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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:06:57 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36977-8.txt b/36977-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..52eb16d --- /dev/null +++ b/36977-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3776 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village of Youth, by Bessie Hatton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Village of Youth + and Other Fairy Tales + +Author: Bessie Hatton + +Illustrator: W. H. Margetson + +Release Date: August 5, 2011 [EBook #36977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration] + + + + The Village + of Youth + And Other Fairy Tales + + BY + + BESSIE HATTON + _Author of "Enid Lyle," etc._ + + With Numerous Illustrations + BY + _W. H. MARGETSON_ + + London, 1895 + + HUTCHINSON & CO + + _34 PATERNOSTER ROW_ + + +Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + I. The Village of Youth 1 + + II. A Child of the Winds 31 + + III. The Flower that reached the Sun-lands 72 + + IV. The Garden of Innocence 96 + + V. A Christmas Rose 124 + + VI. The Windflower 144 + + + + + The Village of Youth + +[Illustration: The Village of Youth] + + "Yet Ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose! + That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!" + + + I. + +There was a young King who ought to have been the happiest monarch in +the world. He was blessed with everything a mortal could desire. His +palace might have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so +perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens with its +dependent village at its gates, like a dream of feudal beauty in a story +of romance. Notwithstanding his good fortune, the King was oppressed +with what he conceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of a +happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, as if an intense +fear had taken possession of his soul; and so it had. It was the fear +of Age. He could no longer bear to meet old people, and eventually grew +to hate the hoary heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects. +He therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders lived in one +half of the realm, under the government of his mother, while he was King +of the young. Riding, hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never +saw a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the Village of Youth. + +The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. She loved her +future husband dearly, though his strange malady and the exodus of the +old people from his dominions had clouded her happiness, and made her +long for some way of alleviating his suffering. + +When the lovers were together they held no gentle, tender discourse. +Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed with mournful eyes, and when she +besought him not to be sorrowful he would say, "Sweet lady, how can I be +other than I am? Each loving word that falls from thy lips, each sweet +smile that plays upon thy face, is as a dagger in my heart; for I +remember how soon the bloom of youth will pass from thy cheeks and the +softness from thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of +Eld, grim with unlovely age." + +[Illustration] + +Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such an extent, that +while she sat sewing among her women tears would often fall upon the +embroidery, and she would be obliged to leave her work. + +Among the many fair maidens who attended upon Rowena, the fairest of +them all was the Lady Beryl. She grieved sincerely to see her mistress +so dejected, and taxed her brain night and day for some plan by which +she might save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her +heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek advice from the +people who lived in the Village of Eld. It was spring; the grass was +green, the sky was blue. The sunshine gleamed on the maiden's hair and +on her dove-coloured garments. + +As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered around her. She +found herself in the midst of a crowd of grey-headed men and women, many +of whom touched her dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down +and almost worshipped her; she reminded them of their own early days, a +sweet personification of the young spring. Beryl lifted up her voice, +and said,-- + +"Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of our sovereign and +of its cause; and now our dear Princess shares his sorrow. We are +ignorant and inexperienced, neither have we any wise men or women to +counsel us; therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep our +youths and maidens always young, that they may never know age?" + +A long wailing cry was heard from the people of the village,-- + +"There is no way--no way!" One old man, who was bent and tottering, +raised his wrinkled face to the maiden's, and said,-- + +"Spring gives place to summer, and summer to autumn, and autumn to +winter. What would you? Age is beautiful; it is a time of peace, of +meditation. Youth knows not rest; it is ever striving, fighting, +suffering. When age comes upon us we cease to enjoy as keenly as the +young, but we cease to suffer as bitterly as they who are in the spring +of life. If the scent of the air is less fresh and the voice of the +brook is less sweet, why, the thunder clouds are less dark and the storm +is robbed of its fury." + +Beryl bowed her head and rode away. As she passed through the gate an +old woman followed her, and whispered these words,-- + +"An hour before sunset, on the longest day of summer, Time, in his +chariot, rides through the Village of Youth. If each year thou canst +prevent his doing so, the world will still grow old, but the Village +of Youth will remain young for ever." + +"Alas, good dame, how can I hope to succeed in this endeavour?" + +"Sweet maiden, thou art beautiful, thou art in the April of life. Time +is gentle and pitiful; throw thyself before his chariot. Thou wilt stay +his flying feet, and thy sovereign will bless thee." + +Beryl returned, pondering over the woman's words. She entered that +portion of the palace occupied by the Princess and her suite, and +proceeded to her own chamber. + +The hangings were of white silk, and the floor was of ivory. Silver +vases, filled with purple lilacs, perfumed the air. Presently three +maidens entered, to attire their mistress for the evening banquet. One +bathed her face and hands with spring-water, another combed her hair +with a silver comb, and the third robed her in a gown of soft silk, +edged with pearls. + +Beryl's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement, as +she hastened along the corridor to the apartments of the Princess. Her +royal mistress was seated in the portico which looked on to the palace +gardens. Never had Beryl seen the future Queen so sad. Forgetting her +news in her anxiety, she threw herself at Rowena's feet, and besought +her to say what ailed her. + +"It is the old trouble that afflicts me, dear child. The King grows +worse, and I fear that if he cannot conquer his melancholy he will go +mad." + +Then Beryl, in hurried words, told Rowena of her visit to the Village +of Eld, and of the woman's message. + +The Princess became deeply interested in the recital, and as her +handmaiden unfolded her plan of waiting for Time on the longest day of +summer, she gradually caught her excitement. + +"Young for ever," she murmured, with a sigh, "young for ever in a summer +world! It is too good to be true, Beryl; besides, if it were not, how +could I let thee depart upon such a quest? Better far that I should go +myself." + +"Nay, sweet lady; thou art espoused to our lord, the King, but I have no +lover who would grieve for me. Besides, I can but fail; and so thou wilt +pity my unsuccess, I shall be content." + +[Illustration] + +The air was filled with the scent of spring flowers, and of the many +roses which had clambered over the portico. Beryl sat at the Princess' +feet, and lifted up a pair of beseeching eyes to her face. At that +moment the young King entered. He was made acquainted with the question +in dispute. On hearing of Beryl's plan a joyful expression lighted up +his sad features, and at his earnest entreaty Rowena gave her consent +to the undertaking. + + + II. + +Summer had laid her hands upon the land, broadening with vigorous +strokes the delicate colours of the faded spring. Fields of corn and +barley were ripening, and far away on the uplands crimson poppies lay +sleeping in the sunlight. + +Beryl waited outside the village on the longest day of the year. In +white robes and silken cap she watched for the passing of Time. Before +the day began to wane a chariot, drawn by the Winds, dashed along the +road which led to the Village of Youth. The maiden, though half dead +with terror, flung herself down before the gates with a loud cry. She +felt herself raised from the ground, and on opening her eyes found that +she was in the arms of a ragged youth. His face was beautiful beyond all +description, though its expression was full of sorrow; his garments were +smirched with mud and hung in tatters, but they were jewelled from +shoulder to hem with diamonds, whiter and more brilliant than any she +had ever seen. Awed and wondering, Beryl laid her finger softly upon +one of the gems. But it dissolved and vanished at her touch; and she +realised that Time's garments were jewelled with the world's tears. + +Presently the youth addressed her, and his voice was the saddest of all +the music that she had ever heard,-- + +"Maiden, what wouldst thou with me?" + +"Good sir, I pray thee to spare the Village of Youth. Let its young days +last for ever." + +"For ever!" he sighed. "What spell is there in this 'for ever' that +mortals must always crave after it? I am the spirit of Time, the king of +change. The Winds are my servants. My palace is built on the shores of +Eternity; and yet, for one hour passed in the Village of Youth, or for +knowledge of the peace which reigns in the Village of Eld, I would lay +down my immortality without a pang. In my flight through the world I see +little joy. I ring the bells of birth, of marriage, and of death. Upon +my garments the tears of humanity gather fast. Still, my task is not all +unhappy, in that a day comes when I have healed their wounds with my +touch, though scars remain, which even I, an Immortal, cannot efface. +Alas, sweet maiden! I dare not leave the Village of Youth unvisited, +even at the prayer of the fairest of its daughters." + +Nevertheless, after many a sigh and many a tear, Beryl touched the +changeful heart of Time; and because she was so beautiful the youth +loved her, and he bore her away in his chariot, leaving the Village +of Youth unvisited. + +Desolate, and misty, and grey, was the country of Time, and rugged the +castle built on the shores of Eternity. Strange, colourless flowers +bloomed in the garden, and the paths were heavy and wet. In the great +hall of the palace there were tables laden with fruit and wine, and +after Beryl had eaten she felt refreshed. The place was lonely. There +was not a sigh nor a token of any living creature within its walls. + +Some of the sorrow seemed to pass out of the youth's face as he watched +the maiden. And when she looked up at him and smiled all the tears on +his dress melted away. + +"Sweet lady," he presently said, "I did unwisely to bring thee here, for +when thou art gone I shall feel more lonely than ever before. Until I +met thee, I had never exchanged words with an earthly maid. Thy presence +gives me much comfort; I am so weary of travel, so tired of this grim +country. I must, nevertheless, leave thee at sunrise. Remain here until +I return, and I will not pass through the Village of Youth." + +Beryl's heart leapt with gratitude. Her mission was accomplished. Then a +sudden fear smote her. Must she remain alone in this weird place, and +walk continually in this garden of colourless flowers? + +"Good my lord, how long wilt thou be gone?" she tremblingly inquired. + +"A year, though it will seem but as a day to thee, for here time counts +not; this is his resting-place. In his palace there is no change; it is +built on the everlasting shore." + +As the youth finished speaking Beryl observed that the hall was full of +weird shades, in jewelled cloaks of tears; but amongst them there was +one whose garments were of shining white, gemmed with violets. + +"These," said Time, "are the hours of to-day." + +The shades flitted past, bending before their King. Beryl noticed that +the sadness in their faces was akin to that of Time, with one exception. +He of the white garments wore an expression that was smiling and happy, +and the violets on his dress filled the hall with perfume. + +"Good my lord, why doth this last shadow look so different from all the +rest?" asked Beryl. + +At a sign from Time the shadow spoke,-- + +"I am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily, having enriched +the world with his song. The moon kissed his lips as he breathed his +last in my arms." + +"Whither are they going?" asked Beryl, as the hours floated through the +hall. + +"I will show thee," said the youth, leading her into the open. + +The air was keen. In the distance, Beryl could hear the sound of the +sea. Heavy clouds of mist hung around the castle. The maiden stooped to +pluck one of the colourless flowers that bloomed in the garden. To her +surprise, she could not break its stalk. She hurried after the youth, +who was standing on a jutting piece of rock, some paces away. + +"Look," he said, "yonder, to westward." + +The maiden saw the winged hours floating over the sea. Far away she +beheld a dim coast-line of a distant country. The sky on that far shore +was a mass of rosy clouds, rosier still to Beryl's eyes, accustomed as +she had become to the greyness and mist of the country of Time. + +"The sea which lies beneath us is the sea of Eternity, and yonder land +is the Garden of the Past. The sun always shines there; the past forges +its own halo." + +Beryl watched in silence the flying shadows floating over the Eternal +Sea. The hours of her earliest days were there, in that Garden of the +Past. If she went thither, should she find them, and with them the +playmates and the innocence of childhood? + +Time noticed the sorrowful expression of her face, and pitied her. + +"Maiden," he said, "thou must not look backwards. Let the aged dream of +the days that are gone; thy future is before thee. It waits for thee, +yonder behind the sun that is rising on the world. Wilt thou go with me +and give up thy wish, content to let the Village of Youth grow old, as +is the fate of all things mortal? Thou wilt be happier in thine own +country. Far away, in its valleys, the flowers and the summer call for +thee. Come." + +He stepped into his chariot, and held out his arms towards her. + +"Nay, good my lord; I will await thee here, and try to forget the +flowers and the summer, remembering only thee and thy promise." + +The youth waved his hand in token of adieu, and vanished from her sight. + +[Illustration] + +After her companion's departure she roamed about the garden. That +portion of it which surrounded the palace was bare and treeless, but in +the distance she could see forests of white poplars. She found some +grey poppies in the garden not unlike those that bloomed in the Village +of Youth, excepting that these of the country of Time had thick pulpy +stems, resembling the water-lily. A straggling plant attracted her +notice; it looked like hemlock, only that the flower was of a deep +purple. Lifting her face from the gloom of the floral beds, her eyes +rested on the Garden of the Past. The wish to explore it, and to find in +its green mazes her early days once more, was irresistible. + +Trembling with excitement, she sought for a path that should lead her to +the seashore. With much difficulty, she succeeded in clambering down the +steep descent. Upon the strand she found a tiny boat, with quaint +paddles, in which she made for the shining coast. The skiff progressed +rapidly. As it neared the land, Beryl noticed a great change in the +atmosphere. The cold and mist of the country of Time were left behind +her. Resting upon her oars, she cooled her hands in the sea. To her +astonishment, she discovered that the water was not salt; it tasted as +fresh and as pure as the crystal stream that flowed through the Village +of Youth. Great as was her desire to enter the wonderful garden that lay +stretched before her, she almost regretted this last adventure. The heat +became intense. There was no longer a ripple on the sea. Everything lay +dead still. When close in shore, all suddenly she could make no further +progress; the more she plied her paddles, the further she drifted +backwards. At length exhausted, she lost consciousness. + +On recovering Beryl was surprised to find herself in the misty garden +again, Time bending over her with a pitying expression on his face. + +"Thou shouldst not have gone to seek the Garden of the Past; even I +cannot gain access to its groves," he said, when she had revived. + +"I am grieved, and wish I had not ventured thither." + +Touched by her sorrowful contrition, the youth held up a bunch of faded +red poppies and said soothingly,-- + +"I thought of thee as I passed by the Village of Youth." + +"Tell me, my dear lord, why is it that the sea washing the shores of the +Garden of the Past is not salt, but fresh as a mountain spring?" said +Beryl, taking the dead flowers and holding them tenderly in her hand. + +"All bitterness is purged from the Past, my child; therefore the waters +that wash its shores are sweet." + + + III. + +So years and years fled by, but there was no change in the Village of +Youth. It was always summer and always daylight. In the success of +Beryl's scheme the King found the dearest wish of his heart gratified. +His face regained its former beauty, and his manner its old charm. But +at length, although he would not breathe the fact aloud, the unending +season began to pall upon him. + +Always summer and always daylight! His wedding-day would never come, for +the present time would never pass. At length the sun grew hateful to +him. He longed for night, and he gazed with agony upon the face of his +ever-youthful love. When he walked through the gardens he prayed that +the flowers might wither. He was weary of seeing them always the same, +shedding the same scent on the air, never less, never more. The lark +soaring upwards sang the same song of liberty and hope all through the +unending day. No change in the Village of Youth, young for ever. + +The Princess, however, felt differently. A maiden wants so little to +make her happy. The eternal day was not long to her; her King was with +her through its everlasting hours, and summer would never leave them and +their love would never die. Had she only known whether Beryl was safe, +her mind would have been quite at rest. + +Meeting her Lord one day in the palace gardens, she read the agony in +his face; and after listening to his plaints, she gently, though +fearlessly, reprimanded him. + +"Methinks, dear love, that we shall all be punished yet for thy +discontent. Thou art placed upon the throne of a great kingdom as its +sovereign. Thy subjects are true and loyal. Thy betrothed, as is well +known, is neither clever enough nor good enough to fill the high post +for which thou hast selected her; but she loves thee, and would lay down +her life for thee without regret. She sends her favourite maiden on a +quest which is fraught with much danger; on the accomplishment of that +mission thy happiness depends. It succeeds; but the royal attendant does +not return. Time visits the Village of Youth no more; and yet thou +dwellest in its vernal freshness, ill-content." + +"Thou hast good cause to reproach me, dear one, erring only when thou +dost affirm that she whom I love is not worthy to be my Queen. Were I +but fit to tie her sandal or kiss the hem of her robe, I were glad +indeed." + +[Illustration] + +He took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, while the hot sun +beat down upon the weary village. + +It was thus that Beryl returned to her sovereign's kingdom, on the same +day and at the same hour she had left it, though the world was older by +forty years. She walked through the streets, a bent, grey-haired woman. +Everywhere smiling youth met her gaze. Little children had remained +little. They gathered round her, pulling at her dress, and gazing +wonderingly into her lined and worn face. + +"Where art thou going, good dame?" a girl inquired. + +"To the palace. I wish to see the King." + +"In good sooth, they will never admit thee into the palace; and did his +majesty know that thou wert in the village he would have thee conducted +thence." + +"Ah, maiden! I know of his folly, which will be punished yet, rest +assured. I was once a girl like thee, had hair like thine, and smooth +white skin." + +"That must have been a long time ago." + +"It seems but as yesterday," said Beryl. + +She dragged her tired limbs to the palace gates, and stood there, bent +and tottering. The guard who kept the door refused her admittance, +saying that his master would not allow the aged within the precincts of +the village; but the King happened to overhear the argument, and at once +gave orders to have the woman brought before him. Although she appeared +quite unknown to him, he fell upon her neck and embraced her, so wearied +was he of the perpetual youth around him. But when she told them who she +was, and her story, they greatly marvelled. + +"Why didst thou leave the Palace of Time, dear Beryl?" asked Rowena. + +"Sweet Princess, I learned to love the Spirit, forgetting how great, how +godlike he was. And little understanding the difference between us, I +grew unhappy because he never embraced me. What would you? I was but a +woman, still chained to earth, though the companion of an Immortal in +the courts of Eternity. I grew to believe that he did not love me; and +he, seeing sorrow in my face, thought that I longed to go back to the +world. I gave him my love, which was all I had of spiritual to give, and +he was happy; but I lived within his home ill-content. One night, when +he returned from his yearly circle, I threw my arms around him and +kissed him. All the palace shook, and he looked at me with strange, +wistful eyes. I felt tired and weak; and I remember nothing more until I +awoke, as from a long dream, and found that I was lying on the banks of +the stream yonder. I arose and washed in the river, and realised that +I was bent, and grey. Then I knew that the fault had been mine; his +unwilling lips had given me age, and taken my youth for ever." + +[Illustration] + +They led her within the palace, and she was clothed and fed. Rowena +looked at her, and marvelled. In the worn, faded face she tried to trace +some of the beauty that had been Beryl's; but all in vain. Once they +were of the same years, but now Beryl was old and the Princess was in +the springtime of life. + +During the watches of the night the aged woman heard the wings of Time +sweeping through the silent village. Hurrying from the palace, she +stretched out her arms to him in mute entreaty. + +There was a tone of sorrow in his voice as he cried, "Too late--too +late; only Youth with its beacon-light of Hope can stay the flying feet +of Time!" + +Morning came in the full glory of the risen sun, but the Village of +Youth was no more. It was as a dream that had passed. Again old age +gossiped in the streets and sat serene at its board of council. The King +bowed his head, and accepted his punishment with a dignified humility. +In the autumn of his life he found joy his youth had never known. He +became wise in judgment, patient in sorrow, and was beloved by all his +subjects. In latter years his kingdom grew large and prosperous, and it +was no longer known as the Village of Youth, but was called the City of +Content. + +[Illustration] + + + + + A CHILD OF THE WIND + +[Illustration: A CHILD OF THE WINDS] + + "Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears + By some cold morning glacier" + Lord Tennyson + + + I. + +When Sorrow was a little child and the Sea yet nursed pale Grief on her +breast, there lived in a distant country a great and wise King. Renowned +for justice, he was both loved and revered by his subjects, and if God +had blessed him with a child to inherit his lands he could have died +without a regret. However, time passed, and it seemed that his wish was +to remain ungratified. Being a noble and sagacious man, he reconciled +himself to the will of his Creator; but his Queen still hoped against +hope. The King's time was fully occupied. Each day brought its +different tasks. There was much state business to be discussed in +council, and the administration of justice made great demands on the +monarch's leisure. His spouse, on the other hand, had little to do, +excepting to tend her flowers and to ply her needle. She took to +brooding and wishing impiously for what God evidently did not intend she +should have. Unknown to the King, she visited all the magicians in his +realm, and sought their help to aid her in the fulfilment of her wish; +but in vain. + +When very much depressed, it was the Queen's habit to wander by the sea +and speak her thoughts aloud. One day, feeling more wretched than she +had ever done before, she left the palace secretly, and walked some +miles along the coast, unburdening her mind as she went. + +It was late autumn. The approaching death of the year struck her majesty +painfully. The ocean was a dull green under the heavy sky. She turned, +and looked at the silver spires of the palace which lay in the distance. +"Ah! what a difference it would have made in our dear home," she said, +"had we been blessed with a child." She clasped her hands in a frenzy of +desire. It seemed to her agitated mind that the sea too was perturbed, +that its rippling waves kissed her sandalled feet lovingly. At +length, tired with her walk, she lay down and wept herself to sleep. + +[Illustration] + +When she awoke it was evening. The woodlands and mountains lay in deep +shadow. + +The Queen started up, scarcely remembering where she was. When she quite +realised her position she drew her hooded cloak more tightly around her, +and prepared to return home. She had scarcely made any progress, when +suddenly, a few feet from her, she observed in the sea a face of +surpassing beauty. The hair lay floating on the waves like red weed; the +eyes were as green as emeralds, with a fierce tenderness in them. The +Queen stood transfixed with amazement, gazing at the woman's face. She +was uncertain what to do, whether to remain where she was, or whether to +fly homewards along the shore. The royal lady had been reared in the +simplest manner; she had been taught to distrust her imagination, so she +rubbed her eyes, expecting that when she looked again the vision would +have vanished. But she was mistaken; moreover, the apparition began to +address her in throbbing bursts of song. + +"Mortal, I am here to grant thy desire. I have heard thy plaints and +caught thy tears, and I have sorrowed for thee and tried to soothe thy +woe, for I too have known bitterness and despair. I was once the love +of the North Wind. He wooed me amidst the ice-plains, in a world of +crystal glaciers. He chased me through space, until we lay panting on +the shores of Africa. But he has left me for the South Wind, with her +golden hair and her hot breath. They have made their home on a +mountain-top, where the snow-flowers bloom in profusion, where the sea +can never go. Four years since he came, bearing a child in his arms. He +laid it on my breast, saying that I was to keep it and rear it for his +sake. That child I will give to thee. She knows nothing of her +parentage, and it would be best that thou shouldst never tell her to +whom she owes her being." + +"But when the North Wind finds that thou hast parted with thy precious +charge what will he do?" panted the Queen. + +"He will storm and tear and lash my waves into mountains, and moan round +continent and island, and search my ocean from the North to the South +Pole. His spouse will scorch me with her breath till I am forced to dive +down to cool crystal caverns, where, upon a bed of seaweed, I shall +laugh loud and long, a conqueror." + +The Queen held her breath in terror. She would have liked to escape from +the fierce Sea, whose face wore a look of wild triumph; but her anxiety +to see the Child of the Winds overcame her fear, and she waited +patiently, her hands clasped tightly together to quell her rising +agitation. + +By this time it was quite dark; the sky was starless, there was not a +breath of air. In her imagination the Queen seemed to see the Winds in +their mountain home, unconscious of the peril of their daughter. The Sea +had disappeared, and was so long absent that the Queen began to think +she had been dreaming, when suddenly, by invisible hands, a child was +placed in her arms. + +"Thou must call her Myra," said a voice, "for she hath known only +bitterness on the breast of her foster-mother." + +The Queen looked around, but saw no one. Pressing the burden to her +heart, she started homewards. She dared not look at the little one; but +she felt the tiny arms clasped confidingly round her neck, and the sweet +mouth pressed against her cheek gave her more happiness than she had +ever known. + +The Sea followed her, washing the shore with phosphorescent waves to +light her steps homewards. The royal lady flew along with the agility of +early youth, and the burden in her arms was made light by love. + +At length the marble steps were reached. She hurried up them and through +the golden gates--along winding passages and across alabaster halls, +until at length, breathless and trembling with excitement, she burst +into the King's apartments, where she placed Myra in the arms of her +amazed and happy husband. + +Cognisant of his just and upright nature, she did not tell him of the +child's parentage, knowing that he would have been the first to restore +it to its rightful owners. She said that she had found the little +creature on the shore, and that fearing it would be drowned by the +incoming tide, she had borne it to the palace, hoping that, should it be +unclaimed, her royal lord would, in pity of her loneliness, and in +consideration of their desire for a daughter, allow her to keep and rear +it as their own. + +Long into the night they sat, admiring the lovely waif. + +"She must be royally born, my love," said the King. "Washed overboard, +perhaps, from some regal ship. Be sure she will be claimed of thee." + +Suddenly Myra awoke, and the Queen set her on her feet, that they might +the better observe her. + +[Illustration] + +She was about four years old. Heavy black hair fell around her face, +which was lit with wild, pale eyes. Her small seamless garment was +embroidered with pearls and shells, and through its transparent folds +the little body looked like a blush rose with the dew upon it. The +Queen, in an ecstasy of happiness, drew Myra's hands within her own +and kissed them; her heart went out in motherly tenderness to the poor +babe, hitherto unkissed by mortal lips, though born of the Winds and +rocked by the Sea. Yet, as she gazed into the child's sorrowful face, a +strange fear smote her, and she almost wished that she had left the +eerie creature in its salt sea