or of a tradition current among
his people, I said, "Your words are strange to me. Tell me the history."
"After the great battle," the old soldier replied, a smile bright as a
child's, yet tender as tears, lighting up his whole countenance—"after
the last great battle, the King, the true King, our own King, has
never been seen publicly in our country. They wounded him, and left
him for dead on the field—they had wounded his heart to the core.
Traitors were amongst them; it was not only an open enemy that did him
this dishonour. But they were mistaken; he is not dead. We who loved
him know. We bore him secretly from the field. He lingered a few days
amongst us after his wounds had healed, in disguise; but although
his royal state was hidden for a time, we who knew his voice, could
tell him blindfold from a million. And since he left us, his faithful
adherents, who before his departure could be counted by tens, have
increased to thousands."
"An unusual fortune," I remarked, "for a cause whose last effort seems
generally to have been considered a defeat, and whose leader has
apparently abandoned it."
"There are many reasons," said the old man, "why it should be so, and
among the chief of these is this one. When our Prince left us, he gave
to each of his adherents a precious gift as a token of his love, and a
sign by which we may know each other."
As he spoke, he drew aside his poor garment, and on his breast there
sparkled a gem more brilliant than any star or decoration I had ever
seen.
"This is the star of the King's own order," he said.
And as I looked at it, a wonderful transformation seemed to have
taken place in the old man's dress. His poor convict's garb seemed
metamorphosed into the richest robes, such as princes wore in that
southern land, of the costliest materials, and all of a glistening
white, at once royal and bridal, whilst his chain glittered like a
jewelled bracelet.
The veteran smiled at my surprise, and unclasping his jewel, bound it
on his brow. Instantly the same magical change passed over his face.
Noble as it was before, his countenance now shone as if it had been
the face of an angel. Every trace of care or age was effaced, the eyes
shone under the calm, unfurrowed brow with the sparkle of early youth,
and nothing was left to indicate age but a depth in the glance and a
history in the expression, which youth cannot have.
"But," I said, "surely your enemies must seek to rob you of such a
treasure?"
"Try," he replied, "if you can take it from me."
I endeavoured gently to detach the jewel from his brow, but my fingers
had scarcely touched it, when it sprang up like glittering drops from a
fountain, and was gone, yet leaving the glory on the old man's face.