home, or that she had told her husband +the story of its birth. Still, she could not go back now. + +In the night a great storm arose. The Queen lay trembling in her +chamber. Myra's powerful father had learned of the loss of his daughter. +He lashed the Sea from Pole to Pole; it thundered on the shore, and +burst into wild shrieks of triumph. The night was long and tempestuous; +whole towns were destroyed, and many ships were sunk; but towards +morning the North Wind subsided into low wails of pain, which were +answered by the languorous sighs of the South, as they returned to their +mountain home sad and desolate, while in a marble palace a Queen awoke +pressing their child to her breast. She had taken the weird sea-tossed +thing to her heart, for weal or woe. + + +II. + +Myra's first years in her new home were trying ones to her +foster-parents. Nothing in the palace seemed to please her. Not that she +ever in any way testified her dislike of anybody or anything; but there +was a wistful look in her face, and she had a listless way of sitting +for hours on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands +supporting her chin. Asked what she thought about at these times her +reply was an odd one, and always gave the Queen a creepy feeling. "I am +not thinking; I am only seeing things," she would say. + +A spacious nursery had been built for the child's use in the grounds of +the palace. It had a walled-in garden of its own, in which there were +flowers, fruit trees, soft lawns, and sparkling fountains. All the +toy-makers in the kingdom had been employed to furnish the nursery with +ingenious inventions. There were dolls by the hundred, tea and dinner +services, farmyards, woolly animals, games innumerable, everything that +the heart of the most petted child could desire; yet Myra took no +pleasure in them. The only playthings she appeared to care for were a +collection of shells, which had been gathered for her on the beach and +pierced with holes; these she would string and re-string for hours. + +Time passed, and Myra grew into a lovely woman. The King was exceedingly +proud of her, and he made her heiress to his crown and estates. One +thing alone troubled him deeply. Myra would not consent to marry any of +the great nobles who had frequented his court. All the high-born princes +of his realm had wooed her in vain, and many others from distant lands +had failed to please her. The King had often heard of princesses who set +so high a value on themselves that they did not think any man good +enough for them in the light of a husband, but Myra was not proud. She +was of a very gentle nature, and he could not believe that she was +cold-hearted; yet she appeared to be so, for none of her noble lovers +could boast the smallest word of encouragement from her sweet lips. She +moved through the palace, a slim, dark beauty, in her pale draperies, +her hair half hidden beneath her jewelled head-dress, her face, though +calm and serene, still lit by the strange, wistful eyes which had so +struck the Queen on that night seventeen years ago when the Winds had +lost their daughter. + +As she grew to womanhood Myra delighted in her garden. She often sat +there most of the day, reading or sewing or talking with the flowers. +It amused the Princess to find that, from simple daisy to proud +tiger-lily, they were all in love. With one exception. + +Near the wall there grew a purple Hollyhock or Rose-Mallow. The Princess +preferred to call him by his latter name, because it seemed to her the +grander and also the more euphonious of the two. He, of all the flowers +in the enclosure, was her favourite, and he alone had not yet found a +lady upon whom to bestow his affections. + +Myra always attended upon the garden herself. She cut off the dead +blossoms, raked the soil with a golden rake, and gave the plants water +out of a golden pitcher when the heat of the sun had been oppressive. +Therefore, she participated in all their secrets. She knew that, +although the Rose-Mallow was not in love with any inmate of the garden, +there was an humble Violet which grew at his feet, in whose eyes he was +the rarest and most lovely flower in the world. It amused Myra to see +the Violet peep from its green leaves at the stately Mallow, and then, +if he chanced to be looking, which, of course, was just what the Violet +wanted, she would hide herself, in a strange tremor of excitement. + +"I feel so happy, and yet so miserable, to-day," said the Rose-Mallow to +the Princess one morning. "Last night, when all the others were asleep, +I heard, from over the wall, a sweet voice singing a hymn to Night. I +asked the Poplar who it was, and he said it was the Evening Primrose; +that there were none of her race in our garden, and that she was more +beautiful than daylight." + +"And why should that knowledge distress thee?" asked the Princess, +sitting down at his feet. + +"Because I love her. Her voice is music. I am pining to see her." + +He trembled as he spoke. The Princess rose, laughing. + +"Well, this is a strange garden," she said. "I did think my Rose-Mallow +was sensible. What is it," she cried aloud, "what is this Love, for +which all Nature pines?" + +There was no answer; but the sun shot down a handful of golden sunbeams +upon her face, which dazzled her and made her laugh again. + +"Ah! thou wilt know ere long," said the Rose-Mallow, much hurt at her +want of sympathy. "Do not think, Princess, that the most beautiful of +women will be allowed to go unscathed." + +Myra threw her arms around him, to make up for her unfeeling remarks, +and then in soft tones advised him to climb the wall and look over at +his lady-love. + +"But it will take so long, and be so hard!" he replied. + +"Still, thy reward may be great, sweet flower. Look higher than the +homely flowers of thy home, for the blossom beyond the walls may be far +more rare, and may outshine them all." + +So the Rose-Mallow prepared to follow the Princess's advice, and to +leave the lilies, and lupins, and all the sweets of the garden behind +him. + +As Myra turned to go, she noticed that the Violet had drooped and lay +panting. She hurried to fetch it some water, for which it returned her +modest thanks. She wondered what ailed it to faint in the cool of the +morning, when the earth was yet damp with early rain. Then it struck her +that the Violet's love for the Rose-Mallow would be of no use if he +found the Evening Primrose. "And I suppose that would make her unhappy," +she said aloud, as she plucked a bunch of heartsease and placed it in +her dress, the wonder in her eyes deepening into an expression of grave, +severe thoughtfulness. + + + III. + +Protected by a hedge of myrtle, in the heart of a mighty forest, Love +had fashioned his bower. His couch was strewn with honey-flowers and +rose-leaves. Stately red chrysanthemums made splashes of crimson +brilliance against the dark green of the scented myrtle. Pink +carnations, roses of every hue, sweetbriar, ambrosia, balsams, +forget-me-nots, and every flower sacred to the great god, Love, grew in +profusion, to make his bower into a resting-place worthy of him. + +He lay tossing on his fragrant couch in a fit of anger. For some time +Princess Myra's disdain of all the great princes and nobles whom he had +sent to woo her had offended him deeply. But on this particular +afternoon his messengers had informed him of the maiden's morning +interview with the Rose-Mallow, and of the question she had asked with +regard to himself. Unable to forget the Princess's impertinence, he lay +brooding and fretting, until the position of the sun warned him that the +day was passing away. + +"What is this Love for which the whole earth pines?" he murmured, as he +bounded from his couch into a cluster of forget-me-nots. "Ah! I will +teach thee. Thou shalt learn, ere the day is dead, what Love is. In the +semblance of an earthly prince, I will woo thee myself. I will adore +thee, sweet Myra, gaze into thine eyes, and pretend that there is only +one woman in all the world for me. I will do as men do--pet thee, and +coax thee, and win thy affections by the thousand little nothings that +make up a courtship. When I have conquered thee, and thy heart is mine, +I will break it and trample it under foot, and leave thee all thy life a +remembrance of the power of Love. Thou shalt never hear sweet music, but +a desperate longing for my presence shall come over thee. Thou shalt +never see a rose, but thy heart shall bleed. The sight of a lark, +winging his morning flight heavenwards, shall draw tears to thy weary +eyes. Ah! woe betide the mortal maid when Eros is her lover!" + +"These," he said, choosing a hundred chrysanthemums, "shall be my +escort." + +As he spoke, the flowers were transformed into a hundred gallant +knights; their dresses were of crimson brocade, and on their heads were +caps of chrysanthemum petals. Then Love took up honey-flowers and +rose-leaves, and changed them into a suit of rich purple silk. + +Meanwhile the King had been having a far from pleasant interview with +Her Majesty on the subject of their daughter. + +"Indeed, it is not my fault," the Queen had said. "I cannot help it if +our child's heart is still whole." + +"But, my dear love, thou never givest her any counsel. If thou wert to +tell her that it is meet she should marry one of the many lords who +desire her I feel assured she would do thy will." + +The Queen burst into tears. Knowing the girl's parentage as she did, how +could she advise her to accept a mortal for her husband? Yet she dared +not tell the King of Myra's birth; she must always keep the hateful +secret to herself. Oh that she had chosen the straight path when the +choice had been hers! + +The King was distressed to see her weep. But just at that moment he +observed a small fleet with crimson sails flying up the river towards +the royal landing-stage. + +"Why, that must be another suitor for our daughter's hand!" he +exclaimed. + +All the flowers remarked the pretty boats scudding along in the late +afternoon sunlight. The Rose-Mallow alone was too busily employed in +climbing the wall to observe what circumstance was disturbing the +flower-garden. The ladies of the palace, the lords and the pages, were +aware of the visit of the Prince long before he had landed. The +household was greatly agitated. Their Majesties hurried to the audience +chamber, to find the Court already assembled to receive the high-born +visitor. Myra alone was unconscious of the advent of another suitor. Had +she known of it, the fact would only have annoyed her somewhat, and +made her eyes a trifle more wistful than they usually were. + +Suddenly the Queen entered the Princess's room trembling with +excitement. + +"My child, my child! thou must proceed at once to the audience chamber, +by the King's commands. A great Prince has come to woo thee." + +Myra was robed in a loose gown of fine linen, her dark hair hung upon +her shoulders, and a book which she had been reading lay open on her +knee. + +"Oh, come, let me clothe thee!" cried the Queen, assisting the girl to +her feet and hurrying her into the adjoining room, where, with nervous +fingers, she bound up the thick hair in embroidered bands of opals and +diamonds. Then, opening a cedar chest which stood at the end of the +apartment, she drew forth a dress, and was about to slip it over the +Princess's head, when Myra started back in amazement. + +"My royal Queen, I cannot wear that garment," she said. "Why, it cost +the King, my father, over a hundredweight in gold. I was warned to keep +it only for great occasions." + +"Foolish girl, is not thy betrothal a great occasion? Ah! I do not jest. +Pause until thou hast seen the youth who awaits thee. He is handsome +beyond all men that even I, old as I am, have ever looked upon." + +The Princess was struck by the Queen's enthusiasm. She allowed herself +to be attired in the superb robe which had been a present from the King. +It was fashioned of rich silk, and had a design of lilies round the hem +and on the sleeves, each flower being worked with opals and diamonds. +Twenty maidens had been employed for twenty months embroidering the +costly pattern. In sunlight the fabric was pale sea-green, bordering on +silver-grey; but when the sky was dull there were faint purple tones in +its folds, like the soft bloom on the fruit of the plum-tree. + +When Myra entered the hall a murmur of admiration fell from the lips of +the assembly. She had never looked so lovely. She seemed to stand in a +halo of light; the opals on her dress reflected themselves in the +diamonds, making a haze of pale fantastic colour, strange as it was +beautiful. As she entered, the Prince was talking apart with the King; +so she had a moment in which to observe him before he knew of her +advent. He appeared to be a merry youth, with golden curls and blue eyes +that were full of mirth and the love of fun. He turned and saw her, and +fell on one knee and took her hand, lifting up his face to hers. Then, +as he gazed upon her, the brightness and the mirth that had illuminated +his lovely countenance died away. She looked down to see his eyes filled +with a new meaning, a wondrous expression of mingled tenderness and pain +shadowed them. She looked down to see large tears furrowing his cheeks. +She looked down to love him! + + + IV. + +"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 Æolian harp," said the Queen, in a whisper. + +"An Æolian 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. + + + V. + +Myra wandered about the precincts of her home like one distraught with +sorrow. The sun of her life had gone out, and left all dark and cold and +desolate. The flowers had lost their rare colours, and had clothed +themselves in sombre tints of red and purple. The river had lost its +merry voice, and went sobbing through the grounds. Many days passed, and +life became one long memory. With brooding and sorrowing over her lost +Love she grew pale and thin. Her eyes became wan and hollow, and misery +closed her lips. + +Some weeks after the Prince had disappeared she visited her garden. The +flowers had grown tall and straggling, the walks were weedy, the lawn +had lost its velvet softness, and all was desolation. As she walked, +weeping, beside the once brilliant border, she saw the Rose-Mallow lying +half-dead across her path. + +"Alas, sweet flower! what aileth thee?" she said, lifting his head and +looking into his face. + +"My dear mistress, I am hurt to death," he murmured. + +"Speak. Tell me thy sorrow." + +"I worked by day and by night to climb the wall of the garden, and after +much labour I reached the summit, just as the sun was setting. There I +saw the lady whose melodious voice had won my heart. Ah, fair Princess! +she was more beautiful than dawn or daylight. I gazed at her, and told +her that I loved her; but she would not even look at me; she spread +forth her pale blossoms with sweet pride. 'I love the Night alone, and +only raise my face to his,' she said. Then I drooped and drooped with +pain. I am indeed hurt to death," he moaned. + +She threw her arms around him, while her tears fell on his poor faded +leaves; and when the moon had risen her favourite lay dead in the once +happy garden. + +The Princess fetched her golden spade, and dug his grave where he had +lived. Then she bent down and plucked a little cluster of flowers from +the Violet whose love had been wasted, to place upon the earth above +his resting-place; and from each blossom a tear-drop flowed from the +Violet's heart. + +"Ah! if I had not advised him to seek his love away from those with whom +his life had been passed," moaned Myra. "He could have cared for one of +the flowers in the garden before he saw the Evening Primrose; his life +was spoilt through my counsel, and ended in pain. And, oh! that I had +been as other women, and had taken a knight of my father's court for +husband. If only I had put up with little imperfections, then this +trouble had not come upon me. But now life is over, and I can never know +happiness again." + +That night Fate told the North Wind the story of his child. On his +mountain home he learned of the Queen's treachery, of Myra's early life, +and of Love's hateful blunder. + +Spreading his powerful wings, by Fate's command, he flew earthwards, to +bear his daughter to the halls of that dread arbiter of destiny. He was +oppressed with sorrow. The snow-flowers hid their heads as he rushed, +sobbing, down the mountain; the earth shook at his voice as he shrieked +through village and valley; the dead leaves sighed as he scattered them +in thousands before him. But when he gained the palace gardens and +approached his daughter's window his fierce sorrow abated, and he +touched the strings of her harp with gentle fingers. The first strains +were more like the voice of the South Wind than that of the wilder +North. Then followed long wailing strains of melody, as of a soul in +distress. + +Myra, sitting brooding on her misery, became strangely roused, as she +heard the weird instrument played upon by a master hand. Often the sad +music seemed to be the voice of her lover; then the tones softened to a +sigh; it was the Rose-Mallow's dying sob. + +An overmastering wish seized her to open the casement. She must admit +those pleading tones, or her heart would break. Unable to quell the +desire, she threw wide the window. + +[Illustration] + +There stood a tall, winged man. His shaggy hair was heavy and black, his +face was gaunt and wild. He was sweeping the harp-strings with long, +bony fingers. Strange and uncouth and terrible as he looked, there was +such strength about the great figure, such power in the face, that the +Princess, though terror-stricken, was drawn towards him. And when he saw +her leaning from her casement, so gentle an expression crossed his worn +visage, that her fear of him departed instantly, and she said:-- + +"I know thee, great master. Thou art the Wind, and thou hast met my +Love. Ah, in mercy take me to him!" + +"Wilt thou not be afraid to entrust thyself to my arms?" he whispered. + +"Good sir, carry me all over the earth, through frozen worlds of endless +ice, so thou layest me at my lord's feet at last, and I shall not know a +moment's fear. I love him!" she said simply. + +The Wind clasped her in his arms and flew away, lulling her to sleep as +he went. + +When the Princess awoke she was standing in a gloomy cavern. The walls +were of black onyx. A stream of crystal water ran gurgling at her feet. + +When her eyes became more accustomed to the haze and dimness of the +place, she saw a sight which made her wish to shriek aloud; but her +voice seemed to have gone, and she stood powerless and terror-stricken. +As she gazed a light seemed to break upon her mind. + +Fate, robed in lowering mists, sat gazing into a divining glass, with +keen, prophetic eyes; with her right hand she held Love in strong and +terrible grasp. In the crouching, penitent figure, Myra recognised, with +bursting heart, that her Prince and Love were one. Then she became +conscious of the deep voice of Fate ringing through the gloom in +threatening tones. + +"Thou didst think thou couldst play with her affections as thou dost +with those of a mortal maid, couldst win her love and break her heart by +thy desertion! But, trickster as thou art, in thine own net art thou +caught. See, where each tear she lets fall, a lily springs." + +Myra's eyes followed Fate's pointing finger. Love looked up and saw the +Princess standing in a cluster of white lilies. + +"Know that she is a spirit, immortal as thyself; a child of the Winds, +nursed on the salt Sea's breast. Therefore, as thou only canst feel +punishment in her agony, she shall be called Grief. Henceforth, in all +Love there shall be much of bitterness. Parting from the thing loved +shall be the keenest pang of human pain. She shall visit her +foster-parents but once again, and mingle her sobs with theirs. She +shall pursue thee through the ages, and fear of her coming shall lessen +thy rapture. Disappointment, despair, and misery, shall walk in her +train. Man shall weep tears of blood in that thou hast created Grief!" + +Love shrieked aloud in pain, and flinging aside the cruel hand of Fate, +threw his arms about the shrinking girl. They stood in the misty gloom +together, his brilliant form regained its strength. Grief lifted her +brimming eyes to his and caught their power. + +[Illustration] + +A great wave of tenderness broke over the mournful face of Fate; her +calm glance rested prophetically on the two figures as she addressed +them for the last time. + +"But her love of thee shall endure until the Lilies of Grief are lost in +the Roses of Love; for Love shall be king of Grief, and of Time, and of +Eternity." + +[Illustration: UNTIL THE LILIES OF GRIEF ARE LOST IN THE ROSES OF LOVE] + + + + + The Flower that reached the Sun-lands + +[Illustration: The Flower that reached the Sun-lands] + + "No star is ever lost we once have seen + We always may be what we might have been" + Adelaide Procter + + + I. + +Though only a miserable little waif, born in sorrow and nurtured in +poverty, George Ermen had resolved to be a great man. + +He earned six shillings a week at sorting rags and paper, adding +frequently to this a smaller sum gained by cleaning pots at a +public-house. It was a miserable pittance. He and his mother could +hardly be said to live upon it, they only existed; and they found this +still more difficult when George's father, a lazy, ne'er-do-well, came +to visit them. + +The boy and his mother dwelt in a garret in Paradise Court. It was a +bare, miserable room, its only furniture an old iron bedstead, a rickety +table, and two chairs. Opening out of the attic was a tiny chamber with +a mattress in one corner, on which George slept. He had no bed-clothes, +and was in the habit of covering himself with papers during the chill +winter nights. + +On the wall hung a small plaster crucifix. A sprig of box was thrust +through the ring by which the cross was suspended. The window looked out +upon a wilderness of chimneys and grimy tenement houses. + +It seemed to George that God had been very good to him, although he was +poor and ragged and half starved, for besides his old mother, whom he +loved above everything, he had three good friends--Father Francis, the +Roman Catholic priest; Miss Brand, who was devoting both time and money +to the suffering poor in the district; and Maggie Reed, his little +sweetheart, who was as poverty-stricken and as tattered as himself. + +George sang in the choir at the church. He possessed a beautiful voice, +and the priest felt sure that were it possible to procure him an +efficient musical training he would have a future. But it seemed rash to +even hope for a chance for the boy among the squalor and misery and sin +which surrounded the poor. Father Francis, however, did not lose heart, +because he was a good man, believing in God, and feeling convinced that +He would stretch forth His hand to the waif and help him in His own +good time. The lad himself was even more hopeful than the priest, +because he was young, and had resolved that death alone should prevent +the fulfilment of his vow. + +Not that poor George Ermen had much idea of what the term "a great man" +meant, excepting that they usually dressed in frock coats, wore gaiters +over their boots, and drove about in a carriage, all of which seemed +very pleasant and most desirable to the bare-footed waif. + +Strangely enough, he was frequently pondering over very material things +when he sang his best and when his eyes seemed most dreamy. + +"What were you a-thinking of this mornin' in church when you was singin' +the _Ave Maria_?" his mother had once inquired. + +"Why, didn't I sing it well?" he asked anxiously. + +"Yaas, better than ever before, and yer faice looked loike an angel's." + +"Well, I was promisin' God that if ever I got rich enough to ride about +in a carriage like the lords do that come and lay foundation stones and +opens schools and things, I'd invite all the little children what's so +miserable to tea and muffins." + +Mrs. Ermen smiled sadly. She had no belief in her son ever rising to be +anything better than a wretched waif, fated to live and die in Paradise +Court. But as long as he was honest, and brave, and true to his friends, +she must not complain. She was content, almost happy indeed, when she +looked around her and saw boys of George's age swearing and fighting and +drinking, while George was sober, well behaved, and industrious. + +Maggie Reed knew in her young soul that George would surely live to be a +great man, and often when they roamed about the weary streets together, +she would cheer him with her childish confidence. + +"We'll live on 'Ampstead 'Eath, George, when you're rich and we're +married, at one of them big 'ouses by the pond, and we'll 'ave donkey +rides and bicycles and things." + +"Yes, darling," George would answer. + +By the advice of Father Francis they often spent hours in the parks and +squares, where the air was sweeter than that of Paradise Court; but +frequently George's little sweetheart grew so tired that he had to carry +her on his back most of the way home again. + +It was a cold day in early spring. Mrs. Ermen sat shivering in a corner +of their garret, when her boy bounded into the room carrying a geranium +in a pot. + +"Mother, mother," he cried in wild excitement, "Miss Brand is gettin' up +a geranium show! It's ter come off in July. Four hundred plants have +been given out to the children this morning. They are to keep them, +water them, attend to them, make them grow and flower, and when the day +comes round for the show the plants must be taken to the schoolroom, and +the best will get a prize." + +"Who is ter judge?" asked Mrs. Ermen, catching George's excitement. + +"A lord!" + +"A lord?" + +"Yes, one of them that wears gaiters over their boots. And I am going to +win the first prize!" he added firmly, his sharp face wearing an +expression of happy anticipation. + +"I 'ope you will, my dear," she answered, kissing him, and breathing a +prayer from her poor ignorant soul for the good woman whose unselfish +devotion had brought that look into her boy's face. + +Time passed, and the bitter, easterly winds proved to be more than Mrs. +Ermen could bear. She became too weak to rise, and when George grew +alarmed she tried to comfort him by saying that she felt warmer in bed; +and when June came she should be about again, and he must not distress +himself for her sake. + +Supposing she should die! Men and women died frequently in Paradise +Court. Their bodies were carried out of the squalid dwellings and +rattled over the streets to the crowded burial ground. The thought smote +him painfully, and made a burning flush mount to his face. She must not +die! What would riches and greatness mean to him unless she were there +to share in his good fortune? + + + II. + +The geranium was not at all happy in her new quarters. Although George +attended to her wants most carefully she still thought with bitter +regret of the greenhouse where she had been reared, and of the old +gardener who had ministered to her. Here on the window sill of George's +attic thousands of smuts settled daily upon her leaves, and the air was +heavy. So great was her discomfort that she would have most certainly +ceased to live had not a sunbeam lost his way among the narrow courts of +the city, and while darting in and out of the grimy streets in his +endeavours to find the sun, espied the unhappy flower. He immediately +climbed up his golden ladder, and rested among the broad green leaves, +much to her delight. + +She confided her pitiful history to this new-found friend, who was so +kind and sympathetic that the geranium grew warm and happy. Presently +the sun shone out in the murky sky, and immediately the sunbeam glided +along his golden thread and rejoined his parent. He did not, however, +forsake the plant which had sheltered him, but frequently visited her, +so that she forgot her struggle for life, and grew into a fine healthy +geranium, much to the delight of her young master. + +As time passed George began to realise that his mother would never rise +from her bed again. Father Francis had gently told him that there was +little hope of her recovery, and that when the great blow fell upon him +he must reconcile himself to the will of the Almighty. + +The poor waif suffered many hours of agony alone in his garret. Kneeling +before the crucifix, he would beg God to spare the one thing he loved in +all the world. + +"I have so few comforts, dear Lord," he would say, "no clothes, little +food; I can stand want if only you will not take her away." But when he +was tired out with pain, he would raise his lips to the pierced feet, +and kissing them, murmur, "Thy will be done." + +His imagination had so often realised the picture that one morning, on +finding his mother dead in her bed, he was hardly shocked. + +The doctor said that death had resulted from syncope, accelerated by +want of nourishment and neglect. + +So the waif was left alone. His bright look departed. The wish for +greatness was forgotten in his sorrow, and even his little sweetheart +failed to comfort him. + +On hearing of George's sad plight his father returned to live with him. +The boy's saddened face touched Ermen's hard heart, and for a time the +son's misery was alleviated by his parent's kindness. His father was +decently dressed, and evidently had a little money, for food was more +plentiful in the garret than it had ever been during George's +remembrance. + +Thanks to the sunbeam's care, the geranium continued to thrive +marvellously, and as show day drew near she approached her prime. + +Miss Brand gave George a clean collar and a decent jacket, and Father +Francis bought him his first pair of shoes for the great occasion. + +On the morning of the distribution he was up at five o'clock, for at +that early hour he had been told to take his geranium to the schoolroom, +and enter it for the competition. + +Very gently he watered the leaves, taking care that not a drop should +fall upon one of the five brilliant blossoms. As he stood admiring the +plant he was surprised to hear footsteps in the adjoining room. His +father had been away some days. He thought he must have returned earlier +than he had expected. He therefore hurried to the door, and opened it, a +joyful expression on his face. But it was the landlady, who stood there +holding a dirty-looking letter in her hand. + +"Look 'ere, sonnie, your father's been took ter gaol. 'E was on 'is way +'ome when the perlice took 'im in charge for that big jewel robbery at +Manchester. 'E's wrote me this letter," she said, pausing to unfold the +dirty piece of paper, while George stood pale to the lips with terror. + +"'E sends you this message: 'Tell my son not ter grieve for me. It's all +quite true what they says against me. I am a scamp, and always have +been.'" + +"'E'll get a lifer, that's a certainty," she observed to the lodgers +downstairs when she had left the horror-stricken boy alone. + +George couldn't weep at this last blow. He had not shed a tear since his +mother's death. The agony in his heart was therefore all the more +unbearable. He clenched his hands in pain. + +Hours passed, the bitterest he had ever spent. Whatever suffering the +future held for him he never experienced such anguish again. + +At last he raised his head. His face was white, his eyes were heavy and +dull. + +"Everything is against me," he moaned. "My mother's dead; my father, who +had become so kind, taken and thrown into gaol. Why should I suffer +hunger and cold and disgrace and beggary? Other boys, through no merit +of theirs, are born rich. Why wasn't I a lord's son instead of a waif of +the streets? Why should my mother die of neglect, when others have all +they need? Oh! I'll ask God to kill me; death ain't so very terrible. +I've seen lots of boys of my age fished out of the river. It's only a +few moments' pain, and Jesus wouldn't be 'ard on a little chap what's +ben drove to it." + +The geranium trembled with fear as she heard the boy's wild words. She +spread out her blossoms and endeavoured to attract his attention. + +Suddenly the garret was brilliantly illuminated. The sunbeam had glided +down his golden ladder, and stood on the window sill. + +George was amazed. He must be dreaming! What was this beautiful tiny +creature enveloped in a haze of glory? + +"The angels are sad when you despair, little boy. Gather your energies. +Receive your prize! You are ungrateful to the flower which has grown +into so beautiful a plant for your sake. You are ungrateful to your God +thus to abandon hope when you possess one of His greatest gifts." + +"What gift?" + +"Youth, a magic watchword that can open the enchanted gates in the land +of genius." + +"Genius?" said the boy wonderingly. "I have never heard of it." + +"Live your life. Lose not a moment. At your years time flies. Be a great +and a good man. Persevere. Out of the mire of this wilderness a golden +flower shall rear its head, and grow in beauty day by day. It may even +reach the Sun-lands." + + + III. + +The schoolroom looked like a little paradise to the poor waifs assembled +there. Many flags hung from the roof, and festoons of evergreens +decorated the walls. A raised platform was covered with scarlet cloth. +On this were many well-dressed ladies, the seat of honour being filled +by Lord Eltonville, who had consented to distribute the prizes. The +geraniums were displayed around the room. Some amongst them were frail +and sickly looking,--they had not been able to thrive in their squalid +and sunless abodes,--others appeared more promising, and a few +amongst the number had grown strong and handsome. + +[Illustration] + +Of the four hundred plant cuttings thirty alone had not been returned +for competition. + +At one side of the platform was a table upon which the prizes were +arranged. They consisted of workboxes, paints, tops, knives, drums, +books, blotters, aprons, pencils, etc. + +Miss Brand, much distressed at the news of Ermen's arrest, and at his +son's nonappearance, had told the story to some of the visitors, and a +great deal of interest and sympathy were excited in his favour. + +Father Francis had just uncovered the prizes. The crowd of children +pushed and scrambled to get a look at the good things; but at a word +from their lady chief even the most turbulent grew quiet. + +Some lovely countenances were discernible among the little gathering. +Under ordinary circumstances they would hardly have been noticed for the +dirt and grime which covered them; but this was a gala day, and, thanks +to Miss Brand's kind care, each child's face and hands had been washed, +and their white collars lent an air of cleanliness even to the most +ragged and worn dress. + +Suddenly there was a stir in the room. A boy was seen advancing through +the crowd holding a magnificent geranium in his arms. + +Father Francis welcomed George in a quiet, kindly way. His plant was +placed upon the platform for inspection, and it was universally agreed +that had it been in time for the competition George would have taken the +first prize. + +Grieved that her little friend should be too late, Miss Brand hastily +unfastened a silver compass from her watch chain and gave it to Lord +Eltonville, to whom she said a few private words. + +The atmosphere was stifling, and George was faint for want of food. Many +of the children's mothers were present holding infants in their arms. +Their worn, anxious faces beamed with delight as Lord Eltonville rose to +distribute the prizes. + +"George Ermen, in consideration of your misfortune, Miss Brand wishes to +overlook the fact that your geranium was not entered for the competition +this morning. I have, therefore, the great pleasure of awarding you a +special extra prize, the presentation of which shall have precedence in +our day's business." + +George walked to the platform and received the pretty silver compass, a +flush of pride and delight colouring his pale cheek. + +"Let me advise you to cultivate smilax round your window," added his +lordship, doubtless thinking of his magnificent greenhouses, and little +realising the misery and squalor in which the waifs of the great city +dwelt. + +"Smilax!" murmured George wonderingly. + +"Yes, it is a beautiful creeper, and ought to grow nicely round your +window and make you quite a little bower." + +The excitement of the children could no longer be curbed. Miss Brand was +heartily glad when the distribution was over, and she could see the poor +waifs happy with their little presents. It would be difficult to +describe their joy. Many of their number had never possessed anything +before. To have a book, a doll, a top, a pencil--something that was +their very own--seemed like a delightful dream. + +Father Francis had resolved to strike a blow for his _protégé_ before +the day was over. Just as Lord Eltonville was preparing to depart, he +told him that there was a little chorister among his flock who had a +lovely voice, and that if his lordship would oblige him by staying +through the short prayer with which they were about to end the day's +pleasure he would hear the boy sing. + +The nobleman graciously complied, and stood, hat in hand, while the +priest said a Paternoster and three Aves, the children joining in +fervently. Then Father Francis rose and sat at the harmonium. His +lordship watched George take his place beside his spiritual director. He +noticed the lad's pale, worn face, his ragged clothes, and his air of +utter helplessness, and felt sorry that the good priest should have +prevailed upon him to stay and witness the poor little fellow's failure. + +There was not a sound in the schoolroom. The grand ladies held their +breath in pity. Miss Brand looked anxious. The children longed for the +success of their gentle comrade, and Maggie's heart beat with suppressed +excitement. + +"_Te Deum Laudamus, te Dominum confitemur._" + +The voice seemed to pierce the heavens, so fresh and pure was its tone. +Lord Eltonville's heart stood still. The waif's face had changed with +those first words of praise; it had become illuminated with a great +light, his insignificant little figure had gained a king's dignity. + +"_Te æternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur._" + +Lord Eltonville's imagination was fired by the music. He seemed to be in +a little church of his own that was full of the perfume of incense. The +low of distant oxen and the ripple of the river came through the open +window. His only son, who died at about George's age, lay buried in the +churchyard; the small grave was yellow with early primroses. He, too, +had an angel's voice, stilled for ever excepting in his father's memory. + +"_Tu Rex gloriæ, Christe._" + +Tears fell from the nobleman's eyes. Nor song of lark, nor rustle of +waving grass, nor anything he had ever heard in all nature, had touched +him so deeply as the waif's rendering of that hymn of praise. + +As the last words died away Lord Eltonville stepped forward with +outstretched hand; but George's strength was exhausted, the flush died +away from his face, and he fell backwards into the priest's arms. + + + IV. + +Time and circumstances change men, some for good and some for ill. It is +an acknowledged fact that success often spoils the best natures, +although to those on whom Fortune seldom smiles, this is hard to +realise. + +Thanks to Lord Eltonville's generosity and kind care, George Ermen had +become a great man. His wish had been gratified; he had earned money and +position. + +Twenty years had passed since the geranium show. The ragged waif of that +day had owned a sweet, loving nature, which seemed lost in the great +musician of St. James's. + +His father had died in prison. His mother's memory had scarcely +survived. He never spoke of his early days, and looked upon them as a +disgrace. Miss Brand's name seldom occurred to him, Father Francis was +forgotten, and Maggie Reed languished in poverty. + +In a gorgeous mansion, replete with every luxury, the musician sat at +dinner with his young wife. The room was elegantly furnished; the walls +were hung with fine oil-paintings. The table was decorated with +hot-house flowers. Outside it was snowing, and the night was bitterly +cold. + +There was a great hush in the house. In the morning they had buried +their only child. She had lived a year, and the first snow of winter had +covered her grave. + +George Ermen's selfish heart had been deeply touched by the loss of the +little one, and somehow, when dinner was over, and he sat alone in his +study, the remembrance of his childhood came over him like a forgotten +strain of music. + +The snow, every now and then, fell hissing into the fire which blazed +upon the hearth. + +The musician sat down to the organ and sang a few snatches from his +Mass, which was to be given for the first time on Christmas Day. + +"There is a poor woman at the door, dear," said his wife, coming in +silently and standing near him, a pathetic figure in her black dress. + +"Oh, Mary, I can't see anybody to-day," he answered, placing his arm +round her with unwonted gentleness. + +"Gordon tried to dismiss her, George; but she seemed so distressed, and +begged so hard to be allowed to speak with you, that he came to me, and +when I saw her----" + +"I understand, dear, I know your tender heart. If I gave in to you we +shouldn't have a penny in the world----" + +"We are so rich, George, we could give and give, and never feel it----" + +"Well, well, don't cry, Mary. What is the woman's name?" + +"Maggie Reed!" + +Maggie Reed. The little face seemed to rise up before him as an angel's +among the squalid surroundings of his childhood. + +"Let her come in, dear," he said, with a tenderness in his voice that +she had seldom heard of late. + +Presently Maggie stood before him, ragged and wet, her pale face worn +with want and suffering. She must have been about twenty-eight; but she +looked ten years older. + +"Maggie!" he cried, taking her hand, and placing her in a chair. + +"Mr. Ermen. I came ter ask yer somethin, not ter beg. Don't think I've +come ter beg. I want yer ter let Father Francis say yer Mass. 'E's seen +all about it in the papers, how it's ter be sung on Christmas Day. 'E's +an old man, and he would never ask yer 'imself, but 'e always thinks of +yer, and prays for yer." + +"And do you?" murmured George. + +What a low cur he had been to let this poor girl suffer all her life! +And his other humble friends, too, whom he had vowed never to forsake! + +"I hev' prayed for yer every night and morning since yer left us. I've +said, 'God bless him, and make him great.' Yer see, sir, women don't +forget." + + + V. + +It was Christmas Day. The church was filled with great and fashionable +people. Among the gorgeous crowd were to be seen Miss Brand and Maggie +Reed, the latter in a warm dress of grey cloth. + +Nearer the altar knelt George and his wife, his eyes often seeking the +place where his friends were seated. + +Father Francis, assisted by two other priests, was officiating. + +George looked happier to-day. The presence of his hitherto forgotten +companions had revived him, and the good father had spoken soothing +words to him about his child's death. George had been overcome, and +unaccustomed tears coursed down his face as he clasped the father's +hand, and said,-- + +"Ah! one's early friends are true. Their love makes life worth having." + +While the choir sang the _Gloria in Excelsis_, the musician's thoughts +had strayed to his early days. He was thinking of the sunbeam, and +wondering whether its visit was a dream. If so, it must have been a +dream straight from God, for that day had gained him his career. + +The golden flower had reared its head very near to the Sun-lands. Would +it ever reach them? + +He remembered a secret drawer in his escritoire, in which there was a +small plaster crucifix, a faded geranium leaf, and a silver compass. He +had kept these little relics, and yet he had ceased to remember the +friends who had smoothed the rough pages of his childhood and pencilled +his name in the book of fortune. + +But Father Francis and Maggie and Miss Brand should be safe now; they +should know no further sorrow! + +The sun burst forth in the winter sky, shone into the church, and +brightened the gloomy corners. + +George knew well in his heart that it was not his care that had made the +geranium thrive. The sunbeam which he pretended to treat as a dream had +nourished it. However, if that chapter in his life was blurred and +misty, to-day's was clear. + +The Mass that was being sung was his masterpiece. It was the outpouring +of his soul. He would compose still greater religious works. What more +wonderful theme could he have than a God's agony! + +"_Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus!_" muttered the priest. The consecration +drew near, the people bent their heads. + +Still the musician remained lost in his thoughts. All over the world the +advent of the Babe of Bethlehem was being celebrated. What a wonderful +story it was! The star in the East, the wise men, the Infant wrapped in +swaddling clothes and cradled in a manger. His unrecorded childhood, His +love for little children, the more forsaken and forlorn, the greater His +love. And he had been rich and prosperous, and yet had never given a +thought to those poor little waifs whose life he himself had once lived. +Happy in the love of his own child, he had forgotten the woes of others. +God had taken her away; but he would accept the Divine warning, and +follow in the Divine footsteps. He would open his heart to the children +of the poor; he would clothe them and give them bread. + +The priest lifted the chalice. On the incense veiled altar the musician +saw a sunbeam dart into the Holy Cup, and he heard the well-remembered +voice breathe forth a glorious message,-- + +"Clothe them and give them bread. In that last vow the flower has +reached the Sun-lands." + +[Illustration: "THOU SHALT CLOTHE THEM AND GIVE THEM BREAD"] + + + + + THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE + +[Illustration: THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE] + + "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough + A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou + Beside me singing in the Wilderness + Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow!" + Omar Khayyam + + + I. + +Many a year ago, in a land that was washed by the sea, there lived a +King who had an only son whom he loved very dearly. + +Fertile gardens surrounded the palace. They extended for miles and +miles. In the distance the sapphire sea looked like a calm lake. The +gardens were rich in flowers, which bloomed all the year in this land of +perpetual summer. There were lilies and violets, hyacinths, carnations, +cyclamens, and orchids; but the rose was mistress of the land, and they +called it the "Rose Islands." The trees were filled with song-birds, and +the air was fragrant with perfume tempered by the sea. + +If ever mortal man was framed for happiness, the Prince of the Rose +Islands was he--a youth of a gallant disposition, his golden hair +hanging from beneath his jewelled cap, his brown eyes half hidden by +their long lashes. His doublet was of white brocade, his hose and +pointed shoes of silk; he was the _beau idéal_ of a prince in form and +figure, and brave as he was amiable, two royal qualities. + +The King, his father, observing that he appeared to be sad when it +seemed to him he should be most happy, asked Ulric what troubled him. + +"I am lonely, so please your Grace, and I would fain have a friend." + +"I am thy friend, sweet son. Have I done aught that should forfeit me +thy friendship?" + +"My lord the King, I am always thine--thine in true obedience, thine in +the sight of God, thine in filial love, but not in friendship. Though I +dream of it night and day, I have never known friendship; sometimes, +indeed, I fear that it cannot exist," replied the Prince sadly. + +"Nay, Ulric, in good sooth, thou art mistaken. Look about thee, in the +palace. The noble lords of our Court, the high-born pages who minister +to thy wants, are all thy humble and devoted friends." + +"Father, prithee pardon me for my temerity in differing from thy +gracious word; but those of whom thou speakest are not my friends. They +know that I am all-powerful with thee. They are but fawning sycophants, +who feed upon thy bounty. If the sentiment they profess to cherish for +me be friendship, then indeed my dreams of the meaning of the word are +hollow, as hollow as is my life in this paradise of beauty." + +The King laid his hand upon his son's head, and looked into his sad +face. + +"My poor child," he said, "God knows I love thee better than myself. Art +thou not my successor to these fair islands? Tell me, what can a King do +for thy comfort?" + +"Prithee, good my lord, send for the Lady Christabel, the daughter of +the great Earl, thy subject, and for Prince Winfred, the heir of that +land yonder, which reflects itself in our sea; let them live here for a +time, and help me to discover the meaning of that magic word +friendship." + +The King gave orders that an escort should start at once to bring the +Lady Christabel to his palace. He also commanded that a ship should be +built, in which to fetch Prince Winfred of the Sea Islands. + +Lady Christabel arrived in the evening of the next day. She was mounted +on a white steed, and was clad in a silken robe of opaline hue, her +cloak and cap jewelled with moonstones. Ulric stood on the steps of the +palace to receive her. She knelt and kissed his hand, and then looked +upwards into his face. He noted the abundance of her dark hair and the +strange beauty of her changing eyes, which were grey and blue by turn, +as were the hues of her silken gown. + +"Welcome, sweet Christabel, to our palace," said the Prince. "Dost think +thou canst be happy here?" + +"Ah, my dear lord, ask me if I could be happy in Paradise." + +Ulric flushed with pleasure, and led her up the marble steps to the +King's audience chamber. As the doors unclosed a sweet melody floated on +the air, increased in volume for a brief space, then grew fainter and +died away. Christabel found herself in an immense room. The walls were +set with rubies, the floor was of rock crystal, strewn with pink and +white rose-leaves. In the centre of the hall, upon a daïs covered with +cloth of gold, sat the King, in his robes of state. The ladies of the +Court, the lords and the pages, were clad in silks of various colours. +Prince Ulric led Christabel to the foot of the throne. + +"Welcome to our Court, my child," said the King. "Our dear son is +lonely; wilt thou befriend him? Wilt thou teach him the solace of +friendship? Wilt thou prove to him that it is a reality and not a +dream?" + +"Most gracious King," replied Christabel, "I will teach him all I know +of selfless, sacrificing, eternal friendship." + +"It does exist, then?" asked the Prince eagerly. + +"Do the stars exist, my good lord, or the sun or the roses?" + +"The roses wither, sweet lady, even here, in paradise." + +"But friendship, good my lord, is a deathless rose; its leaves are +immortal." + + + II. + +At last Prince Ulric was happy. The days passed freighted with golden +hours. He roamed with Christabel among the Rose Islands, and showed her +the wonders thereof. Every day they inspected the progress made in the +building of the ship which was to carry Prince Winfred to their shores. +At length the vessel was finished, and she sailed away, the two +companions watching her from the beach until her rosy flag and +glittering figure-head were but specks in the distance. Then the Prince +handed Christabel into a boat that spread its silken sails to the +breeze, and they sailed along the coast. + +[Illustration] + +"Art thou quite happy now, my gracious lord?" asked Christabel. + +"Ay, in good sooth, sweet lady. Have I not found solace in thy +companionship? Do I not at length possess the white rose of friendship?" + +"My dear Prince, I am indeed thy true, though humble, friend for ever." + +"For ever!" sighed Ulric. "Ah, Christabel, I was so sad before thou +camest. Thou hast saved me. I lived in doubt of honest friendship until +now." + +Ulric gazed into her face. She took up her lute and sang to him, a song +of youth and springtime. + +Some days afterwards the ship which bore Prince Winfred anchored off the +Rose Islands, and for the first time the two Princes met. Winfred, as +became a son of the sea, was clothed in a garb of emerald tone, +embroidered with shells. His cap was woven of strange sea-flowers. Great +was the rejoicing in the Rose Islands over the advent of Prince Winfred. +And as time went by great was the happiness of Ulric, for now he had +another friend, a youth like unto himself. + +Months passed, scarcely making a ripple on the sea of Time. The three +companions basked in an eternal sunshine. Sometimes they sailed over the +blue water, sometimes they sat among the flowers, while Winfred told +them tales of his life and home--of strange caverns along the coast, of +yellow sand-dunes covered with sea-flowers, of moorlands where purple +heather bloomed, of long days passed in fishing, of stress and storms, +of a sea that was often stern and angry, with crested waves beating +shoreward. Ulric would gaze at his guest in wonder, but Christabel's +eyes swam in a mist of tears, and when Winfred's hand touched hers she +would tremble. He gazed into her eyes, and understood their meaning. As +time went by Winfred grew silent, but each day he looked oftener at +Christabel. + +The roses withered, and bloomed again. Morning followed evening, hour +succeeded hour. One day, as Prince Ulric wandered in the forest, he came +suddenly upon his two friends. They did not see him, and he was +spell-bound by the picture that met his gaze. Christabel was standing +under a rose-bush, her hair falling from beneath a crown of flowers, and +at her feet knelt Winfred, with upturned wondrous eyes. They remained +long thus, in a blaze of sunlight from no earthly sun. + +Ulric stole away, hurt to death. "Alas! I have been deceived," he +moaned. "This is friendship, but I have never known it. They have found +it; but not I--not I!" + +Prince Winfred sailed away to his own land, with the Lady Christabel and +many of the noblest members of the King's Court. Ulric would not +accompany them. He preferred to be alone now that his companions had +failed to teach him the secret of that friendship, the existence of +which he had discovered in the forest. Furthermore, neither Winfred nor +Christabel were solicitous for Ulric to journey with them to the Sea +Islands. They had latterly grown strangely oblivious of their host's +presence. The young Prince, however, only blamed himself. He felt that +his was not a nature to inspire friendship, but he longed for the great +gift more and more, until his life became almost unbearable. Seeking for +the white rose among the people of his father's realm, he saw that they +were only kind to him either through fear of his power or from motives +of self-interest. + +One day, as he rode through the kingdom attended by his pages, he came +upon a garden where a young girl was gathering fruit. Ulric, thinking +she had not observed his approach, dismounted hastily, and throwing his +dark cloak around him, entered the garden. The maiden was well pleased +to see the youth, in whom she recognised her future King. She had used +all her feminine arts to entertain her guest, when suddenly the Prince's +cloak slipped from his shoulders, and he stood before her in all the +radiance of his princely garments. + +For a moment the maiden feigned surprise, and her companion observed a +new expression upon her face. He had almost guessed her thoughts before +she threw herself upon her knees, and said, "Most gracious lord, prithee +give me some jewels like unto these which adorn thy doublet." + +Ulric cast down his cap in sorrow, for he remembered that it had +remained undisguised upon his head all through the interview. From the +first the maiden must have guessed his high degree. It was revealed by +the royal badge of the pink rose, which glittered among its jewelled +ornaments. + +"She only was good to me because I could be of use to her," mused the +Prince, as he rode homewards. "She flattered me and smiled upon me +because I am supposed to be one of the lucky ones of the earth. Had I +been a poor man's son it had been different." + +The thought was an inspiration to him. Why should he not search for the +deathless rose, disguised, that none might seek his friendship falsely? +The idea haunted him. At length he discussed it with the King, who, +seeing that the Prince was nearly desperate with grief, consented to his +plan. Ulric dressed himself as a minstrel, and having received his +father's blessing, left the palace and rode through the territory of +the Rose Islands, opening his purse to the poor, and comforting the +sorrowful with the strains of his lyre. As long as his supply of gold +lasted he was well received; when it was gone his troubles commenced. He +was hungry, and none would give him to eat or to drink. Moreover, he had +crossed the sea, and had left the Islands of Summer behind him. The +kingdom in which he was now travelling was a land of mist and storm. He +rode bravely on, nevertheless. Often, when he asked for help at the +cottagers' doors, they laughed at him, and the children beat him with +sticks. Winter was severe in the land of mist and storm, and the Prince +turned his horse's head southwards. After some days the character of the +scenery changed. The climate became warm and sunny. One morning he led +his steed through the mazes of a great forest. It was springtime; the +birds were singing, the valleys were blue with wild hyacinths, and here +and there Ulric came upon clusters of late primroses. Looking up, he +could scarcely see the sky, so thick was the tracery of foliage between +him and the heavens. They had no spring in the Rose Islands, no faint +greens, no tender buds, but always the full glory of summer, with its +vivid colouring and its drowsy breath. He was so enchanted with the +beauty of this forest, the like of which he had never seen before, that +for awhile he had actually forgotten his quest, when suddenly, right in +front of him, he saw a beautiful youth. Small and delicately made, his +dress was entirely fashioned of pink rose-leaves, and he had golden +wings. The Prince stood amazed, the apparition was so sudden, there had +not been a sound; he rubbed his eyes, but the stranger did not vanish, +he was a reality. + +"What dost thou here, son of a King?" asked the youth. + +Ulric was still more surprised at being recognised under a disguise that +had served him well so far; he could not speak for astonishment. + +"Thou seekest the 'deathless rose of friendship,' is it not so?" asked +the unknown. + +"Ay, good sir. Perhaps thou canst aid me in my search?" + +"Fair Prince, I can indeed advise thee how to proceed. First of all, hie +thee out of this forest with all speed." + +"Why, good sir, methinks it is a lovely place. The air is softer here +than any I have known before, the birds sing sweeter songs, the flowers +breathe a rarer perfume; for the first time in my life I feel happy; +everything is fresh and young, and full of hope." + +"Ay, royal minstrel, many love my land. Beware, nevertheless, of +journeying through it. It is enchanted; and if thou wouldst indeed +follow thy quest, hie thee from the shelter of its trees and from the +scent of its flowers; but ere thou goest, I will tell thee what the word +_friendship_ means. Friends should be as bells upon a hyacinth, fed with +the same rain, nourished by the same dew, warmed by the same sun, rocked +by the same wind; equal, placid, and calm in their lives; above all, +they should possess the virtue of unselfishness. Self-interest is the +death of friendship." + +"Good sir, I have ever felt thus; and being of this mind, I threw off my +habit of a Prince and started in search of the great gift; but I have +ridden now for a whole year, and I find it not, neither have I met in +all my travels any who possess this 'deathless rose.'" + +"Thou wast but a youth when thou didst leave thy father's palace; now +thou art a man, and the King mourns thee as dead." + +When Ulric heard this he was greatly grieved, and at once resolved to +return to the Rose Islands. + +"Tell me, before we part, good my lord, hast any proof that this 'rose +of friendship' exists?" + +Then Ulric told him the story of Winfred and Christabel, and described +the scene which he had witnessed in the forest. The youth broke into +peals of laughter, and the hues of his flower-dress became so vivid that +the Prince's eyes were dazzled. Presently the stranger, assuming a +serious manner, said,-- + +"I will tell thee where the Fairy Friendship dwells. She is my twin +sister. Thou shalt make one last attempt to find her. She holds her +Court in the clouds of the setting sun. Ere nightfall, go to the +seashore, stretch forth thy hands to the garments of departing day, and +say, 'Good Fairy Friendship, bring me unto thy chambers of light. If +thou canst say this with no thought of self, no longing for a friend +because of the pleasure that friendship bestows, but with the same +feeling that the hyacinth bells have for each other, then a ladder will +be let down from the regions of the sunset, and Friendship will give +thee her deathless rose, which is so rare, so scarce a blossom, so +seldom possessed by man or woman, so precious beyond all things, that +once attained, it will be the most priceless flower in thy kingly +crown." + +"I thank thee, from my heart," said Ulric. + +"If thou wouldst succeed, leave this land of mine; it will not bring +thee unto the courts of friendship. Give up thy quest, and I will show +thee something that is far sweeter than friendship, and far easier to +win." + +"Nay, fair youth, I will endeavour once more to find what I have so long +sought in vain; but, before I bid thy beautiful country farewell, wilt +thou tell me why the roses upon thy dress so far surpass those that +bloom in my father's kingdom?" + +"Good Ulric, hast never heard of Love? Love, who comes to mortals +without their knowledge, ay, without their asking; Love, whose voice is +sweeter than the nightingale's; Love, who was born of God in the Garden +of Eden, and was clothed with the deathless roses that bloomed there?" + +He did not wait for Ulric's answer, but vanished; and his laughter +echoed through the forest like a peal of silver bells. + + + III. + +At sunset the Prince stood upon the shore and stretched forth his hands +heavenwards, uttering the words specified by Love. He never knew whether +his mind had not the selfless quality enjoined by the youth, or whether +the roses of friendship were all withered and dead; but the sunset and +its glory was suddenly hidden from his sight by a veil of mist. When the +mist cleared it was night. Ulric lay down upon the sand and wept, for +he knew that the gift for which he had sought so long was not for him. + +Towards morning he retraced his steps, hoping to meet the youth and to +tell him how completely he had again failed in his quest; but he could +not find the way to the forest. About mid-day, however, he came upon a +hedged-in garden surrounding a lonely villa. Through the maze of boughs +and foliage the Prince could see a beautiful maiden. She was clad in +white, and her only ornament was a white rose. Ulric had never beheld so +pure nor so lovely a maid. Hardly knowing what he did, he dismounted and +leaped the hedge. When he was inside the garden he noticed that the +trees were white with bloom, and that the path glittered with the fallen +blossoms. He saw, too, that no coloured flowers grew in the floral beds; +they were all white. As he gazed around, a silvery mist arose, and he +could see nothing excepting the maiden, until it seemed to him that the +enclosure was filled with her image. Then the mist cleared; the spell +was broken, and he was alone. + +[Illustration] + +The Prince was deeply sorry at having lost sight of the beautiful girl; +moreover, he hardly dared to seek her in the depths of the snowy garden. +An atmosphere of peace, which he feared to disturb, seemed to brood over +the place. Before leaving the maiden's home he plucked a rose, as a +memento of the fair vision he had seen; but to his surprise it was +entirely without perfume. As he examined it, wondering at the strange +phenomenon, some one addressed him from outside the hedge. Looking up, +he recognised the youth with whom he had conversed in the forest. Ulric +hurried towards him, with a cry of joy. + +"That scentless bloom is not the rose of friendship, fair Prince," said +the youth, taking the flower from Ulric's hand. + +"Thou sayest true; I have not yet found it. Nevertheless, methinks I am +on the right path. Hope stirs in my heart and whispers 'Courage!' But +now, I saw a maiden here, beautiful as an angel. If I only dare seek her +yonder, my soul tells me that I may discover in her the deathless rose +for which I long." + +"Then go, thou King's son. Most like thou art right. Seek her." + +"Wilt thou not go too, good youth? In all my travels I have never known +fear until now; and yet here, in this land of white flowers and whiter +mists, Hope's gentle spur notwithstanding, I am overawed, I dare not +venture." + +"Ah, my Prince! if thou wilt find what thou desirest thou must be brave, +and advance with faith and courage. I cannot lead thee, neither can I +follow thee; but yonder the edge of this garden joins my land, the +forest where I met thee yesterday. If thou findest not the maiden, seek +me there. Farewell. See," he added, "see how sudden red thy white rose +hath blushed!" + +And vanishing, he dropped Ulric's rose at the Prince's feet. It was of a +brilliant red, and gave forth a strangely powerful perfume. + +Notwithstanding the encouragement of his unknown preceptor, the Prince +would never have ventured far along the glittering path. The Fates +seemed to check his progress. If the maiden, whom his heart prompted him +to seek, had not left her bower to meet him, his quest, even so near +upon success, might yet have ended in disappointment. But with gracious +step the maid approached, and, holding forth her hand quite simply, +herself led him through the garden. + +Ulric walked on, looking into her eyes. His heart beat, and the +flower-strewn way seemed to melt from beneath his feet. + +"Good minstrel, who art thou?" asked the maiden. + +"I am thy devoted servant," murmured the Prince. "Prithee, tell me thy +name, gracious lady?" + +"I am called Innocent, and I am the Princess of the Garden of +Innocence." + +[Illustration] + +"Is this the Garden of Innocence?" + +"Yes." + +"Is that the reason why the flowers are all white and scentless here?" + +"Are they ever different, fair sir?" she asked wonderingly. + +"In my land, sweet maiden, they are red, pink, purple, gold, and of +every colour. But now, I had one of your own white roses which had +changed to red." + +The Princess looked at Ulric in amazement as he searched for his rose. +There it lay at his feet; but it had again become as white and as +scentless as all the other flowers in the garden. The Prince was sorely +puzzled. Had he only dreamed that the rose had changed to red in the +youth's hands? + +They walked on in silence for many a long hour, their eyes meeting in a +sympathy too great for words. + +"At last," thought the Prince, "I have found the 'white rose of +friendship,' the leaves whereof are immortal. I shall never part from +it; it will be with me all my life, great, sacrificing, eternal +friendship, straight from God." + +He told Innocent of his grief, and of the bitter troubles that he had +encountered in his search. + +"Poor minstrel!" she said softly. "Be happy now, for thy sorrow is +ended. I feel this deathless friendship for thee." + +"God be thanked, that my quest is crowned with success; but since thou +art my true friend, since thou art noble enough to hold me dear, though +in thy eyes I seem but a poor beggar, know that I am the Prince of the +Rose Islands, which yield the many-coloured flowers I have told thee +of." + +"Good my lord, that does not make thee more precious to me. Wert thou +poor and despised, hated of all the world, weary and sick unto death, I +could but hold thee more dear. Didst thou ask me for my life, I could +but lay it willingly at thy feet." + +Tears stole down her cheeks, and she looked up at Ulric with eyes of +doglike fidelity. + +"Ah, this is friendship!" sighed the Prince; "this is what Christabel +and Winfred discovered in the forest. Come, sweet Innocent, I will take +thee to the King, my father, and show him the 'deathless rose.'" + +[Illustration] + +As Ulric finished speaking, he folded her in his arms and kissed her. +The air was suddenly filled with ringing peals of laughter, and on the +path, close to them, stood the youth who had not dared to venture inside +the garden but a few hours before. Why had he come into the depths of +the white country now? He waved his arms, and all the flowers changed to +a brilliant red. Innocent's white rose fell from her hair, and in its +place lay a crimson bloom, the wondrous perfume of which ascended like +incense heavenwards. + +"Fair Prince, thy search is fruitless," chanted the youth, in low +penetrating tones. "Thou hast indeed found a rose which is deathless; +but it is the sweet red rose of Love." + + + + + A CHRISTMAS-ROSE + +[Illustration: A CHRISTMAS-ROSE] + + "Small service is true service while it lasts + Of friends, however humble, scorn not one + The daisy by the shadow that it casts + Protects a lingering dew-drop from the sun." + -WORDSWORTH- + + +I. + +It was in a desolate London lodging-house that Marietta's courage gave +way. In Italy she could live and be merry on the most frugal fare. A +little polenta, a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a +good meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta even if +she desired nothing else. The poor little heart needed nourishment +against the gloom and harass of the great dull city. So she laid her +head upon her brother's breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly. + +Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in England at the end of +November. It was now nigh upon Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in +London over a year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to him +as a model, and to no other. + +Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare necessities of +life, so that Marietta might go and stay with him for a few months +before she commenced her novitiate, prior to taking the veil at the +convent where she had been educated. The nuns had adopted her when the +children became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to long for +the day which should make her one of the black-robed sisters of the +Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time after Marietta's arrival in +England, Rica's master had suddenly died, and the two children were left +friendless and almost penniless in the great city. + +It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the ground. There was +neither fire on the hearth nor bread in the cupboard, and the night was +bitterly cold. + +Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister's face and tried to +comfort her. He could endure want and misery much better than she could. +The beautiful face had become delicately _spirituelle_ through the +rigour of privation. + +"Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you; don't cry any +more." + +"Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place! Take me back to the kind +sisters!" she moaned, giving way to hysterical sobs. + +"Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day; but believe me, when +once winter goes, England is not such a dreadful country. In summer it +is beautiful, and the flowers compare well with those at home." + +"Flowers! I don't believe there are any here, not at least in this cruel +city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless abodes." + +Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go out into the snowy +night. It grieved him to see Marietta utterly broken down. She had +failed in her first trial. But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to +have been a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. It was +all a mistake. + + +II. + +In the garden of a house that was inscribed "To Let" there grew a sad +and solitary Christmas Rose, that lifted up pathetic complaint to the +leaden sky. + +Night heard her, and went to comfort her. He was enchanted with her +beauty, and she lifted her face to receive his soft caresses. + +[Illustration] + +"Sweet flower," he murmured, "have you forgotten that it is still +winter? Why do you bloom in this dreary garden while the snow yet covers +the ground?" + +"I am a Christmas Rose, and I blossom on the eve of Jesus' birthday. I +was planted a year ago by the people who dwelt here; they left soon +afterwards. No human eyes have ever gazed on my face, and yet my heart +is full of love for them. A Christmas Rose, I long to help them, to give +my life in their service, as did my Infant Master," she said, as a +melted drop of snow ran down the white petals into her heart. + +"Do not grieve," whispered Night, rocking her in his arms; "but learn to +rest all through the winter and be a Summer Rose." + +"Ah! my only charm is that I bloom when June's flowers are sleeping; +besides, I should lose my birthright, my dedication to the Child Jesus, +if I did as you advise." + +"Remain then as you are, sweet one. It is midnight. I must proclaim the +gracious news of the coming of Christ. When His birthday wanes I will +visit you again." + +He kissed her tenderly, and there was a lull in his song as he gathered +his strength, spread his mighty wings, and took flight. + +The flower was lonelier than before, now that her friend had departed. +Daylight came. The bells rang out their old story of peace and gladness. +Children passed, some with sprigs of holly in their coats. + +There was a summons at the gate in the garden of the next house; a voice +said, "A Merry Christmas," and another answered, "God bless you to-day +and always!" + +"Ah, if human lips would say that to me!" thought the flower. "If I +could only bring a little joy into a human life!" Her heart ached, for +she knew that she would die when the clocks tolled midnight, announcing +that Christ's birthday had passed away. + +What was that? Are stars visible in the daytime? A little brown face was +pressed against the railings, and two brilliant eyes gazed at her. It +was a boy dressed in ragged velveteen breeches, and thin discoloured +shirt. Curls of black hair surrounded his face. He climbed over the +railings, knelt down on the sodden grass, and gazed at the Christmas +Rose. + +"Ah!" thought Rica, "at last, here is something to remind Marietta of +Italy, although this fair blossom breathing here in a London garden is +far sweeter than Italy's flowers. It must be the Infant Jesus' rose +which blooms on His birthday." His brown fingers closed round the stalk, +and the flower felt a thrill of joy as he plucked her; but all the +leaves bowed to the ground, and rent the air with sad moans. + +Rica carried the Christmas Rose far away from her birthplace, past the +Park, through the slushy streets, on--on--until the character of the +houses changed. Everything grew gradually sordid. Drunken men reeled +against each other, and ill-clad children played about at the mouths of +foul alleys. + +The Christmas Rose clung tighter to the little brown hand, and drew +comfort from the tender grasp. As Rica turned the corner of the street +which led to his wretched home he ran against an artist who was +sketching some crazy old houses. + +"Mind where you are going, my boy! Why! What a beautiful Christmas Rose! +How much do you want for it?" he asked, looking at the flower, and not +noticing Rica's handsome face. + +"I cannot part with it, sir. It is for my sister. She only came from +Italy in November, and she has been fretting so because we are in +trouble. I think that this beautiful flower may comfort her." + +Edward Thornhill was touched, and as he looked into the boy's face he +was almost startled by its beauty. It belonged to the sunny skies of +Italy, with its brilliant eyes, olive skin, luxuriant hair, and red +lips. As he scanned the little Italian's countenance, he also remarked +his poverty, and placing his hand on Rica's shoulder he asked,-- + +"Are you very poor, my child?" + +"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. +She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean +her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under +the kind glance and the sympathetic words. + +"I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you +were poor Godfrey's model?" + +"Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him +entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless." + +"Does your sister sit?" + +"Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how +she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I +somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like +it." + +"Did they say they would object?" + +"Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She +came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for +her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil +soon after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether." + +"You don't like that?" + +"She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to +dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content." + +"Poor little chap! But I can help you in your present need. Let the +Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both of you. Give it to your +sister, and bring her to this address within an hour. You shall have +food and warmth, anyhow, and I will help you further." + +Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. Marietta was +watching anxiously for him at the window. He had been out all night, and +she was almost in despair. + +"Look, dearest, isn't it lovely?" he cried, as he rushed into the room +and held up the Christmas Rose for her to see. + +She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its beauty until +they filled with tears, which dropped on the rose's face and sank into +her grateful heart. + +"How exquisite, Rica! The Infant Jesus must have brought it from +heaven." + +Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit of despair +she threw the flower on the ground, and cried,-- + +"But it cannot help us; of what good is it? I thought you went out to +beg bread." + +"Ah, Marietta! don't scorn it; be grateful all your life that I found +the Christmas Rose. It has saved us!" + +On hearing her brother's story she was overjoyed. She picked up the +trembling flower, and hastily covering her head with a shawl, prepared +to accompany Rica. + +On the presentation of Thornhill's card they were shown into his studio. + +The Christmas Rose thought she was in Fairyland. The room was decorated +with festoons of evergreens, wreaths of holly, and bunches of mistletoe. +On the platform was a small Christmas tree hung with sweets, crackers, +silver ornaments, and coloured beads, surmounted by a fairy doll dressed +in white and studded with silver stars. Marietta stood gazing round the +studio, holding the trembling Rose in her hand. But what was this? The +Fairy Prince off the tree come to life? They had never seen anything so +fair before. A boy had risen from a seat by the stove, where he had been +amusing himself with a picture book. A slim little fellow, with dreamy, +hazel eyes set in a pale spiritual face, and what wonderful hair. It was +like golden sunbeams. Angel was the artist's son. His mother had died +two years ago. He was just six years old, a sweet, delicate child. +Often he was very lonely, for his father was frequently away, and he was +not strong enough to go to school. + +[Illustration] + +How much he missed his mother, and how the memory of her dwelt in his +young soul, even his father scarcely guessed. At night he cried himself +to sleep thinking of her, and wondering where she was. It had occurred +to the child that she had not been very happy, and that his father did +not love her as he did. + +"I have been watching for you," said Angel, putting out his small hand. +"Oh, what a pretty flower! I have never seen one like it before." + +"It is a Christmas Rose, dear," said Thornhill, who had entered as the +boy spoke. + +Marietta placed it in his hair. He looked at her gravely, and then held +up his face to be kissed. + +The Christmas Rose nearly swooned with joy, for she thought that Angel +was the Infant Jesus; and as she was set in the place of honour amongst +that golden glory, her heart throbbed with gratitude. + +Edward Thornhill had been accustomed to the society of pretty women all +his life; but in the presence of this convent girl he was absolutely +nervous. Her beauty fascinated him. He longed to take his brush, to +portray that face on canvas. + +Marietta was shy to a fault, and it was a long time before he could get +anything excepting monosyllables from her in conversation. + +Christmas dinner was served in another part of the studio. It was not a +very grand one. The absence of a woman's hand in the household +arrangements had been keenly felt by the artist since his wife's death. +But there was a piece of roast beef and a plum-pudding, with dates, +apples, and oranges to follow. The two Italians had eaten nothing but a +little bread for two days, so to them it was a feast for the Gods. + +Later the tree was stripped of its ornaments. Angel pressed nearly all +the presents on Rica. He was a kind-hearted little fellow, and very +unselfish. + +"And so you are going to be a nun, my child?" said the artist, when by +sympathetic questioning he had elicited Marietta's story. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you think you will be happy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +There was a slight hesitation in her manner. And yet, when she had +entered the studio only two hours ago, she had resolved to ask Edward +Thornhill to lend her enough money to pay her fare back to the convent, +so that she could begin her novitiate at once. + +"Your mind is quite made up, nothing could change it?" + +"I think not." + +How quickly her listener detected the little tremor in her voice, which +told him much more than the uncertainty implied in her words. + +"And yet I believe you might be happy here. I can help you both; you +shall not want for work. Your brother tells me that you have never been +a model, but perhaps you would be kind enough to favour me by sitting +for my Academy picture. The subject is to be the Annunciation." + +She did not answer, and he continued talking,-- + +"You must remember that the city is not always as gloomy as it looks +to-night. We have picture galleries, parks and squares, and the country +is beautiful at all seasons. Do you not think you could be content to +stay a little?" + +"Perhaps a little." + +"I will get you some needlework to do, and Rica shall find in me as good +a master as the one he has just lost. + +"You are very kind," she said, looking up at him with tearful eyes. + +"The nuns won't be angry with you for staying a little while with your +brother; they will consent to receive you later, will they not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And will you sit for my picture?" + +"Yes, as soon as you wish." + +Before Marietta left she kissed the Christmas Rose, and whispered, "Dear +Infant Jesus, guard the flower which has saved us." + +And it murmured:-- + +"I am happy. My Master is pleased that I have followed in His footsteps, +and His reward is beyond all price." + +But Marietta did not hear. + +Before Angel went to rest he placed the Christmas Rose in a goblet of +water, and it lifted up its innocent face and breathed a sweet, faint +perfume. The hours flew by, and towards midnight a curious pink hue +stole over its white petals, the fragrance died away, the luxuriant stem +withered up, and it breathed its last as Christ's birthday passed away. + +The star of Bethlehem was alone in the heavens when Night visited the +garden to greet the beauteous flower of the morning, but it had +vanished. In its place was a tear which sparkled like a diamond, the +tear it had shed when yearning to help suffering humanity. + + +III. + +Four months afterwards Marietta received a letter from the superior of +her convent. She sat reading it in a clean and comfortably furnished +room. Though to all appearances perfectly happy, her face wore an +expression of sadness, and tears fell on the missive in her hand. + +At length she rose, placed the letter in the pocket of her gown, and +after packing up a costume she had just finished making for Edward +Thornhill, made her way to his studio. + +He praised her work. He had never found anybody so clever at carrying +out suggestions as Marietta; but to-day his commendation brought no +pleasure into her face, and the artist was quick to notice her changed +manner. + +"You are sad, Marietta?" + +"No," she answered hastily, turning to leave the studio. + +"Why no, when you mean yes?" he asked, following her. + +She did not reply, but the tears gathered in her eyes and fell upon her +dress. + +"Tell me what grieves you. I helped you once, and may be able to do so +again." + +She took the Reverend Mother's letter from her pocket and placed it in +his hand. It contained a few lines, saying that they would expect their +child back in a fortnight's time. + +"Then you are going to leave us after all?" + +"It is better so." + +"But it makes you sad the thought of going?" + +"Yes," she said, with downcast face. + +"The sisters would not wish you to take the veil if you or they doubted +your vocation for such a surrender?" + +"I don't understand." + +"Your heart must be in this sacrament, your whole heart, you must have +no longings after the world. Is it not so?" + +"Oh yes," she said, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes. + +"Have you any longings that might be a shadow on your nun's life, my +child? Have you? Nay, don't be afraid to speak." + +"Oh, don't ask me," she said, repressing her sobs. + +"You do not think your life here involves a sin? You have enabled me to +paint a heavenly image that might, so far as the pure spirit of it goes, +decorate the fairest church. I do not say the work, Marietta, but the +intention, the inspiration." + +She found this question too subtle for her comprehension, but there was +something in the artist's tone and manner that thrilled her, something +that was like the influence of the _Magnificat_ in the great choir of +the cathedral. She turned her wondering eyes towards him, and he took +her hands in his. + +"You have been happy here?" he asked, his voice trembling. + +"Yes, very." + +"Then why leave me? Put up with the gloom and fog for my sake, Marietta. +Be the artist's little wife as well as his model." + +The sun came streaming into the studio as he bent over her fair hands +and kissed them. + +"It is not all gloom and fog," she replied. "To-day the London sun is as +bright and warm as it was in Italy when I was a child." + +It was not alone the London sun, it was the sunshine of the heart; and +it lasted all through the remainder of Marietta's life. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE WINDFLOWER + +[Illustration: THE WINDFLOWER] + + "One·will·crown·thee·king + Far·in·the·spiritual·city" + Lord Tennyson + + +I. + +Lady Mercy sat writing of love in the early hours of morning. She had +been christened Mercy, but the people called her the "Windflower." She +was born in a high March wind, which had once more wooed her sisters +into life. They lay like a fall of snow in the adjacent forests. + +As the girl grew the title of the "Windflower" suited more and more her +long fair hair and clear grey eyes. + +She had never known any home beyond this beautiful palace. Here, in the +heart of a pastoral country, the birds sang and the flowers bloomed all +through the year. It was a haven of peace, of glorious morning dawns and +wind-swept evening skies. + +Her mother, the widowed Countess, wished to keep her among the flowers +and meadows, and she had reached her seventeenth summer without ever +having been in a city. She had, indeed, many learned teachers, and had +heard and read of the great world which lay beyond the hills surrounding +her home, but had no longing in her heart to go there. She found hosts +of friends in nature--the flowers, birds, dogs, horses, golden fish in +the fountain, and the sun; but most of all the wind. It seemed as though +the poetic title, given to her by the good people of the village, had +already exercised an influence upon her life. She loved the wind, +whether he came from the icefields of the north or the sun-plains of the +equator, whether his breath were redolent of western seas or of spices +and Arabian perfumes. + +To feel his kisses on her face, to have him whirl her round in his +strength, to bend before his mighty wings as did her sisters, the +Windflowers, this was her delight. Her play hours were passed in +dreamland peopled with her own mystical creations. What should she know +of love? She was, indeed, an utter stranger to it, and yet she wrote of +love, and called her hero "Terah." + +But the time had come when the Countess thought her daughter ought to +begin to realise that the great world was not an ideal one like that of +her dreams. + +"Mercy," she said, "why do you always write of 'Terah' as you call him? +He seems to be the hero of all your stories, and he is quite impossible. +You must not imagine that people in the great world are as lovely in +their lives as your flowers are. 'Terah' is an ideal." + +"An ideal?" + +"Yes, there is no such man." + +"In what way is he not true?" asked the girl, her eyes full of wonder. + +"Describe him again, and I will explain." + +"His name speaks for him; it means that he was a breather of good like +the wind, only he was always gentle. Then he drove away sorrow. He was a +comforter; his face was most beautiful; he was all mercy, all love; and +he had thought of others so much that self was quite dead in him. Is +that impossible in that wide world yonder?" + +The Countess sighed as she answered, "Do not make him so handsome, +Mercy, and then perhaps he will be a more probable character, the man +enriched by Providence with perfect beauty such as your hero cannot help +being self-imbued. It is the old story of Narcissus, every glass greets +him with the picture he likes best to see; even the eyes of the woman he +loves are dimmed by the reflection of his image." + +[Illustration] + +Months passed, and a great change was noticed in Lady Mercy. She grew +paler and paler; she wrote no more stories; and all her studies were +stopped. She rose very early, and walked miles in the woods and by the +river, as if seeking for something. The "Windflower" seemed to have been +bruised by a rough tempest. + +A renowned doctor came from the metropolis and pressed her to say what +ailed her. + +"I am looking for 'Terah.' Mother said he was an ideal, merely the +creature of my brain, and since then I have lost him," she moaned. "Ask +her to take me to the great city that I may seek him, for I think he has +gone there to prove that he is true." + +And so the "Windflower" was uprooted from among her kith and kin. She +journeyed to the distant town, past the river and over the hills. + +And all was changed. She was thrust into the world of fashion. Dressed +in costly silks with long flowing trains, her hair was not allowed to +hang loosely over her shoulders any more. She was "out," so it was +dressed high on her head by a French _coiffeur_. She was forbidden to +walk unattended in the great city. Even in the parks she was always +accompanied by a chaperon. It was not correct to be seen alone, and +comfort and freedom had to be sacrificed. + + +II. + +Society made much of the ethereal-looking girl. Society took to her +title of the "Windflower"; it was so romantic, so "old world." She went +for rides in the Row, drove in the Park, visited the opera and theatres, +was present at evening receptions, and at ladies' "tea and scandal" +parties--weak tea and strong scandal. Here she learned to fear her own +sex. + +She was presented at Court in a low dress on a foggy afternoon; she went +everywhere in a sort of dream seeking her ideal, but she found no trace +of "Terah," the breather of good; and as time passed she grew sick at +heart, seeing on all hands the lust of self. Men battled for their idol +everywhere, women bartered away their souls to crown self with a diadem +of gold. + +Presently she was permitted to go about unattended, a freedom that +inspired her with new hopes. She went down to the busy part of the city +and stood in the surging crowd that battled for life. The "Windflower" +was alone in a world of anxious men whose all-consuming passion was +self. Time was precious. All was hurry. Everybody had business on hand; +even at luncheon they seemed to be racing. Not a minute was to be lost; +hesitate but for an instant, and they were pushed aside, the great race +of self against self, pursuing its course without them. A few attained +the goal, but many were stricken down by the way. Those who reached it +bowed their heads to the ground and worshipped at the glittering shrine +where Gold and Self were throned kings of the human heart. + +Her quest seemed to be failing entirely. Among the poor, who learned to +love her, she now and then found a trace of her lost "Terah," but it was +only a straggling ray of light in a nightmare of darkness and sin. + +One night she was present at a great ball given in her honour by an +intimate friend of the Countess. + +The room was filled with sweet perfumes, the mantel-pieces heaped with +lilies of the valley and white lilacs. All the wealth of spring flowers +lay fainting in the hot atmosphere. Not a drop of water to cool them, +not a breath of air to ease their pain. The band shrieked out its cheap +melodies, the dancers danced beneath the glare of electric lights. The +fashionable throng enjoyed itself. But one out of its number felt as +weary as the flowers. Dressed in clinging folds of soft satin, her hair +was arranged low in her neck, and in her hand she held a few loose +roses. She looked like a garden lily which had strayed from its home, +and grieved to find that it had exchanged the evening air and the +silence of the night for the glare of electric globes, the heat of a +crowded room, and the hubbub of countless voices. + +"And so you do not like society?" said her partner, a young fellow whom +she had often met before, and whom she greatly interested. + +"From what I know of it I do not. I think, too, that people who live in +cities are cruel. Look at the poor lilacs and lilies massed together to +faint and die. In my home we never think of letting flowers remain +without water. We look upon them as living things. Every blossom has a +life of its own; it knows pain and thirst. When I see them, torn from +hedge and meadow by careless hands and thrown on to the roads to die in +the dust, I know that for each flower an angel weeps." + +"Do not talk of things that make you sad. I want you to be happy +to-night. You are enjoying yourself, are you not?" the young fellow +inquired wistfully. Dangerous question to ask the grave idealist, but he +had taken a great fancy to her, he sympathised with many of her +feelings. "If you cannot say that you are enjoying yourself, please +leave my question unanswered," he added hastily. + +Lady Mercy looked up in surprise, then partly comprehending his words, +she said,-- + +"I like to talk with you; but I have had to converse with so many others +who have nothing to say that I am weary--men who asked me whether I had +seen this or that play, if I had been on the great wheel, did I approve +of bicycling for women? Had I tried golfing? And then, having finished +their stock of small talk, they taxed their poor ingenuity to pay me +compliments." + +"I am not surprised," was the grave reply. + +"Oh! I wish you had not said that. Why should a man seek to flatter a +woman; in short, to insult her?" + +"I would not offend you for the world!" he cried. "Indeed I am sorry." + +"And I am grieved to have spoken bitterly. Pardon me, I do not know how +to talk even to you, and everything is so strange," she said, flushing +deeply. + +"Tell me of what you like most yourself; that will interest me beyond +all other subjects." + +"I cannot speak of that," she answered, a gentle light playing on her +face. "I can only think about it. The remembrance of it is rooted in my +heart; it is a part of me." + +"Mercy," he cried, his face flushing and his eyes becoming strangely +brilliant, "the Countess has told me of your dream, of your search for +some one who has never existed. Ah! give it up. Do you not know that +the bitterest chapter in the book of life is that which is headed +'Broken Ideals'? The pages are written in blood, they are blistered with +tears. The reader must decipher that chapter alone, the shattered +remains of what was once his divinity, his sunshine feeding on his +heart, and poisoning even his memory." + +"But humanity should not let its ideals be broken. It should fight for +them, lock them safe in the inmost chamber of its mind. It should never +suffer a profane hand to destroy that which is dearer than itself," she +answered, with a fixed, far-away look in her eyes. + +"Ah, my dear Mercy, believe me, should you appear to find he whom you +seek, you will but dream, and then awake to learn that your young, fresh +life has been wasted, and that your Ideal is false. Then age will be +passed in useless longing and vain regrets." + +"I shall find him. I did know him once, and he left me, but he will come +back again." Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked so spiritual, so +beautiful, that her companion could contain himself no longer. + +"Mercy, I love you!" he whispered. + +The breathless words brought her back from dreamland, with its mists and +its dim beauties--back to a London ballroom, back to fading humanity +and faded flowers. The utter weariness and cheapness of it all struck +her painfully, the passionate cry of love associated itself in her mind +with the rustle and frippery of fashion. + +"My life is his of whom we have spoken," she said gently in response to +his beseeching glance, as her hostess, a bright, fashionable woman, +hurried up and whispered effusively: "Wait here a moment, dear. I have +at last found some one whom I am sure will please you. He is very rich +and handsome, quite a king in the world of fashion, and yet a Christian +gentleman--and oh, so wise! We call him our Ideal." + +She came back accompanied by a tall, fine man. Everybody thought him +beautiful--"pure Greek, you know"; but Lady Mercy started back in +terror, recovering herself the next minute. To her he was hideous--his +mouth misshapen, his eyes a dull red. Was it because her own soul was so +pure that she saw people's minds, not their faces, and when a mind was +evil its chief vice shone through its fleshly covering like a beacon? + +"Delighted to meet you, Lady Mercy; will you dance?" + +"No, thank you." + +"We will sit it out, then, and talk. By the way, our mutual friend, Lady +R----, tells me that you are much distressed over the condition of the +unemployed in our great city?" + +"Yes, I want mother to devise a scheme for helping them. I have seen so +much suffering since I have been here." + +"Money thrown away, I assure you; they are a rascally set. If a man is +willing to work there is work to be had." + +"I disagree, sir; work is most difficult to obtain. A character is +needed. Many of these poor, suffering creatures have no recommendation +that might entitle them to recognition at the hands of Christ's +followers. And most of them are not in a condition to work. They have +neither clothes, nor health, nor hope. Could you build with your feet +through your boots? Could you lift heavy weights with no strength in +your body and no hope in your soul?" + +"You forget I am not one of the unemployed," he said, smiling. + +"No? What do you do then?" + +"Well, I do not exactly do anything." + +"Then you are unemployed." + +"I have no regular work; but I try to follow in Christ's steps. I am a +Christian like yourself. I believe that He was God, and worship Him as +such." + +"Sir, I fear His would have been a poor, useless martyrdom if you were +indeed a Christian. Go home and read His life; see what He says about +the poor whom you despise. There, forgive me, I did not mean to say so +much. But I think you are in the wrong. Good-night." + +"What an awful girl you introduced me to, Lady R----! She was positively +insulting; a regular windbag, not a flower." + +"Didn't it make any impression? Poor Popsie," she replied, patting him +with her fan, "I hoped she would interest you; she is in search of the +Ideal. What a pity she did not recognise you! Never mind, I will +introduce you to Baby Joy, the music-hall singer who married Lord Clare. +You know? Come along." + + +III. + +Years passed. Lady Mercy's first youth was over; her eyes had lost the +light of hope--a wild, sorrowful expression filled them. She had never +gone back to the country; she could not return to the happy home of her +childish ideals, the joyless, broken-hearted creature she was now. + +She drove out one day in September. Gaily dressed women were shopping. +Flower stalls of roses, carnations, marguerites, gave a foreign look to +the city. A wild west wind, fragrant with the breath of autumn, rushed +through the streets. + +Suddenly there was some confusion in the road. A policeman battled among +a host of prancing horses and grand carriages. A victoria containing two +gorgeously dressed ladies had run over a mongrel dog. One of its owners, +a ragged girl, sobbed on the pavement, as her half-starved brother +elbowed his way to the officer's side. + +"Our paw Jack; 'is leg's broke." + +"You should not let him run about in crowded streets," said one of the +smart occupants of the victoria. + +"End yer shouldn't let yer cussed 'osses droive over the paw beast," +replied the boy, taking it in his arms and trying to soothe its cries. + +"I was going to give you money, boy, but I shall not for your +impertinence." + +Lady Mercy stood on the pavement comforting the little girl. + +"Never moind, Puddles," said her brother, coming up with the dog in his +arms. "Our Prince will cure 'im." + +"Prince is doying, brother, you know thet." + +"Who is Prince, my boy?" asked Lady Mercy. + +"'E's our only friend. 'E's father and mother to all hus poor." + +"Is he beautiful?" she asked eagerly. + +"What, in the faice? Rather not." + +"Ah! then it cannot be he," said Lady Mercy sadly. "Why do you call him +Prince?" + +"Becos 'e is Prince--the Prince of Pity. 'E's ill now; but 'e says 'e +can't doi till something 'appens." + +"What?" + +"Oi der know. Somethink." + +"Where does he live?" + +"Hover there," said the boy, with a vague wave of his hand. + +"I will take you there if you will let me. Will you get into the +carriage?" + +"What, in there?" + +"Yes." + +"Rather. Come on, Puddles." + +Lady Mercy helped the two forlorn creatures into her carriage, and +placed the dog tenderly on the front seat. + +"Will you tell the coachman where to go?" + +"Yaas, droive ter Greenleaf Court." + +The Prince of Pity lay dying of want in one of the poorest quarters of +the great city. His face was gaunt and weather-beaten, his eyes glazed +and dull. A young child sat on the floor nursing a half-starved +cat--both waifs of the street rescued from utter misery by the good +Samaritan. + +Sorrow was always with the poor of Greenleaf Court; but now their +affliction was more bitter than ever. Their dear master, who had devoted +his life to them, and had given away all his worldly goods until he was +as poor and destitute as they, the man who told them of sweet flowers +and green meadows and silver streams, he who made peace in their +quarrels, divided his scanty earnings among them, taught the children, +he, their only stay in a world of suffering and want, was leaving them +for ever. + +The Prince of Pity lay drowsing away to "poppied death." + +The wind wailed and sobbed round the house, and burst in at the door as +Lady Mercy entered. + +She saw the man. His clothes were worn and old, but she beheld only his +face; that face which even the poor who almost worshipped him thought +ugly, was beautiful to her; it told of love and charity. She knew his +life had been lived for others. + +"Ah, you have come at last!" he cried. "Welcome. I so feared I should +die without any one to continue my work, and I asked the Wind that +sprung up in the early hours to waft me some one hither." + +"He has obeyed you. I am named the Windflower; but, sir, you too have a +beautiful title; they call you the Prince of Pity. Who are you?" + +"I am an unworthy follower of the man Christ." + +"You are then a Christian?" + +"I said the _man_ Christ. I belong to no Church. I profess no creed." + +"What do you do?" + +"My child," he said, and his voice sounded sorrowful like the sobbing of +the sea, "my life's work is all in these simple lines,-- + +"'Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.'" + +"You are then he whom I seek. You are Terah, the breather of good. But, +sir, you seem ill. Can I help you?" + +"Yes, care for my poor. Be to them all the Wind is to you; rock them +into life, soothe them into death; sob with them in grief, shout with +them in joy. I am going away." + +"Whither?" + +"To the earth, to rest and peace at last." + +"Not to heaven?" + +"My child, have you lived in the great city and not learned that we can +imagine no heaven so lovely as the joy of our hearts when we do a good +action? I am on the verge of that sleep which knows no awakening. The +Halls of Death lead not unto Life." + +Mercy was dazed with the beauty of the man's soul. It filled his eyes +with a radiance which overwhelmed her. + +"I have found Terah," she cried, looking heavenwards, and clasping her +hands in an ecstasy of happiness. "The world is bright again. My ideal +is true. Beautiful, merciful; and self an immolated sacrifice. Why have +I lost my youth in seeking him to lose him now?" + +A distant voice seemed to float on the wind. "Had he lived you must have +died. The good action has its reward here and hereafter. He has passed +through the Halls of Death unto the House of Life. Be content, you have +been much blessed. The Ideal is realised in heaven." + +The room was filled with a perfume as of many flowers. The wind sobbed +out a requiem. Lady Mercy's face shone with a great light. She looked +down. The Prince of Pity lay dead. + +On the site of Greenleaf Court a beautiful house now stands, every +window full of flowers. Designed by a great architect, all the poor of +the district were employed to help in its erection. It is called the +"House of Pity." In the large hall, where the hungry are fed and the +sorrowful are comforted, the following inscription is wrought on the +wall in letters of gold, wreathed with windflowers:-- + +[Illustration: REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE AND WEEP WITH THEM THAT +WEEP] + + + + + _SECOND EDITION._ + + THE GOLDEN FAIRY BOOK. + + FAIRY TALES OF OTHER LANDS. + + BY + + GEORGE SAND, MORITZ JOKAI, ALEXANDRE DUMAS, VOLTAIRE, + DANIEL DARE, XAVIER MARMIER, Etc., Etc. + + _In crown 4to, richly gilt, and gilt edges, 6s._ + + With 110 Illustrations by H. R. Millar. + +A FEW PRESS OPINIONS. + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' is brimful of charm, and must be cordially +welcomed. The book is one to be bought. It is rarely that fairy stories +by such important authors come together. Young people are to be +congratulated upon the provision of such a boon companion as 'The Golden +Fairy Book,' to which Mr. H. R. Millar has contributed over one hundred +artistic and amusing illustrations."--_Gentlewoman._ + +"An excellent collection of charming tales by famous authors. The volume +is prettily bound, and excellently printed, with a profusion of +illustrations."--_Times._ + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' need not be considered inferior to any. In +appearance it is possibly ahead of all. Mr. Millar's illustrations +are spirited and clever, and the tales in themselves have been selected +with great judgment from writers of all countries. If any find the old +tales at all tiresome, let them take this 'Golden Book' in +preference."--_Daily Graphic._ + +"A new and delightful departure ... this most attractive gift-book, +which one may safely prophesy will be a sure delight to its many +possessors."--_St. James' Budget._ + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' is as good as can be, and the illustrations are +refined and attractive. The stories are gathered from many nations--a +particular charm to this excellent collection."--_Westminster Gazette._ + +"Not only the little folk, but we 'children of a larger growth' will +also be delighted with this collection of wondrous fairy tales. The book +is beautifully illustrated."--_The Lady._ + +"Among the prettiest books of the season is 'The Golden Fairy Book.' +Admirably illustrated, this volume is pleasing within and +without."--_Globe._ + +"Boundless variety and that of the best.... 'The Golden Fairy Book' is +well calculated to charm and satisfy the most omnivorous youthful +appetite for imagined wonders."--_Sketch._ + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row. + + +With over 60 Full-page and other Illustrations by Harry Furniss and +Dorothy Furniss. + + THE WALLYPUG OF WHY. + A Fanciful Story. + + By G. E. FARROW. + + _In crown 4to, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, and gilt edges, 5s._ + +Contents. + + The Way to Why. + The Fish with a Cold. + Breakfast for Tea. + Girlie Sees the Wallypug. + What is a Goo? + The Wallypug's fancy Dinner Party. + The Invisible Joke. + Can a Pig Perch? + Buying an Excuse. + The Ride with the Alphabet. + Girlie is Cartwrecked. + The Sphinx and the Bathing-Machine Woman. + What Happened at Why. + + * * * * * + + With 84 Illustrations by H. R. Millar. + + THE SILVER FAIRY BOOK. + Fairy Tales of Other Lands. + + BY + +SARAH BERNHARDT, E. P. LARKEN, HORACE MURREIGH, HEGESIPPE MOREAU, +VOLTAIRE, QUATRELLES, EMILE DE GIRARDEN, WILHELM HAUF, XAVIER MARMIER, +LOUIS DE GRAMONT, Etc. + + _In crown 4to, silvered cloth and silvered edges, 6s._ + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row. + + The Boys' Golden Library. + +Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3_s._ 6_d._ per Volume. + +_By PROFESSOR CHURCH._ + Pictures from Greek Life and Story. + Pictures from Roman Life and Story. + +_By DANIEL DE FOE._ + Robinson Crusoe. + +_By EDWARD A. RAND._ + Our Clerk from Barkton. + Fighting the Sea. + Up North in a Whaler. + Making the Best of It. + +_By DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N._ + The Cruise of the Crystal Boat. + +_By FLORENCE MARRYAT._ + The Little Marine. + +_By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS._ + The Warriors of the Crescent. + +_By JULES VERNE._ + Round the World in Eighty Days, and Adventures in Southern Africa. + (Double Volume.) + Five Weeks in a Balloon, and A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. + (Double Volume.) + The English at the North Pole, and The Desert of Ice. (Double Volume.) + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row. + + New Library for Girls. + + THE GIRLS' GOLDEN LIBRARY. + +Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3_s._ 6_d._ per Volume. + +_By SARAH TYTLER._ + A Bubble Fortune. + +_By AMELIA E. BARR._ + A Singer from the Sea. + Love for an Hour is Love for Ever. + +_By E. WETHERELL._ + The Wide, Wide World. + +_By E. S. CUMMINS._ + The Lamplighter. + +_By S. DOUDNEY._ + Where Two Ways Meet. + The Family Difficulty. + A Child of the Precinct. + +_By MRS. J. KENT SPENDER._ + No Humdrum Life for Me. + +_By ANNA E. LISLE._ + Winnie Travers. + Self and Self-Sacrifice. + +_By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS._ + The Maid of Orleans. + +_By M. C. HALIFAX._ + Among the Welsh Hills. + +_By MARGARET HAYCRAFT._ + The Clever Miss Jancy. + +_By MRS. G. LINNÆUS BANKS._ + Miss Pringle's Pearls. + +_By EVELYN EVERETT GREEN._ + My Cousin from Australia. + +_By LOUISA M. ALCOTT._ + Little Women and Nice Wives. + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village of Youth, by Bessie Hatton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + +***** This file should be named 36977-8.txt or 36977-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/7/36977/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Village of Youth + and Other Fairy Tales + +Author: Bessie Hatton + +Illustrator: W. H. Margetson + +Release Date: August 5, 2011 [EBook #36977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="560" alt="" title="Cover" /> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="500" height="594" alt="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h1><span class="smcap">The Village<br /> + of Youth</span></h1> + +<h2>And Other Fairy Tales</h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<h2>BESSIE HATTON</h2> + +<h3><i>Author of "Enid Lyle," etc.</i><br /> +<br /> +With Numerous Illustrations</h3> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<h3><b><i>W. H. MARGETSON</i></b></h3> + +<h4>London, 1895</h4> + +<h4>HUTCHINSON & CO</h4> + +<h5><i>34 PATERNOSTER ROW</i></h5> + + +<h5>Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table id="Contents" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="right"> </td> + <td align="center"> </td> + <td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">I.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">The Village of Youth</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-I.">1</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">II.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">A Child of the Winds</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-II.">31</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">III.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">The Flower that reached the Sun-lands</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-III.">72</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">IV.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">The Garden of Innocence</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-IV.">96</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">V.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">A Christmas Rose</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-V.">124</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">VI.</td> + <td align="center"><span class="smcap">The Windflower</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#chap-VI.">144</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p> +<!-- Page 1 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"><a name="chap-I." title="The Village of Youth"></a> +<img src="images/i009.jpg" width="800" height="489" alt="The Village of Youth. Yet Ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!" title="The Village of Youth" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>There was a young King who ought to have been the happiest monarch in +the world. He was blessed with everything a mortal could desire. His +palace might have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so +perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens with its +dependent village at its gates, like a dream of feudal beauty in a story +of romance. Notwithstanding his good fortune, the King was oppressed +with what he conceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of a +happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, as if an intense +fear had taken possession of his soul; and<!-- Page 2 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> so it had. It was the fear +of Age. He could no longer bear to meet old people, and eventually grew +to hate the hoary heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects. +He therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders lived in one +half of the realm, under the government of his mother, while he was King +of the young. Riding, hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never +saw a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the Village of Youth.</p> + +<p>The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. She loved her +future husband dearly, though his strange malady and the exodus of the +old people from his dominions had clouded her happiness, and made her +long for some way of alleviating his suffering.</p> + +<p>When the lovers were together they held no gentle, tender discourse. +Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed with mournful eyes, and when she +besought him not to be sorrowful he would say, "Sweet lady, how can I be +other than I am? Each loving word that falls from thy lips, each sweet +smile that plays upon thy face, is as a dagger in my heart; for I +remember how soon the bloom of youth will pass from thy cheeks and the +softness from thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of +Eld, grim with unlovely age."<!-- Page 3 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 5 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<p><!-- Page 4 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="500" height="626" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such an extent, that +while she sat sewing among her women tears would often fall upon the +embroidery, and she would be obliged to leave her work.</p> + +<p>Among the many fair maidens who attended upon Rowena, the fairest of +them all was the Lady Beryl. She grieved sincerely to see her mistress +so dejected, and taxed her brain night and day for some plan by which +she might save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her +heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek advice from the +people who lived in the Village of Eld. It was spring; the grass was +green, the sky was blue. The sunshine gleamed on the maiden's hair and +on her dove-coloured garments.</p> + +<p>As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered around her. She +found herself in the midst of a crowd of grey-headed men and women, many +of whom touched her dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down +and almost worshipped her; she reminded them of their own early days, a +sweet personification of the young spring. Beryl lifted up her voice, +and said,—</p> + +<p>"Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of our sovereign and +of its cause; and now our dear Princess shares his sorrow. We are +ignorant and inexperienced,<!-- Page 6 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> neither have we any wise men or women to +counsel us; therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep our +youths and maidens always young, that they may never know age?"</p> + +<p>A long wailing cry was heard from the people of the village,—</p> + +<p>"There is no way—no way!" One old man, who was bent and tottering, +raised his wrinkled face to the maiden's, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Spring gives place to summer, and summer to autumn, and autumn to +winter. What would you? Age is beautiful; it is a time of peace, of +meditation. Youth knows not rest; it is ever striving, fighting, +suffering. When age comes upon us we cease to enjoy as keenly as the +young, but we cease to suffer as bitterly as they who are in the spring +of life. If the scent of the air is less fresh and the voice of the +brook is less sweet, why, the thunder clouds are less dark and the storm +is robbed of its fury."</p> + +<p>Beryl bowed her head and rode away. As she passed through the gate an +old woman followed her, and whispered these words,—</p> + +<p>"An hour before sunset, on the longest day of summer, Time, in his +chariot, rides through the Village of Youth. If each year thou canst +prevent his doing so, the world<!-- Page 7 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> will still grow old, but the Village +of Youth will remain young for ever."</p> + +<p>"Alas, good dame, how can I hope to succeed in this endeavour?"</p> + +<p>"Sweet maiden, thou art beautiful, thou art in the April of life. Time +is gentle and pitiful; throw thyself before his chariot. Thou wilt stay +his flying feet, and thy sovereign will bless thee."</p> + +<p>Beryl returned, pondering over the woman's words. She entered that +portion of the palace occupied by the Princess and her suite, and +proceeded to her own chamber.</p> + +<p>The hangings were of white silk, and the floor was of ivory. Silver +vases, filled with purple lilacs, perfumed the air. Presently three +maidens entered, to attire their mistress for the evening banquet. One +bathed her face and hands with spring-water, another combed her hair +with a silver comb, and the third robed her in a gown of soft silk, +edged with pearls.</p> + +<p>Beryl's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement, as +she hastened along the corridor to the apartments of the Princess. Her +royal mistress was seated in the portico which looked on to the palace +gardens. Never had Beryl seen the future Queen so<!-- Page 8 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> sad. Forgetting her +news in her anxiety, she threw herself at Rowena's feet, and besought +her to say what ailed her.</p> + +<p>"It is the old trouble that afflicts me, dear child. The King grows +worse, and I fear that if he cannot conquer his melancholy he will go +mad."</p> + +<p>Then Beryl, in hurried words, told Rowena of her visit to the Village +of Eld, and of the woman's message.</p> + +<p>The Princess became deeply interested in the recital, and as her +handmaiden unfolded her plan of waiting for Time on the longest day of +summer, she gradually caught her excitement.</p> + +<p>"Young for ever," she murmured, with a sigh, "young for ever in a summer +world! It is too good to be true, Beryl; besides, if it were not, how +could I let thee depart upon such a quest? Better far that I should go +myself."</p> + +<p>"Nay, sweet lady; thou art espoused to our lord, the King, but I have no +lover who would grieve for me. Besides, I can but fail; and so thou wilt +pity my unsuccess, I shall be content."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i017.jpg" width="500" height="676" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The air was filled with the scent of spring flowers, and of the many +roses which had clambered over the portico. Beryl sat at the Princess' +feet, and lifted up a pair of<!-- Page 11 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span><!-- Page 10 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><!-- Page 9 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> beseeching eyes to her face. At that +moment the young King entered. He was made acquainted with the question +in dispute. On hearing of Beryl's plan a joyful expression lighted up +his sad features, and at his earnest entreaty Rowena gave her consent +to the undertaking.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>Summer had laid her hands upon the land, broadening with vigorous +strokes the delicate colours of the faded spring. Fields of corn and +barley were ripening, and far away on the uplands crimson poppies lay +sleeping in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Beryl waited outside the village on the longest day of the year. In +white robes and silken cap she watched for the passing of Time. Before +the day began to wane a chariot, drawn by the Winds, dashed along the +road which led to the Village of Youth. The maiden, though half dead +with terror, flung herself down before the gates with a loud cry. She +felt herself raised from the ground, and on opening her eyes found that +she was in the arms of a ragged youth. His face was beautiful beyond all +description, though its expression was full of sorrow; his garments were +smirched with mud and hung in tatters, but they were jewelled from +shoulder to hem with diamonds, whiter and more brilliant than any she +had ever seen. Awed and<!-- Page 12 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> wondering, Beryl laid her finger softly upon +one of the gems. But it dissolved and vanished at her touch; and she +realised that Time's garments were jewelled with the world's tears.</p> + +<p>Presently the youth addressed her, and his voice was the saddest of all +the music that she had ever heard,—</p> + +<p>"Maiden, what wouldst thou with me?"</p> + +<p>"Good sir, I pray thee to spare the Village of Youth. Let its young days +last for ever."</p> + +<p>"For ever!" he sighed. "What spell is there in this 'for ever' that +mortals must always crave after it? I am the spirit of Time, the king of +change. The Winds are my servants. My palace is built on the shores of +Eternity; and yet, for one hour passed in the Village of Youth, or for +knowledge of the peace which reigns in the Village of Eld, I would lay +down my immortality without a pang. In my flight through the world I see +little joy. I ring the bells of birth, of marriage, and of death. Upon +my garments the tears of humanity gather fast. Still, my task is not all +unhappy, in that a day comes when I have healed their wounds with my +touch, though scars remain, which even I, an Immortal, cannot efface. +Alas, sweet maiden! I dare not leave the Village of Youth unvisited, +even at the prayer of the fairest of its daughters."<!-- Page 13 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nevertheless, after many a sigh and many a tear, Beryl touched the +changeful heart of Time; and because she was so beautiful the youth +loved her, and he bore her away in his chariot, leaving the Village +of Youth unvisited.</p> + +<p>Desolate, and misty, and grey, was the country of Time, and rugged the +castle built on the shores of Eternity. Strange, colourless flowers +bloomed in the garden, and the paths were heavy and wet. In the great +hall of the palace there were tables laden with fruit and wine, and +after Beryl had eaten she felt refreshed. The place was lonely. There +was not a sigh nor a token of any living creature within its walls.</p> + +<p>Some of the sorrow seemed to pass out of the youth's face as he watched +the maiden. And when she looked up at him and smiled all the tears on +his dress melted away.</p> + +<p>"Sweet lady," he presently said, "I did unwisely to bring thee here, for +when thou art gone I shall feel more lonely than ever before. Until I +met thee, I had never exchanged words with an earthly maid. Thy presence +gives me much comfort; I am so weary of travel, so tired of this grim +country. I must, nevertheless, leave thee at sunrise. Remain here until +I return, and I will not pass through the Village of Youth."<!-- Page 14 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Beryl's heart leapt with gratitude. Her mission was accomplished. Then a +sudden fear smote her. Must she remain alone in this weird place, and +walk continually in this garden of colourless flowers?</p> + +<p>"Good my lord, how long wilt thou be gone?" she tremblingly inquired.</p> + +<p>"A year, though it will seem but as a day to thee, for here time counts +not; this is his resting-place. In his palace there is no change; it is +built on the everlasting shore."</p> + +<p>As the youth finished speaking Beryl observed that the hall was full of +weird shades, in jewelled cloaks of tears; but amongst them there was +one whose garments were of shining white, gemmed with violets.</p> + +<p>"These," said Time, "are the hours of to-day."</p> + +<p>The shades flitted past, bending before their King. Beryl noticed that +the sadness in their faces was akin to that of Time, with one exception. +He of the white garments wore an expression that was smiling and happy, +and the violets on his dress filled the hall with perfume.</p> + +<p>"Good my lord, why doth this last shadow look so different from all the +rest?" asked Beryl.</p> + +<p>At a sign from Time the shadow spoke,—</p> + +<p>"I am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily,<!-- Page 15 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> having enriched +the world with his song. The moon kissed his lips as he breathed his +last in my arms."</p> + +<p>"Whither are they going?" asked Beryl, as the hours floated through the +hall.</p> + +<p>"I will show thee," said the youth, leading her into the open.</p> + +<p>The air was keen. In the distance, Beryl could hear the sound of the +sea. Heavy clouds of mist hung around the castle. The maiden stooped to +pluck one of the colourless flowers that bloomed in the garden. To her +surprise, she could not break its stalk. She hurried after the youth, +who was standing on a jutting piece of rock, some paces away.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said, "yonder, to westward."</p> + +<p>The maiden saw the winged hours floating over the sea. Far away she +beheld a dim coast-line of a distant country. The sky on that far shore +was a mass of rosy clouds, rosier still to Beryl's eyes, accustomed as +she had become to the greyness and mist of the country of Time.</p> + +<p>"The sea which lies beneath us is the sea of Eternity, and yonder land +is the Garden of the Past. The sun always shines there; the past forges +its own halo."</p> + +<p>Beryl watched in silence the flying shadows floating over<!-- Page 16 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> the Eternal +Sea. The hours of her earliest days were there, in that Garden of the +Past. If she went thither, should she find them, and with them the +playmates and the innocence of childhood?</p> + +<p>Time noticed the sorrowful expression of her face, and pitied her.</p> + +<p>"Maiden," he said, "thou must not look backwards. Let the aged dream of +the days that are gone; thy future is before thee. It waits for thee, +yonder behind the sun that is rising on the world. Wilt thou go with me +and give up thy wish, content to let the Village of Youth grow old, as +is the fate of all things mortal? Thou wilt be happier in thine own +country. Far away, in its valleys, the flowers and the summer call for +thee. Come."</p> + +<p>He stepped into his chariot, and held out his arms towards her.</p> + +<p>"Nay, good my lord; I will await thee here, and try to forget the +flowers and the summer, remembering only thee and thy promise."</p> + +<p>The youth waved his hand in token of adieu, and vanished from her sight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i025.jpg" width="500" height="699" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>After her companion's departure she roamed about the garden. That +portion of it which surrounded the palace was bare and treeless, but in +the distance she could<!-- Page 19 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><!-- Page 18 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><!-- Page 17 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> see forests of white poplars. She found some +grey poppies in the garden not unlike those that bloomed in the Village +of Youth, excepting that these of the country of Time had thick pulpy +stems, resembling the water-lily. A straggling plant attracted her +notice; it looked like hemlock, only that the flower was of a deep +purple. Lifting her face from the gloom of the floral beds, her eyes +rested on the Garden of the Past. The wish to explore it, and to find in +its green mazes her early days once more, was irresistible.</p> + +<p>Trembling with excitement, she sought for a path that should lead her to +the seashore. With much difficulty, she succeeded in clambering down the +steep descent. Upon the strand she found a tiny boat, with quaint +paddles, in which she made for the shining coast. The skiff progressed +rapidly. As it neared the land, Beryl noticed a great change in the +atmosphere. The cold and mist of the country of Time were left behind +her. Resting upon her oars, she cooled her hands in the sea. To her +astonishment, she discovered that the water was not salt; it tasted as +fresh and as pure as the crystal stream that flowed through the Village +of Youth. Great as was her desire to enter the wonderful garden that lay +stretched before her, she almost regretted this last adventure. The heat +became intense.<!-- Page 20 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> There was no longer a ripple on the sea. Everything lay +dead still. When close in shore, all suddenly she could make no further +progress; the more she plied her paddles, the further she drifted +backwards. At length exhausted, she lost consciousness.</p> + +<p>On recovering Beryl was surprised to find herself in the misty garden +again, Time bending over her with a pitying expression on his face.</p> + +<p>"Thou shouldst not have gone to seek the Garden of the Past; even I +cannot gain access to its groves," he said, when she had revived.</p> + +<p>"I am grieved, and wish I had not ventured thither."</p> + +<p>Touched by her sorrowful contrition, the youth held up a bunch of faded +red poppies and said soothingly,—</p> + +<p>"I thought of thee as I passed by the Village of Youth."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, my dear lord, why is it that the sea washing the shores of the +Garden of the Past is not salt, but fresh as a mountain spring?" said +Beryl, taking the dead flowers and holding them tenderly in her hand.</p> + +<p>"All bitterness is purged from the Past, my child; therefore the waters +that wash its shores are sweet."<!-- Page 21 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>So years and years fled by, but there was no change in the Village of +Youth. It was always summer and always daylight. In the success of +Beryl's scheme the King found the dearest wish of his heart gratified. +His face regained its former beauty, and his manner its old charm. But +at length, although he would not breathe the fact aloud, the unending +season began to pall upon him.</p> + +<p>Always summer and always daylight! His wedding-day would never come, for +the present time would never pass. At length the sun grew hateful to +him. He longed for night, and he gazed with agony upon the face of his +ever-youthful love. When he walked through the gardens he prayed that +the flowers might wither. He was weary of seeing them always the same, +shedding the same scent on the air, never less, never more. The lark +soaring upwards sang the same song of liberty and hope all through the +unending day. No change in the Village of Youth, young for ever.</p> + +<p>The Princess, however, felt differently. A maiden wants so little to +make her happy. The eternal day was not long to her; her King was with +her through its everlasting hours, and summer would never leave them and +their love would<!-- Page 22 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> never die. Had she only known whether Beryl was safe, +her mind would have been quite at rest.</p> + +<p>Meeting her Lord one day in the palace gardens, she read the agony in +his face; and after listening to his plaints, she gently, though +fearlessly, reprimanded him.</p> + +<p>"Methinks, dear love, that we shall all be punished yet for thy +discontent. Thou art placed upon the throne of a great kingdom as its +sovereign. Thy subjects are true and loyal. Thy betrothed, as is well +known, is neither clever enough nor good enough to fill the high post +for which thou hast selected her; but she loves thee, and would lay down +her life for thee without regret. She sends her favourite maiden on a +quest which is fraught with much danger; on the accomplishment of that +mission thy happiness depends. It succeeds; but the royal attendant does +not return. Time visits the Village of Youth no more; and yet thou +dwellest in its vernal freshness, ill-content."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast good cause to reproach me, dear one, erring only when thou +dost affirm that she whom I love is not worthy to be my Queen. Were I +but fit to tie her sandal or kiss the hem of her robe, I were glad +indeed."<!-- Page 23 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 25 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p><!-- Page 24 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i031.jpg" width="500" height="604" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>He took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, while the hot sun +beat down upon the weary village.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Beryl returned to her sovereign's kingdom, on the same +day and at the same hour she had left it, though the world was older by +forty years. She walked through the streets, a bent, grey-haired woman. +Everywhere smiling youth met her gaze. Little children had remained +little. They gathered round her, pulling at her dress, and gazing +wonderingly into her lined and worn face.</p> + +<p>"Where art thou going, good dame?" a girl inquired.</p> + +<p>"To the palace. I wish to see the King."</p> + +<p>"In good sooth, they will never admit thee into the palace; and did his +majesty know that thou wert in the village he would have thee conducted +thence."</p> + +<p>"Ah, maiden! I know of his folly, which will be punished yet, rest +assured. I was once a girl like thee, had hair like thine, and smooth +white skin."</p> + +<p>"That must have been a long time ago."</p> + +<p>"It seems but as yesterday," said Beryl.</p> + +<p>She dragged her tired limbs to the palace gates, and stood there, bent +and tottering. The guard who kept the door refused her admittance, +saying that his master would<!-- Page 26 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> not allow the aged within the precincts of +the village; but the King happened to overhear the argument, and at once +gave orders to have the woman brought before him. Although she appeared +quite unknown to him, he fell upon her neck and embraced her, so wearied +was he of the perpetual youth around him. But when she told them who she +was, and her story, they greatly marvelled.</p> + +<p>"Why didst thou leave the Palace of Time, dear Beryl?" asked Rowena.</p> + +<p>"Sweet Princess, I learned to love the Spirit, forgetting how great, how +godlike he was. And little understanding the difference between us, I +grew unhappy because he never embraced me. What would you? I was but a +woman, still chained to earth, though the companion of an Immortal in +the courts of Eternity. I grew to believe that he did not love me; and +he, seeing sorrow in my face, thought that I longed to go back to the +world. I gave him my love, which was all I had of spiritual to give, and +he was happy; but I lived within his home ill-content. One night, when +he returned from his yearly circle, I threw my arms around him and +kissed him. All the palace shook, and he looked at me with strange, +wistful eyes. I felt tired and weak; and I remember nothing more until I +awoke, as from a long dream, and found that I was lying on the banks of +the<!-- Page 29 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span><!-- Page 28 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span><!-- Page 27 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> stream yonder. I arose and washed in the river, and realised that +I was bent, and grey. Then I knew that the fault had been mine; his +unwilling lips had given me age, and taken my youth for ever."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i035.jpg" width="500" height="583" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>They led her within the palace, and she was clothed and fed. Rowena +looked at her, and marvelled. In the worn, faded face she tried to trace +some of the beauty that had been Beryl's; but all in vain. Once they +were of the same years, but now Beryl was old and the Princess was in +the springtime of life.</p> + +<p>During the watches of the night the aged woman heard the wings of Time +sweeping through the silent village. Hurrying from the palace, she +stretched out her arms to him in mute entreaty.</p> + +<p>There was a tone of sorrow in his voice as he cried, "Too late—too +late; only Youth with its beacon-light of Hope can stay the flying feet +of Time!"</p> + +<p>Morning came in the full glory of the risen sun, but the Village of +Youth was no more. It was as a dream that had passed. Again old age +gossiped in the streets and sat serene at its board of council. The King +bowed his head, and accepted his punishment with a dignified humility. +In the autumn of his life he found joy his youth had never known. He +became wise in judgment, patient in sorrow,<!-- Page 30 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> and was beloved by all his +subjects. In latter years his kingdom grew large and prosperous, and it +was no longer known as the Village of Youth, but was called the City of +Content.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 31 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i038.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"><a name="chap-II." title="A CHILD OF THE WINDS"></a> +<img src="images/i039.jpg" width="700" height="494" alt="A CHILD OF THE WINDS. Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears, By some cold morning glacier, Lord Tennyson" title="A CHILD OF THE WINDS" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>When Sorrow was a little child and the Sea yet nursed pale Grief on her +breast, there lived in a distant country a great and wise King. Renowned +for justice, he was both loved and revered by his subjects, and if God +had blessed him with a child to inherit his lands he could have died +without a regret. However, time passed, and it seemed that his wish was +to remain ungratified. Being a noble and sagacious man, he reconciled +himself to the will of his Creator; but his Queen still hoped against +hope. The King's time was fully occupied. Each day<!-- Page 32 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> brought its +different tasks. There was much state business to be discussed in +council, and the administration of justice made great demands on the +monarch's leisure. His spouse, on the other hand, had little to do, +excepting to tend her flowers and to ply her needle. She took to +brooding and wishing impiously for what God evidently did not intend she +should have. Unknown to the King, she visited all the magicians in his +realm, and sought their help to aid her in the fulfilment of her wish; +but in vain.</p> + +<p>When very much depressed, it was the Queen's habit to wander by the sea +and speak her thoughts aloud. One day, feeling more wretched than she +had ever done before, she left the palace secretly, and walked some +miles along the coast, unburdening her mind as she went.</p> + +<p>It was late autumn. The approaching death of the year struck her majesty +painfully. The ocean was a dull green under the heavy sky. She turned, +and looked at the silver spires of the palace which lay in the distance. +"Ah! what a difference it would have made in our dear home," she said, +"had we been blessed with a child." She clasped her hands in a frenzy of +desire. It seemed to her agitated mind that the sea too was perturbed, +that its rippling waves kissed her sandalled feet lovingly. At<!-- Page 35 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span><!-- Page 34 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span><!-- Page 33 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +length, tired with her walk, she lay down and wept herself to sleep.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i041.jpg" width="500" height="622" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>When she awoke it was evening. The woodlands and mountains lay in deep +shadow.</p> + +<p>The Queen started up, scarcely remembering where she was. When she quite +realised her position she drew her hooded cloak more tightly around her, +and prepared to return home. She had scarcely made any progress, when +suddenly, a few feet from her, she observed in the sea a face of +surpassing beauty. The hair lay floating on the waves like red weed; the +eyes were as green as emeralds, with a fierce tenderness in them. The +Queen stood transfixed with amazement, gazing at the woman's face. She +was uncertain what to do, whether to remain where she was, or whether to +fly homewards along the shore. The royal lady had been reared in the +simplest manner; she had been taught to distrust her imagination, so she +rubbed her eyes, expecting that when she looked again the vision would +have vanished. But she was mistaken; moreover, the apparition began to +address her in throbbing bursts of song.</p> + +<p>"Mortal, I am here to grant thy desire. I have heard thy plaints and +caught thy tears, and I have sorrowed for thee and tried to soothe thy +woe, for I too have known<!-- Page 36 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> bitterness and despair. I was once the love +of the North Wind. He wooed me amidst the ice-plains, in a world of +crystal glaciers. He chased me through space, until we lay panting on +the shores of Africa. But he has left me for the South Wind, with her +golden hair and her hot breath. They have made their home on a +mountain-top, where the snow-flowers bloom in profusion, where the sea +can never go. Four years since he came, bearing a child in his arms. He +laid it on my breast, saying that I was to keep it and rear it for his +sake. That child I will give to thee. She knows nothing of her +parentage, and it would be best that thou shouldst never tell her to +whom she owes her being."</p> + +<p>"But when the North Wind finds that thou hast parted with thy precious +charge what will he do?" panted the Queen.</p> + +<p>"He will storm and tear and lash my waves into mountains, and moan round +continent and island, and search my ocean from the North to the South +Pole. His spouse will scorch me with her breath till I am forced to dive +down to cool crystal caverns, where, upon a bed of seaweed, I shall +laugh loud and long, a conqueror."</p> + +<p>The Queen held her breath in terror. She would have liked to escape from +the fierce Sea, whose face wore a look<!-- Page 37 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> of wild triumph; but her anxiety +to see the Child of the Winds overcame her fear, and she waited +patiently, her hands clasped tightly together to quell her rising +agitation.</p> + +<p>By this time it was quite dark; the sky was starless, there was not a +breath of air. In her imagination the Queen seemed to see the Winds in +their mountain home, unconscious of the peril of their daughter. The Sea +had disappeared, and was so long absent that the Queen began to think +she had been dreaming, when suddenly, by invisible hands, a child was +placed in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Thou must call her Myra," said a voice, "for she hath known only +bitterness on the breast of her foster-mother."</p> + +<p>The Queen looked around, but saw no one. Pressing the burden to her +heart, she started homewards. She dared not look at the little one; but +she felt the tiny arms clasped confidingly round her neck, and the sweet +mouth pressed against her cheek gave her more happiness than she had +ever known.</p> + +<p>The Sea followed her, washing the shore with phosphorescent waves to +light her steps homewards. The royal lady flew along with the agility of +early youth, and the burden in her arms was made light by love.</p> + +<p>At length the marble steps were reached. She hurried up them and through +the golden gates—along winding<!-- Page 38 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> passages and across alabaster halls, +until at length, breathless and trembling with excitement, she burst +into the King's apartments, where she placed Myra in the arms of her +amazed and happy husband.</p> + +<p>Cognisant of his just and upright nature, she did not tell him of the +child's parentage, knowing that he would have been the first to restore +it to its rightful owners. She said that she had found the little +creature on the shore, and that fearing it would be drowned by the +incoming tide, she had borne it to the palace, hoping that, should it be +unclaimed, her royal lord would, in pity of her loneliness, and in +consideration of their desire for a daughter, allow her to keep and rear +it as their own.</p> + +<p>Long into the night they sat, admiring the lovely waif.</p> + +<p>"She must be royally born, my love," said the King. "Washed overboard, +perhaps, from some regal ship. Be sure she will be claimed of thee."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Myra awoke, and the Queen set her on her feet, that they might +the better observe her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="500" height="605" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>She was about four years old. Heavy black hair fell around her face, +which was lit with wild, pale eyes. Her small seamless garment was +embroidered with pearls and shells, and through its transparent folds +the little body looked like a blush rose with the dew upon it. The +Queen,<!-- Page 41 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><!-- Page 40 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span><!-- Page 39 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> in an ecstasy of happiness, drew Myra's hands within her own +and kissed them; her heart went out in motherly tenderness to the poor +babe, hitherto unkissed by mortal lips, though born of the Winds and +rocked by the Sea. Yet, as she gazed into the child's sorrowful face, a +strange fear smote her, and she almost wished that she had left the +eerie creature in its salt sea home, or that she had told her husband +the story of its birth. Still, she could not go back now.</p> + +<p>In the night a great storm arose. The Queen lay trembling in her +chamber. Myra's powerful father had learned of the loss of his daughter. +He lashed the Sea from Pole to Pole; it thundered on the shore, and +burst into wild shrieks of triumph. The night was long and tempestuous; +whole towns were destroyed, and many ships were sunk; but towards +morning the North Wind subsided into low wails of pain, which were +answered by the languorous sighs of the South, as they returned to their +mountain home sad and desolate, while in a marble palace a Queen awoke +pressing their child to her breast. She had taken the weird sea-tossed +thing to her heart, for weal or woe.<!-- Page 42 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>Myra's first years in her new home were trying ones to her +foster-parents. Nothing in the palace seemed to please her. Not that she +ever in any way testified her dislike of anybody or anything; but there +was a wistful look in her face, and she had a listless way of sitting +for hours on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands +supporting her chin. Asked what she thought about at these times her +reply was an odd one, and always gave the Queen a creepy feeling. "I am +not thinking; I am only seeing things," she would say.</p> + +<p>A spacious nursery had been built for the child's use in the grounds of +the palace. It had a walled-in garden of its own, in which there were +flowers, fruit trees, soft lawns, and sparkling fountains. All the +toy-makers in the kingdom had been employed to furnish the nursery with +ingenious inventions. There were dolls by the hundred, tea and dinner +services, farmyards, woolly animals, games innumerable, everything that +the heart of the most petted child could desire; yet Myra took no +pleasure in them. The only playthings she appeared to care for were a +collection of shells, which had been gathered for her on the beach<!-- Page 43 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> and +pierced with holes; these she would string and re-string for hours.</p> + +<p>Time passed, and Myra grew into a lovely woman. The King was exceedingly +proud of her, and he made her heiress to his crown and estates. One +thing alone troubled him deeply. Myra would not consent to marry any of +the great nobles who had frequented his court. All the high-born princes +of his realm had wooed her in vain, and many others from distant lands +had failed to please her. The King had often heard of princesses who set +so high a value on themselves that they did not think any man good +enough for them in the light of a husband, but Myra was not proud. She +was of a very gentle nature, and he could not believe that she was +cold-hearted; yet she appeared to be so, for none of her noble lovers +could boast the smallest word of encouragement from her sweet lips. She +moved through the palace, a slim, dark beauty, in her pale draperies, +her hair half hidden beneath her jewelled head-dress, her face, though +calm and serene, still lit by the strange, wistful eyes which had so +struck the Queen on that night seventeen years ago when the Winds had +lost their daughter.</p> + +<p>As she grew to womanhood Myra delighted in her garden. She often sat +there most of the day, reading or<!-- Page 44 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> sewing or talking with the flowers. +It amused the Princess to find that, from simple daisy to proud +tiger-lily, they were all in love. With one exception.</p> + +<p>Near the wall there grew a purple Hollyhock or Rose-Mallow. The Princess +preferred to call him by his latter name, because it seemed to her the +grander and also the more euphonious of the two. He, of all the flowers +in the enclosure, was her favourite, and he alone had not yet found a +lady upon whom to bestow his affections.</p> + +<p>Myra always attended upon the garden herself. She cut off the dead +blossoms, raked the soil with a golden rake, and gave the plants water +out of a golden pitcher when the heat of the sun had been oppressive. +Therefore, she participated in all their secrets. She knew that, +although the Rose-Mallow was not in love with any inmate of the garden, +there was an humble Violet which grew at his feet, in whose eyes he was +the rarest and most lovely flower in the world. It amused Myra to see +the Violet peep from its green leaves at the stately Mallow, and then, +if he chanced to be looking, which, of course, was just what the Violet +wanted, she would hide herself, in a strange tremor of excitement.</p> + +<p>"I feel so happy, and yet so miserable, to-day," said the Rose-Mallow to +the Princess one morning. "Last night,<!-- Page 45 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> when all the others were asleep, +I heard, from over the wall, a sweet voice singing a hymn to Night. I +asked the Poplar who it was, and he said it was the Evening Primrose; +that there were none of her race in our garden, and that she was more +beautiful than daylight."</p> + +<p>"And why should that knowledge distress thee?" asked the Princess, +sitting down at his feet.</p> + +<p>"Because I love her. Her voice is music. I am pining to see her."</p> + +<p>He trembled as he spoke. The Princess rose, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is a strange garden," she said. "I did think my Rose-Mallow +was sensible. What is it," she cried aloud, "what is this Love, for +which all Nature pines?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer; but the sun shot down a handful of golden sunbeams +upon her face, which dazzled her and made her laugh again.</p> + +<p>"Ah! thou wilt know ere long," said the Rose-Mallow, much hurt at her +want of sympathy. "Do not think, Princess, that the most beautiful of +women will be allowed to go unscathed."</p> + +<p>Myra threw her arms around him, to make up for her unfeeling remarks, +and then in soft tones advised him to climb the wall and look over at +his lady-love.<!-- Page 46 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But it will take so long, and be so hard!" he replied.</p> + +<p>"Still, thy reward may be great, sweet flower. Look higher than the +homely flowers of thy home, for the blossom beyond the walls may be far +more rare, and may outshine them all."</p> + +<p>So the Rose-Mallow prepared to follow the Princess's advice, and to +leave the lilies, and lupins, and all the sweets of the garden behind +him.</p> + +<p>As Myra turned to go, she noticed that the Violet had drooped and lay +panting. She hurried to fetch it some water, for which it returned her +modest thanks. She wondered what ailed it to faint in the cool of the +morning, when the earth was yet damp with early rain. Then it struck her +that the Violet's love for the Rose-Mallow would be of no use if he +found the Evening Primrose. "And I suppose that would make her unhappy," +she said aloud, as she plucked a bunch of heartsease and placed it in +her dress, the wonder in her eyes deepening into an expression of grave, +severe thoughtfulness.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>Protected by a hedge of myrtle, in the heart of a mighty forest, Love +had fashioned his bower. His couch was strewn with honey-flowers and +rose-leaves. Stately red<!-- Page 47 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> chrysanthemums made splashes of crimson +brilliance against the dark green of the scented myrtle. Pink +carnations, roses of every hue, sweetbriar, ambrosia, balsams, +forget-me-nots, and every flower sacred to the great god, Love, grew in +profusion, to make his bower into a resting-place worthy of him.</p> + +<p>He lay tossing on his fragrant couch in a fit of anger. For some time +Princess Myra's disdain of all the great princes and nobles whom he had +sent to woo her had offended him deeply. But on this particular +afternoon his messengers had informed him of the maiden's morning +interview with the Rose-Mallow, and of the question she had asked with +regard to himself. Unable to forget the Princess's impertinence, he lay +brooding and fretting, until the position of the sun warned him that the +day was passing away.</p> + +<p>"What is this Love for which the whole earth pines?" he murmured, as he +bounded from his couch into a cluster of forget-me-nots. "Ah! I will +teach thee. Thou shalt learn, ere the day is dead, what Love is. In the +semblance of an earthly prince, I will woo thee myself. I will adore +thee, sweet Myra, gaze into thine eyes, and pretend that there is only +one woman in all the world for me. I will do as men do—pet thee, and +coax thee, and win thy<!-- Page 48 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> affections by the thousand little nothings that +make up a courtship. When I have conquered thee, and thy heart is mine, +I will break it and trample it under foot, and leave thee all thy life a +remembrance of the power of Love. Thou shalt never hear sweet music, but +a desperate longing for my presence shall come over thee. Thou shalt +never see a rose, but thy heart shall bleed. The sight of a lark, +winging his morning flight heavenwards, shall draw tears to thy weary +eyes. Ah! woe betide the mortal maid when Eros is her lover!"</p> + +<p>"These," he said, choosing a hundred chrysanthemums, "shall be my +escort."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, the flowers were transformed into a hundred gallant +knights; their dresses were of crimson brocade, and on their heads were +caps of chrysanthemum petals. Then Love took up honey-flowers and +rose-leaves, and changed them into a suit of rich purple silk.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the King had been having a far from pleasant interview with +Her Majesty on the subject of their daughter.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, it is not my fault," the Queen had said. "I cannot help it if +our child's heart is still whole."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear love, thou never givest her any counsel. If thou wert to +tell her that it is meet she should marry<!-- Page 49 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> one of the many lords who +desire her I feel assured she would do thy will."</p> + +<p>The Queen burst into tears. Knowing the girl's parentage as she did, how +could she advise her to accept a mortal for her husband? Yet she dared +not tell the King of Myra's birth; she must always keep the hateful +secret to herself. Oh that she had chosen the straight path when the +choice had been hers!</p> + +<p>The King was distressed to see her weep. But just at that moment he +observed a small fleet with crimson sails flying up the river towards +the royal landing-stage.</p> + +<p>"Why, that must be another suitor for our daughter's hand!" he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>All the flowers remarked the pretty boats scudding along in the late +afternoon sunlight. The Rose-Mallow alone was too busily employed in +climbing the wall to observe what circumstance was disturbing the +flower-garden. The ladies of the palace, the lords and the pages, were +aware of the visit of the Prince long before he had landed. The +household was greatly agitated. Their Majesties hurried to the audience +chamber, to find the Court already assembled to receive the high-born +visitor. Myra alone was unconscious of the advent of another suitor. Had +she known of it, the fact would only have annoyed her<!-- Page 50 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> somewhat, and +made her eyes a trifle more wistful than they usually were.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the Queen entered the Princess's room trembling with +excitement.</p> + +<p>"My child, my child! thou must proceed at once to the audience chamber, +by the King's commands. A great Prince has come to woo thee."</p> + +<p>Myra was robed in a loose gown of fine linen, her dark hair hung upon +her shoulders, and a book which she had been reading lay open on her +knee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, let me clothe thee!" cried the Queen, assisting the girl to +her feet and hurrying her into the adjoining room, where, with nervous +fingers, she bound up the thick hair in embroidered bands of opals and +diamonds. Then, opening a cedar chest which stood at the end of the +apartment, she drew forth a dress, and was about to slip it over the +Princess's head, when Myra started back in amazement.</p> + +<p>"My royal Queen, I cannot wear that garment," she said. "Why, it cost +the King, my father, over a hundredweight in gold. I was warned to keep +it only for great occasions."</p> + +<p>"Foolish girl, is not thy betrothal a great occasion? Ah! I do not jest. +Pause until thou hast seen the youth who<!-- Page 51 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> awaits thee. He is handsome +beyond all men that even I, old as I am, have ever looked upon."</p> + +<p>The Princess was struck by the Queen's enthusiasm. She allowed herself +to be attired in the superb robe which had been a present from the King. +It was fashioned of rich silk, and had a design of lilies round the hem +and on the sleeves, each flower being worked with opals and diamonds. +Twenty maidens had been employed for twenty months embroidering the +costly pattern. In sunlight the fabric was pale sea-green, bordering on +silver-grey; but when the sky was dull there were faint purple tones in +its folds, like the soft bloom on the fruit of the plum-tree.</p> + +<p>When Myra entered the hall a murmur of admiration fell from the lips of +the assembly. She had never looked so lovely. She seemed to stand in a +halo of light; the opals on her dress reflected themselves in the +diamonds, making a haze of pale fantastic colour, strange as it was +beautiful. As she entered, the Prince was talking apart with the King; +so she had a moment in which to observe him before he knew of her +advent. He appeared to be a merry youth, with golden curls and blue eyes +that were full of mirth and the love of fun. He turned and saw her, and +fell on one knee and took her hand, lifting up<!-- Page 52 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> his face to hers. Then, +as he gazed upon her, the brightness and the mirth that had illuminated +his lovely countenance died away. She looked down to see his eyes filled +with a new meaning, a wondrous expression of mingled tenderness and pain +shadowed them. She looked down to see large tears furrowing his cheeks. +She looked down to love him!</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>IV.</b></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"And thou hast lived here all thy life?" he asked, desirous of changing +the subject.</p> + +<p>"All my life," she answered.<!-- Page 53 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 55 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p><!-- Page 54 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i061.jpg" width="500" height="587" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"And art thou quite happy?"</p> + +<p>"Good sir, I thought I was; I never wished to change my lot until +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I have heard of thy dislike of the many suitors who sought thy +hand."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Until to-day!" reiterated the Prince, gazing at her with eyes +indescribably tender and yearning.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, sweet Princess! I know all that thou dost feel; I feel all that +thou wouldst say."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Dear one, we must part now," said the Prince, as they<!-- Page 56 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> paused before +the palace gates. "But ere thou goest, tell me, wouldst thou be very +unhappy if I never came to thee again?"</p> + +<p>A cold fear entered the Princess's heart.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It is fate," he murmured, as he held her in his arms and soothed away +her pain with tender words.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."<!-- Page 57 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"It is an Æolian harp," said the Queen, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"An Æolian harp! I have never seen one. Methinks it must be a sweet +instrument."</p> + +<p>The Queen sighed heavily. She feared that her sin against truth would +overtake her at last.</p> + +<p>Myra found the Prince and his attendants engaged in fixing the wind harp +outside her casement.</p> + +<p>"There," he said, as he bent his knee and saluted her hand, "when I am +away this will discourse to thee of love."</p> + +<p>"But why place it outside the casement, good my lord? I cannot learn to +play upon it there."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"The Wind!" exclaimed the Princess. "Hast ever seen the Wind?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, and romped with him and flown with him over sea and earth."</p> + +<p>"Ah! now thou art pleased to be merry, as thou wert<!-- Page 58 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> 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?"</p> + +<p>"Dear one, I am not sad when I have thy companionship. It is only the +thought of losing thee that shadows my face."</p> + +<p>So they passed out of the chamber into the garden.</p> + +<p>Thus the time wore away. Summer began to wane. The nights grew longer +and the days more brief.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But he will not marry thee!" the King muttered.</p> + +<p>"There, again, thou art mistaken, my lord. He will marry me to-day—at +once, so thou stand pleased withal!"<!-- Page 59 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bring him before us, then, and let us hear his vow."</p> + +<p>Myra made a deep obeisance, and left the King's closet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"To-day, most powerful sovereign! Is not to-day somewhat soon? Methinks +it were not well to hurry the Princess."</p> + +<p>"Our child hath given her consent, noble sir. Hast thou not, my +daughter?"</p> + +<p>"An' it please my dear lord, I have," was the low reply.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence in the chamber. Every eye was fixed on Myra's +lover. He stood gazing on the beautiful<!-- Page 60 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> face of her whom he +worshipped—a gloomy figure in his purple garments, his eyes full of +infinite sorrow.</p> + +<p>"It seemeth that the Prince hesitateth," said the King, in a threatening +voice.</p> + +<p>Myra left the Queen, and with bent head approached her love.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Fair lady, nothing could change my love, nor hath any trouble befallen +me; and yet, our marriage ceremony cannot be solemnised to-day."</p> + +<p>"Then to-morrow, good sir," said the King, "or the week after?"</p> + +<p>"Your Majesty, the daughters of earth will never see the celebration of +our nuptials."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he murmured, "forgive me, in that I shall suffer +eternally, whilst thy pain will end in the grave.<!-- Page 61 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Farewell, dear one; +would I were mortal for thy sake. Love bids thee farewell."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>V.</b></p> + +<p>Myra wandered about the precincts of her home like one distraught with +sorrow. The sun of her life had gone out, and left all dark and cold and +desolate. The flowers had lost their rare colours, and had clothed +themselves in sombre tints of red and purple. The river had lost its +merry voice, and went sobbing through the grounds. Many days passed, and +life became one long memory. With brooding and sorrowing over her lost +Love she grew pale and thin. Her eyes became wan and hollow, and misery +closed her lips.</p> + +<p>Some weeks after the Prince had disappeared she visited her garden. The +flowers had grown tall and straggling, the walks were weedy, the lawn +had lost its velvet softness,<!-- Page 62 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> and all was desolation. As she walked, +weeping, beside the once brilliant border, she saw the Rose-Mallow lying +half-dead across her path.</p> + +<p>"Alas, sweet flower! what aileth thee?" she said, lifting his head and +looking into his face.</p> + +<p>"My dear mistress, I am hurt to death," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Speak. Tell me thy sorrow."</p> + +<p>"I worked by day and by night to climb the wall of the garden, and after +much labour I reached the summit, just as the sun was setting. There I +saw the lady whose melodious voice had won my heart. Ah, fair Princess! +she was more beautiful than dawn or daylight. I gazed at her, and told +her that I loved her; but she would not even look at me; she spread +forth her pale blossoms with sweet pride. 'I love the Night alone, and +only raise my face to his,' she said. Then I drooped and drooped with +pain. I am indeed hurt to death," he moaned.</p> + +<p>She threw her arms around him, while her tears fell on his poor faded +leaves; and when the moon had risen her favourite lay dead in the once +happy garden.</p> + +<p>The Princess fetched her golden spade, and dug his grave where he had +lived. Then she bent down and plucked a little cluster of flowers from +the Violet whose love had been<!-- Page 63 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> wasted, to place upon the earth above +his resting-place; and from each blossom a tear-drop flowed from the +Violet's heart.</p> + +<p>"Ah! if I had not advised him to seek his love away from those with whom +his life had been passed," moaned Myra. "He could have cared for one of +the flowers in the garden before he saw the Evening Primrose; his life +was spoilt through my counsel, and ended in pain. And, oh! that I had +been as other women, and had taken a knight of my father's court for +husband. If only I had put up with little imperfections, then this +trouble had not come upon me. But now life is over, and I can never know +happiness again."</p> + +<p>That night Fate told the North Wind the story of his child. On his +mountain home he learned of the Queen's treachery, of Myra's early life, +and of Love's hateful blunder.</p> + +<p>Spreading his powerful wings, by Fate's command, he flew earthwards, to +bear his daughter to the halls of that dread arbiter of destiny. He was +oppressed with sorrow. The snow-flowers hid their heads as he rushed, +sobbing, down the mountain; the earth shook at his voice as he shrieked +through village and valley; the dead leaves sighed as he scattered them +in thousands before him. But when<!-- Page 64 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> he gained the palace gardens and +approached his daughter's window his fierce sorrow abated, and he +touched the strings of her harp with gentle fingers. The first strains +were more like the voice of the South Wind than that of the wilder +North. Then followed long wailing strains of melody, as of a soul in +distress.</p> + +<p>Myra, sitting brooding on her misery, became strangely roused, as she +heard the weird instrument played upon by a master hand. Often the sad +music seemed to be the voice of her lover; then the tones softened to a +sigh; it was the Rose-Mallow's dying sob.</p> + +<p>An overmastering wish seized her to open the casement. She must admit +those pleading tones, or her heart would break. Unable to quell the +desire, she threw wide the window.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i073.jpg" width="500" height="673" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>There stood a tall, winged man. His shaggy hair was heavy and black, his +face was gaunt and wild. He was sweeping the harp-strings with long, +bony fingers. Strange and uncouth and terrible as he looked, there was +such strength about the great figure, such power in the face, that the +Princess, though terror-stricken, was drawn towards him. And when he saw +her leaning from her casement, so gentle an expression crossed his worn +visage, that her fear of him departed instantly, and she said:<!-- Page 67 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span><!-- Page 66 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span><!-- Page 65 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I know thee, great master. Thou art the Wind, and thou hast met my +Love. Ah, in mercy take me to him!"</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou not be afraid to entrust thyself to my arms?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Good sir, carry me all over the earth, through frozen worlds of endless +ice, so thou layest me at my lord's feet at last, and I shall not know a +moment's fear. I love him!" she said simply.</p> + +<p>The Wind clasped her in his arms and flew away, lulling her to sleep as +he went.</p> + +<p>When the Princess awoke she was standing in a gloomy cavern. The walls +were of black onyx. A stream of crystal water ran gurgling at her feet.</p> + +<p>When her eyes became more accustomed to the haze and dimness of the +place, she saw a sight which made her wish to shriek aloud; but her +voice seemed to have gone, and she stood powerless and terror-stricken. +As she gazed a light seemed to break upon her mind.</p> + +<p>Fate, robed in lowering mists, sat gazing into a divining glass, with +keen, prophetic eyes; with her right hand she held Love in strong and +terrible grasp. In the crouching, penitent figure, Myra recognised, with +bursting heart, that her Prince and Love were one. Then she became +conscious<!-- Page 68 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> of the deep voice of Fate ringing through the gloom in +threatening tones.</p> + +<p>"Thou didst think thou couldst play with her affections as thou dost +with those of a mortal maid, couldst win her love and break her heart by +thy desertion! But, trickster as thou art, in thine own net art thou +caught. See, where each tear she lets fall, a lily springs."</p> + +<p>Myra's eyes followed Fate's pointing finger. Love looked up and saw the +Princess standing in a cluster of white lilies.</p> + +<p>"Know that she is a spirit, immortal as thyself; a child of the Winds, +nursed on the salt Sea's breast. Therefore, as thou only canst feel +punishment in her agony, she shall be called Grief. Henceforth, in all +Love there shall be much of bitterness. Parting from the thing loved +shall be the keenest pang of human pain. She shall visit her +foster-parents but once again, and mingle her sobs with theirs. She +shall pursue thee through the ages, and fear of her coming shall lessen +thy rapture. Disappointment, despair, and misery, shall walk in her +train. Man shall weep tears of blood in that thou hast created Grief!"</p> + +<p>Love shrieked aloud in pain, and flinging aside the cruel hand of Fate, +threw his arms about the shrinking girl. They stood in the misty gloom +together, his brilliant form<!-- Page 71 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><!-- Page 70 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><!-- Page 69 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> regained its strength. Grief lifted her +brimming eyes to his and caught their power.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i077.jpg" width="500" height="548" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>A great wave of tenderness broke over the mournful face of Fate; her +calm glance rested prophetically on the two figures as she addressed +them for the last time.</p> + +<p>"But her love of thee shall endure until the Lilies of Grief are lost in +the Roses of Love; for Love shall be king of Grief, and of Time, and of +Eternity."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i079.jpg" width="700" height="336" alt="UNTIL THE LILIES OF GRIEF ARE LOST IN THE ROSES OF LOVE" title="UNTIL THE LILIES OF GRIEF ARE LOST IN THE ROSES OF LOVE" /> +<!-- Page 72 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><span class="caption">UNTIL THE LILIES OF GRIEF ARE LOST IN THE ROSES OF LOVE</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"><a name="chap-III." title="The Flower that reached the Sun-lands"></a> +<img src="images/i080.jpg" width="700" height="463" alt="The Flower that reached the Sun-lands. No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been. Adelaide Procter" title="The Flower that reached the Sun-lands" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>Though only a miserable little waif, born in sorrow and nurtured in +poverty, George Ermen had resolved to be a great man.</p> + +<p>He earned six shillings a week at sorting rags and paper, adding +frequently to this a smaller sum gained by cleaning pots at a +public-house. It was a miserable pittance. He and his mother could +hardly be said to live upon it, they only existed; and they found this +still more difficult when George's father, a lazy, ne'er-do-well, came +to visit them.</p> + +<p>The boy and his mother dwelt in a garret in Paradise Court. It was a +bare, miserable room, its only furniture an old iron bedstead, a rickety +table, and two chairs. Open<!-- Page 73 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>ing out of the attic was a tiny chamber with +a mattress in one corner, on which George slept. He had no bed-clothes, +and was in the habit of covering himself with papers during the chill +winter nights.</p> + +<p>On the wall hung a small plaster crucifix. A sprig of box was thrust +through the ring by which the cross was suspended. The window looked out +upon a wilderness of chimneys and grimy tenement houses.</p> + +<p>It seemed to George that God had been very good to him, although he was +poor and ragged and half starved, for besides his old mother, whom he +loved above everything, he had three good friends—Father Francis, the +Roman Catholic priest; Miss Brand, who was devoting both time and money +to the suffering poor in the district; and Maggie Reed, his little +sweetheart, who was as poverty-stricken and as tattered as himself.</p> + +<p>George sang in the choir at the church. He possessed a beautiful voice, +and the priest felt sure that were it possible to procure him an +efficient musical training he would have a future. But it seemed rash to +even hope for a chance for the boy among the squalor and misery and sin +which surrounded the poor. Father Francis, however, did not lose heart, +because he was a good man, believing in God, and feeling convinced that +He would stretch forth His<!-- Page 74 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> hand to the waif and help him in His own +good time. The lad himself was even more hopeful than the priest, +because he was young, and had resolved that death alone should prevent +the fulfilment of his vow.</p> + +<p>Not that poor George Ermen had much idea of what the term "a great man" +meant, excepting that they usually dressed in frock coats, wore gaiters +over their boots, and drove about in a carriage, all of which seemed +very pleasant and most desirable to the bare-footed waif.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, he was frequently pondering over very material things +when he sang his best and when his eyes seemed most dreamy.</p> + +<p>"What were you a-thinking of this mornin' in church when you was singin' +the <i>Ave Maria</i>?" his mother had once inquired.</p> + +<p>"Why, didn't I sing it well?" he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yaas, better than ever before, and yer faice looked loike an angel's."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was promisin' God that if ever I got rich enough to ride about +in a carriage like the lords do that come and lay foundation stones and +opens schools and things, I'd invite all the little children what's so +miserable to tea and muffins."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ermen smiled sadly. She had no belief in her son<!-- Page 75 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> ever rising to be +anything better than a wretched waif, fated to live and die in Paradise +Court. But as long as he was honest, and brave, and true to his friends, +she must not complain. She was content, almost happy indeed, when she +looked around her and saw boys of George's age swearing and fighting and +drinking, while George was sober, well behaved, and industrious.</p> + +<p>Maggie Reed knew in her young soul that George would surely live to be a +great man, and often when they roamed about the weary streets together, +she would cheer him with her childish confidence.</p> + +<p>"We'll live on 'Ampstead 'Eath, George, when you're rich and we're +married, at one of them big 'ouses by the pond, and we'll 'ave donkey +rides and bicycles and things."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," George would answer.</p> + +<p>By the advice of Father Francis they often spent hours in the parks and +squares, where the air was sweeter than that of Paradise Court; but +frequently George's little sweetheart grew so tired that he had to carry +her on his back most of the way home again.</p> + +<p>It was a cold day in early spring. Mrs. Ermen sat shivering in a corner +of their garret, when her boy bounded into the room carrying a geranium +in a pot.<!-- Page 76 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother, mother," he cried in wild excitement, "Miss Brand is gettin' up +a geranium show! It's ter come off in July. Four hundred plants have +been given out to the children this morning. They are to keep them, +water them, attend to them, make them grow and flower, and when the day +comes round for the show the plants must be taken to the schoolroom, and +the best will get a prize."</p> + +<p>"Who is ter judge?" asked Mrs. Ermen, catching George's excitement.</p> + +<p>"A lord!"</p> + +<p>"A lord?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, one of them that wears gaiters over their boots. And I am going to +win the first prize!" he added firmly, his sharp face wearing an +expression of happy anticipation.</p> + +<p>"I 'ope you will, my dear," she answered, kissing him, and breathing a +prayer from her poor ignorant soul for the good woman whose unselfish +devotion had brought that look into her boy's face.</p> + +<p>Time passed, and the bitter, easterly winds proved to be more than Mrs. +Ermen could bear. She became too weak to rise, and when George grew +alarmed she tried to comfort him by saying that she felt warmer in bed; +and when June came she should be about again, and he must not distress +himself for her sake.<!-- Page 77 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Supposing she should die! Men and women died frequently in Paradise +Court. Their bodies were carried out of the squalid dwellings and +rattled over the streets to the crowded burial ground. The thought smote +him painfully, and made a burning flush mount to his face. She must not +die! What would riches and greatness mean to him unless she were there +to share in his good fortune?</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>The geranium was not at all happy in her new quarters. Although George +attended to her wants most carefully she still thought with bitter +regret of the greenhouse where she had been reared, and of the old +gardener who had ministered to her. Here on the window sill of George's +attic thousands of smuts settled daily upon her leaves, and the air was +heavy. So great was her discomfort that she would have most certainly +ceased to live had not a sunbeam lost his way among the narrow courts of +the city, and while darting in and out of the grimy streets in his +endeavours to find the sun, espied the unhappy flower. He immediately +climbed up his golden ladder, and rested among the broad green leaves, +much to her delight.</p> + +<p>She confided her pitiful history to this new-found friend,<!-- Page 78 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> who was so +kind and sympathetic that the geranium grew warm and happy. Presently +the sun shone out in the murky sky, and immediately the sunbeam glided +along his golden thread and rejoined his parent. He did not, however, +forsake the plant which had sheltered him, but frequently visited her, +so that she forgot her struggle for life, and grew into a fine healthy +geranium, much to the delight of her young master.</p> + +<p>As time passed George began to realise that his mother would never rise +from her bed again. Father Francis had gently told him that there was +little hope of her recovery, and that when the great blow fell upon him +he must reconcile himself to the will of the Almighty.</p> + +<p>The poor waif suffered many hours of agony alone in his garret. Kneeling +before the crucifix, he would beg God to spare the one thing he loved in +all the world.</p> + +<p>"I have so few comforts, dear Lord," he would say, "no clothes, little +food; I can stand want if only you will not take her away." But when he +was tired out with pain, he would raise his lips to the pierced feet, +and kissing them, murmur, "Thy will be done."</p> + +<p>His imagination had so often realised the picture that one morning, on +finding his mother dead in her bed, he was hardly shocked.<!-- Page 79 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>The doctor said that death had resulted from syncope, accelerated by +want of nourishment and neglect.</p> + +<p>So the waif was left alone. His bright look departed. The wish for +greatness was forgotten in his sorrow, and even his little sweetheart +failed to comfort him.</p> + +<p>On hearing of George's sad plight his father returned to live with him. +The boy's saddened face touched Ermen's hard heart, and for a time the +son's misery was alleviated by his parent's kindness. His father was +decently dressed, and evidently had a little money, for food was more +plentiful in the garret than it had ever been during George's +remembrance.</p> + +<p>Thanks to the sunbeam's care, the geranium continued to thrive +marvellously, and as show day drew near she approached her prime.</p> + +<p>Miss Brand gave George a clean collar and a decent jacket, and Father +Francis bought him his first pair of shoes for the great occasion.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the distribution he was up at five o'clock, for at +that early hour he had been told to take his geranium to the schoolroom, +and enter it for the competition.</p> + +<p>Very gently he watered the leaves, taking care that not a drop should +fall upon one of the five brilliant blossoms. As he stood admiring the +plant he was surprised to hear foot<!-- Page 80 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>steps in the adjoining room. His +father had been away some days. He thought he must have returned earlier +than he had expected. He therefore hurried to the door, and opened it, a +joyful expression on his face. But it was the landlady, who stood there +holding a dirty-looking letter in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, sonnie, your father's been took ter gaol. 'E was on 'is way +'ome when the perlice took 'im in charge for that big jewel robbery at +Manchester. 'E's wrote me this letter," she said, pausing to unfold the +dirty piece of paper, while George stood pale to the lips with terror.</p> + +<p>"'E sends you this message: 'Tell my son not ter grieve for me. It's all +quite true what they says against me. I am a scamp, and always have +been.'"</p> + +<p>"'E'll get a lifer, that's a certainty," she observed to the lodgers +downstairs when she had left the horror-stricken boy alone.</p> + +<p>George couldn't weep at this last blow. He had not shed a tear since his +mother's death. The agony in his heart was therefore all the more +unbearable. He clenched his hands in pain.</p> + +<p>Hours passed, the bitterest he had ever spent. Whatever suffering the +future held for him he never experienced such anguish again.<!-- Page 81 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last he raised his head. His face was white, his eyes were heavy and +dull.</p> + +<p>"Everything is against me," he moaned. "My mother's dead; my father, who +had become so kind, taken and thrown into gaol. Why should I suffer +hunger and cold and disgrace and beggary? Other boys, through no merit +of theirs, are born rich. Why wasn't I a lord's son instead of a waif of +the streets? Why should my mother die of neglect, when others have all +they need? Oh! I'll ask God to kill me; death ain't so very terrible. +I've seen lots of boys of my age fished out of the river. It's only a +few moments' pain, and Jesus wouldn't be 'ard on a little chap what's +ben drove to it."</p> + +<p>The geranium trembled with fear as she heard the boy's wild words. She +spread out her blossoms and endeavoured to attract his attention.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the garret was brilliantly illuminated. The sunbeam had glided +down his golden ladder, and stood on the window sill.</p> + +<p>George was amazed. He must be dreaming! What was this beautiful tiny +creature enveloped in a haze of glory?</p> + +<p>"The angels are sad when you despair, little boy. Gather your energies. +Receive your prize! You are ungrateful to the flower which has grown +into so beautiful a plant for<!-- Page 82 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> your sake. You are ungrateful to your God +thus to abandon hope when you possess one of His greatest gifts."</p> + +<p>"What gift?"</p> + +<p>"Youth, a magic watchword that can open the enchanted gates in the land +of genius."</p> + +<p>"Genius?" said the boy wonderingly. "I have never heard of it."</p> + +<p>"Live your life. Lose not a moment. At your years time flies. Be a great +and a good man. Persevere. Out of the mire of this wilderness a golden +flower shall rear its head, and grow in beauty day by day. It may even +reach the Sun-lands."</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>The schoolroom looked like a little paradise to the poor waifs assembled +there. Many flags hung from the roof, and festoons of evergreens +decorated the walls. A raised platform was covered with scarlet cloth. +On this were many well-dressed ladies, the seat of honour being filled +by Lord Eltonville, who had consented to distribute the prizes. The +geraniums were displayed around the room. Some amongst them were frail +and sickly looking,—they had not been able to thrive in their squalid +and sunless abodes,—others<!-- Page 85 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span><!-- Page 84 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span><!-- Page 83 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> appeared more promising, and a few +amongst the number had grown strong and handsome.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i091.jpg" width="500" height="597" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Of the four hundred plant cuttings thirty alone had not been returned +for competition.</p> + +<p>At one side of the platform was a table upon which the prizes were +arranged. They consisted of workboxes, paints, tops, knives, drums, +books, blotters, aprons, pencils, etc.</p> + +<p>Miss Brand, much distressed at the news of Ermen's arrest, and at his +son's nonappearance, had told the story to some of the visitors, and a +great deal of interest and sympathy were excited in his favour.</p> + +<p>Father Francis had just uncovered the prizes. The crowd of children +pushed and scrambled to get a look at the good things; but at a word +from their lady chief even the most turbulent grew quiet.</p> + +<p>Some lovely countenances were discernible among the little gathering. +Under ordinary circumstances they would hardly have been noticed for the +dirt and grime which covered them; but this was a gala day, and, thanks +to Miss Brand's kind care, each child's face and hands had been washed, +and their white collars lent an air of cleanliness even to the most +ragged and worn dress.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a stir in the room. A boy was<!-- Page 86 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> seen advancing through +the crowd holding a magnificent geranium in his arms.</p> + +<p>Father Francis welcomed George in a quiet, kindly way. His plant was +placed upon the platform for inspection, and it was universally agreed +that had it been in time for the competition George would have taken the +first prize.</p> + +<p>Grieved that her little friend should be too late, Miss Brand hastily +unfastened a silver compass from her watch chain and gave it to Lord +Eltonville, to whom she said a few private words.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere was stifling, and George was faint for want of food. Many +of the children's mothers were present holding infants in their arms. +Their worn, anxious faces beamed with delight as Lord Eltonville rose to +distribute the prizes.</p> + +<p>"George Ermen, in consideration of your misfortune, Miss Brand wishes to +overlook the fact that your geranium was not entered for the competition +this morning. I have, therefore, the great pleasure of awarding you a +special extra prize, the presentation of which shall have precedence in +our day's business."</p> + +<p>George walked to the platform and received the pretty silver compass, a +flush of pride and delight colouring his pale cheek.<!-- Page 87 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let me advise you to cultivate smilax round your window," added his +lordship, doubtless thinking of his magnificent greenhouses, and little +realising the misery and squalor in which the waifs of the great city +dwelt.</p> + +<p>"Smilax!" murmured George wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is a beautiful creeper, and ought to grow nicely round your +window and make you quite a little bower."</p> + +<p>The excitement of the children could no longer be curbed. Miss Brand was +heartily glad when the distribution was over, and she could see the poor +waifs happy with their little presents. It would be difficult to +describe their joy. Many of their number had never possessed anything +before. To have a book, a doll, a top, a pencil—something that was +their very own—seemed like a delightful dream.</p> + +<p>Father Francis had resolved to strike a blow for his <i>protégé</i> before +the day was over. Just as Lord Eltonville was preparing to depart, he +told him that there was a little chorister among his flock who had a +lovely voice, and that if his lordship would oblige him by staying +through the short prayer with which they were about to end the day's +pleasure he would hear the boy sing.</p> + +<p>The nobleman graciously complied, and stood, hat in hand, while the +priest said a Paternoster and three Aves, the<!-- Page 88 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> children joining in +fervently. Then Father Francis rose and sat at the harmonium. His +lordship watched George take his place beside his spiritual director. He +noticed the lad's pale, worn face, his ragged clothes, and his air of +utter helplessness, and felt sorry that the good priest should have +prevailed upon him to stay and witness the poor little fellow's failure.</p> + +<p>There was not a sound in the schoolroom. The grand ladies held their +breath in pity. Miss Brand looked anxious. The children longed for the +success of their gentle comrade, and Maggie's heart beat with suppressed +excitement.</p> + +<p>"<i>Te Deum Laudamus, te Dominum confitemur.</i>"</p> + +<p>The voice seemed to pierce the heavens, so fresh and pure was its tone. +Lord Eltonville's heart stood still. The waif's face had changed with +those first words of praise; it had become illuminated with a great +light, his insignificant little figure had gained a king's dignity.</p> + +<p>"<i>Te æternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur.</i>"</p> + +<p>Lord Eltonville's imagination was fired by the music. He seemed to be in +a little church of his own that was full of the perfume of incense. The +low of distant oxen and the ripple of the river came through the open +window. His only son, who died at about George's age, lay buried in the +churchyard; the small grave was yellow with early<!-- Page 89 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> primroses. He, too, +had an angel's voice, stilled for ever excepting in his father's memory.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tu Rex gloriæ, Christe.</i>"</p> + +<p>Tears fell from the nobleman's eyes. Nor song of lark, nor rustle of +waving grass, nor anything he had ever heard in all nature, had touched +him so deeply as the waif's rendering of that hymn of praise.</p> + +<p>As the last words died away Lord Eltonville stepped forward with +outstretched hand; but George's strength was exhausted, the flush died +away from his face, and he fell backwards into the priest's arms.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>IV.</b></p> + +<p>Time and circumstances change men, some for good and some for ill. It is +an acknowledged fact that success often spoils the best natures, +although to those on whom Fortune seldom smiles, this is hard to +realise.</p> + +<p>Thanks to Lord Eltonville's generosity and kind care, George Ermen had +become a great man. His wish had been gratified; he had earned money and +position.</p> + +<p>Twenty years had passed since the geranium show. The ragged waif of that +day had owned a sweet, loving nature, which seemed lost in the great +musician of St. James's.<!-- Page 90 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>His father had died in prison. His mother's memory had scarcely +survived. He never spoke of his early days, and looked upon them as a +disgrace. Miss Brand's name seldom occurred to him, Father Francis was +forgotten, and Maggie Reed languished in poverty.</p> + +<p>In a gorgeous mansion, replete with every luxury, the musician sat at +dinner with his young wife. The room was elegantly furnished; the walls +were hung with fine oil-paintings. The table was decorated with +hot-house flowers. Outside it was snowing, and the night was bitterly +cold.</p> + +<p>There was a great hush in the house. In the morning they had buried +their only child. She had lived a year, and the first snow of winter had +covered her grave.</p> + +<p>George Ermen's selfish heart had been deeply touched by the loss of the +little one, and somehow, when dinner was over, and he sat alone in his +study, the remembrance of his childhood came over him like a forgotten +strain of music.</p> + +<p>The snow, every now and then, fell hissing into the fire which blazed +upon the hearth.</p> + +<p>The musician sat down to the organ and sang a few snatches from his +Mass, which was to be given for the first time on Christmas Day.<!-- Page 91 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is a poor woman at the door, dear," said his wife, coming in +silently and standing near him, a pathetic figure in her black dress.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, I can't see anybody to-day," he answered, placing his arm +round her with unwonted gentleness.</p> + +<p>"Gordon tried to dismiss her, George; but she seemed so distressed, and +begged so hard to be allowed to speak with you, that he came to me, and +when I saw her——"</p> + +<p>"I understand, dear, I know your tender heart. If I gave in to you we +shouldn't have a penny in the world——"</p> + +<p>"We are so rich, George, we could give and give, and never feel it——"</p> + +<p>"Well, well, don't cry, Mary. What is the woman's name?"</p> + +<p>"Maggie Reed!"</p> + +<p>Maggie Reed. The little face seemed to rise up before him as an angel's +among the squalid surroundings of his childhood.</p> + +<p>"Let her come in, dear," he said, with a tenderness in his voice that +she had seldom heard of late.</p> + +<p>Presently Maggie stood before him, ragged and wet, her pale face worn +with want and suffering. She must have been about twenty-eight; but she +looked ten years older.<!-- Page 92 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Maggie!" he cried, taking her hand, and placing her in a chair.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ermen. I came ter ask yer somethin, not ter beg. Don't think I've +come ter beg. I want yer ter let Father Francis say yer Mass. 'E's seen +all about it in the papers, how it's ter be sung on Christmas Day. 'E's +an old man, and he would never ask yer 'imself, but 'e always thinks of +yer, and prays for yer."</p> + +<p>"And do you?" murmured George.</p> + +<p>What a low cur he had been to let this poor girl suffer all her life! +And his other humble friends, too, whom he had vowed never to forsake!</p> + +<p>"I hev' prayed for yer every night and morning since yer left us. I've +said, 'God bless him, and make him great.' Yer see, sir, women don't +forget."</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>V.</b></p> + +<p>It was Christmas Day. The church was filled with great and fashionable +people. Among the gorgeous crowd were to be seen Miss Brand and Maggie +Reed, the latter in a warm dress of grey cloth.</p> + +<p>Nearer the altar knelt George and his wife, his eyes often seeking the +place where his friends were seated.<!-- Page 93 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>Father Francis, assisted by two other priests, was officiating.</p> + +<p>George looked happier to-day. The presence of his hitherto forgotten +companions had revived him, and the good father had spoken soothing +words to him about his child's death. George had been overcome, and +unaccustomed tears coursed down his face as he clasped the father's +hand, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Ah! one's early friends are true. Their love makes life worth having."</p> + +<p>While the choir sang the <i>Gloria in Excelsis</i>, the musician's thoughts +had strayed to his early days. He was thinking of the sunbeam, and +wondering whether its visit was a dream. If so, it must have been a +dream straight from God, for that day had gained him his career.</p> + +<p>The golden flower had reared its head very near to the Sun-lands. Would +it ever reach them?</p> + +<p>He remembered a secret drawer in his escritoire, in which there was a +small plaster crucifix, a faded geranium leaf, and a silver compass. He +had kept these little relics, and yet he had ceased to remember the +friends who had smoothed the rough pages of his childhood and pencilled +his name in the book of fortune.</p> + +<p>But Father Francis and Maggie and Miss Brand should be safe now; they +should know no further sorrow!<!-- Page 94 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sun burst forth in the winter sky, shone into the church, and +brightened the gloomy corners.</p> + +<p>George knew well in his heart that it was not his care that had made the +geranium thrive. The sunbeam which he pretended to treat as a dream had +nourished it. However, if that chapter in his life was blurred and +misty, to-day's was clear.</p> + +<p>The Mass that was being sung was his masterpiece. It was the outpouring +of his soul. He would compose still greater religious works. What more +wonderful theme could he have than a God's agony!</p> + +<p>"<i>Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus!</i>" muttered the priest. The consecration +drew near, the people bent their heads.</p> + +<p>Still the musician remained lost in his thoughts. All over the world the +advent of the Babe of Bethlehem was being celebrated. What a wonderful +story it was! The star in the East, the wise men, the Infant wrapped in +swaddling clothes and cradled in a manger. His unrecorded childhood, His +love for little children, the more forsaken and forlorn, the greater His +love. And he had been rich and prosperous, and yet had never given a +thought to those poor little waifs whose life he himself had once lived. +Happy in the love of his own child, he had forgotten the woes of others. +God had taken her away; but he would accept the Divine<!-- Page 95 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> warning, and +follow in the Divine footsteps. He would open his heart to the children +of the poor; he would clothe them and give them bread.</p> + +<p>The priest lifted the chalice. On the incense veiled altar the musician +saw a sunbeam dart into the Holy Cup, and he heard the well-remembered +voice breathe forth a glorious message,—</p> + +<p>"Clothe them and give them bread. In that last vow the flower has +reached the Sun-lands."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i103.jpg" width="700" height="379" alt=""THOU SHALT CLOTHE THEM AND GIVE THEM BREAD"" title="THOU SHALT CLOTHE THEM AND GIVE THEM BREAD" /> +<span class="caption">"THOU SHALT CLOTHE THEM AND GIVE THEM BREAD"</span><!-- Page 96 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="chap-IV." title="THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i104.jpg" width="700" height="481" alt="THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE. No star is ever lost we once have seen We always may be what we might have been. Adelaide Procter" title="THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>Many a year ago, in a land that was washed by the sea, there lived a +King who had an only son whom he loved very dearly.</p> + +<p>Fertile gardens surrounded the palace. They extended for miles and +miles. In the distance the sapphire sea looked like a calm lake. The +gardens were rich in flowers, which bloomed all the year in this land of +perpetual summer. There were lilies and violets, hyacinths, carnations, +cyclamens, and orchids; but the rose was mistress of the land, and they +called it the "Rose Islands." The trees were filled with song-birds, and +the air was fragrant with perfume tempered by the sea.<!-- Page 97 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>If ever mortal man was framed for happiness, the Prince of the Rose +Islands was he—a youth of a gallant disposition, his golden hair +hanging from beneath his jewelled cap, his brown eyes half hidden by +their long lashes. His doublet was of white brocade, his hose and +pointed shoes of silk; he was the <i>beau idéal</i> of a prince in form and +figure, and brave as he was amiable, two royal qualities.</p> + +<p>The King, his father, observing that he appeared to be sad when it +seemed to him he should be most happy, asked Ulric what troubled him.</p> + +<p>"I am lonely, so please your Grace, and I would fain have a friend."</p> + +<p>"I am thy friend, sweet son. Have I done aught that should forfeit me +thy friendship?"</p> + +<p>"My lord the King, I am always thine—thine in true obedience, thine in +the sight of God, thine in filial love, but not in friendship. Though I +dream of it night and day, I have never known friendship; sometimes, +indeed, I fear that it cannot exist," replied the Prince sadly.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Ulric, in good sooth, thou art mistaken. Look about thee, in the +palace. The noble lords of our Court, the high-born pages who minister +to thy wants, are all thy humble and devoted friends."</p> + +<p>"Father, prithee pardon me for my temerity in differing<!-- Page 98 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> from thy +gracious word; but those of whom thou speakest are not my friends. They +know that I am all-powerful with thee. They are but fawning sycophants, +who feed upon thy bounty. If the sentiment they profess to cherish for +me be friendship, then indeed my dreams of the meaning of the word are +hollow, as hollow as is my life in this paradise of beauty."</p> + +<p>The King laid his hand upon his son's head, and looked into his sad +face.</p> + +<p>"My poor child," he said, "God knows I love thee better than myself. Art +thou not my successor to these fair islands? Tell me, what can a King do +for thy comfort?"</p> + +<p>"Prithee, good my lord, send for the Lady Christabel, the daughter of +the great Earl, thy subject, and for Prince Winfred, the heir of that +land yonder, which reflects itself in our sea; let them live here for a +time, and help me to discover the meaning of that magic word +friendship."</p> + +<p>The King gave orders that an escort should start at once to bring the +Lady Christabel to his palace. He also commanded that a ship should be +built, in which to fetch Prince Winfred of the Sea Islands.</p> + +<p>Lady Christabel arrived in the evening of the next<!-- Page 99 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> day. She was mounted +on a white steed, and was clad in a silken robe of opaline hue, her +cloak and cap jewelled with moonstones. Ulric stood on the steps of the +palace to receive her. She knelt and kissed his hand, and then looked +upwards into his face. He noted the abundance of her dark hair and the +strange beauty of her changing eyes, which were grey and blue by turn, +as were the hues of her silken gown.</p> + +<p>"Welcome, sweet Christabel, to our palace," said the Prince. "Dost think +thou canst be happy here?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear lord, ask me if I could be happy in Paradise."</p> + +<p>Ulric flushed with pleasure, and led her up the marble steps to the +King's audience chamber. As the doors unclosed a sweet melody floated on +the air, increased in volume for a brief space, then grew fainter and +died away. Christabel found herself in an immense room. The walls were +set with rubies, the floor was of rock crystal, strewn with pink and +white rose-leaves. In the centre of the hall, upon a daïs covered with +cloth of gold, sat the King, in his robes of state. The ladies of the +Court, the lords and the pages, were clad in silks of various colours. +Prince Ulric led Christabel to the foot of the throne.</p> + +<p>"Welcome to our Court, my child," said the King. "Our<!-- Page 100 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> dear son is +lonely; wilt thou befriend him? Wilt thou teach him the solace of +friendship? Wilt thou prove to him that it is a reality and not a +dream?"</p> + +<p>"Most gracious King," replied Christabel, "I will teach him all I know +of selfless, sacrificing, eternal friendship."</p> + +<p>"It does exist, then?" asked the Prince eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Do the stars exist, my good lord, or the sun or the roses?"</p> + +<p>"The roses wither, sweet lady, even here, in paradise."</p> + +<p>"But friendship, good my lord, is a deathless rose; its leaves are +immortal."</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>At last Prince Ulric was happy. The days passed freighted with golden +hours. He roamed with Christabel among the Rose Islands, and showed her +the wonders thereof. Every day they inspected the progress made in the +building of the ship which was to carry Prince Winfred to their shores. +At length the vessel was finished, and she sailed away, the two +companions watching her from the beach until her rosy flag and +glittering figure-head were but specks in the distance. Then the Prince +handed Christabel into a boat that spread its silken sails to the +breeze, and they sailed along the coast.<!-- Page 101 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 103 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p><!-- Page 102 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i109.jpg" width="700" height="411" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Art thou quite happy now, my gracious lord?" asked Christabel.</p> + +<p>"Ay, in good sooth, sweet lady. Have I not found solace in thy +companionship? Do I not at length possess the white rose of friendship?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Prince, I am indeed thy true, though humble, friend for ever."</p> + +<p>"For ever!" sighed Ulric. "Ah, Christabel, I was so sad before thou +camest. Thou hast saved me. I lived in doubt of honest friendship until +now."</p> + +<p>Ulric gazed into her face. She took up her lute and sang to him, a song +of youth and springtime.</p> + +<p>Some days afterwards the ship which bore Prince Winfred anchored off the +Rose Islands, and for the first time the two Princes met. Winfred, as +became a son of the sea, was clothed in a garb of emerald tone, +embroidered with shells. His cap was woven of strange sea-flowers. Great +was the rejoicing in the Rose Islands over the advent of Prince Winfred. +And as time went by great was the happiness of Ulric, for now he had +another friend, a youth like unto himself.</p> + +<p>Months passed, scarcely making a ripple on the sea of Time. The three +companions basked in an eternal sunshine. Sometimes they sailed over the +blue water, some<!-- Page 104 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>times they sat among the flowers, while Winfred told +them tales of his life and home—of strange caverns along the coast, of +yellow sand-dunes covered with sea-flowers, of moorlands where purple +heather bloomed, of long days passed in fishing, of stress and storms, +of a sea that was often stern and angry, with crested waves beating +shoreward. Ulric would gaze at his guest in wonder, but Christabel's +eyes swam in a mist of tears, and when Winfred's hand touched hers she +would tremble. He gazed into her eyes, and understood their meaning. As +time went by Winfred grew silent, but each day he looked oftener at +Christabel.</p> + +<p>The roses withered, and bloomed again. Morning followed evening, hour +succeeded hour. One day, as Prince Ulric wandered in the forest, he came +suddenly upon his two friends. They did not see him, and he was +spell-bound by the picture that met his gaze. Christabel was standing +under a rose-bush, her hair falling from beneath a crown of flowers, and +at her feet knelt Winfred, with upturned wondrous eyes. They remained +long thus, in a blaze of sunlight from no earthly sun.</p> + +<p>Ulric stole away, hurt to death. "Alas! I have been deceived," he +moaned. "This is friendship, but I have never known it. They have found +it; but not I—not I!"<!-- Page 105 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>Prince Winfred sailed away to his own land, with the Lady Christabel and +many of the noblest members of the King's Court. Ulric would not +accompany them. He preferred to be alone now that his companions had +failed to teach him the secret of that friendship, the existence of +which he had discovered in the forest. Furthermore, neither Winfred nor +Christabel were solicitous for Ulric to journey with them to the Sea +Islands. They had latterly grown strangely oblivious of their host's +presence. The young Prince, however, only blamed himself. He felt that +his was not a nature to inspire friendship, but he longed for the great +gift more and more, until his life became almost unbearable. Seeking for +the white rose among the people of his father's realm, he saw that they +were only kind to him either through fear of his power or from motives +of self-interest.</p> + +<p>One day, as he rode through the kingdom attended by his pages, he came +upon a garden where a young girl was gathering fruit. Ulric, thinking +she had not observed his approach, dismounted hastily, and throwing his +dark cloak around him, entered the garden. The maiden was well pleased +to see the youth, in whom she recognised her future King. She had used +all her feminine arts to entertain her guest, when suddenly the Prince's +cloak slipped from his<!-- Page 106 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> shoulders, and he stood before her in all the +radiance of his princely garments.</p> + +<p>For a moment the maiden feigned surprise, and her companion observed a +new expression upon her face. He had almost guessed her thoughts before +she threw herself upon her knees, and said, "Most gracious lord, prithee +give me some jewels like unto these which adorn thy doublet."</p> + +<p>Ulric cast down his cap in sorrow, for he remembered that it had +remained undisguised upon his head all through the interview. From the +first the maiden must have guessed his high degree. It was revealed by +the royal badge of the pink rose, which glittered among its jewelled +ornaments.</p> + +<p>"She only was good to me because I could be of use to her," mused the +Prince, as he rode homewards. "She flattered me and smiled upon me +because I am supposed to be one of the lucky ones of the earth. Had I +been a poor man's son it had been different."</p> + +<p>The thought was an inspiration to him. Why should he not search for the +deathless rose, disguised, that none might seek his friendship falsely? +The idea haunted him. At length he discussed it with the King, who, +seeing that the Prince was nearly desperate with grief, consented to his +plan. Ulric dressed himself as a minstrel, and having received his +father's blessing, left the palace and rode<!-- Page 107 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> through the territory of +the Rose Islands, opening his purse to the poor, and comforting the +sorrowful with the strains of his lyre. As long as his supply of gold +lasted he was well received; when it was gone his troubles commenced. He +was hungry, and none would give him to eat or to drink. Moreover, he had +crossed the sea, and had left the Islands of Summer behind him. The +kingdom in which he was now travelling was a land of mist and storm. He +rode bravely on, nevertheless. Often, when he asked for help at the +cottagers' doors, they laughed at him, and the children beat him with +sticks. Winter was severe in the land of mist and storm, and the Prince +turned his horse's head southwards. After some days the character of the +scenery changed. The climate became warm and sunny. One morning he led +his steed through the mazes of a great forest. It was springtime; the +birds were singing, the valleys were blue with wild hyacinths, and here +and there Ulric came upon clusters of late primroses. Looking up, he +could scarcely see the sky, so thick was the tracery of foliage between +him and the heavens. They had no spring in the Rose Islands, no faint +greens, no tender buds, but always the full glory of summer, with its +vivid colouring and its drowsy breath. He was so enchanted with the +beauty of this forest, the like of which he had<!-- Page 108 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> never seen before, that +for awhile he had actually forgotten his quest, when suddenly, right in +front of him, he saw a beautiful youth. Small and delicately made, his +dress was entirely fashioned of pink rose-leaves, and he had golden +wings. The Prince stood amazed, the apparition was so sudden, there had +not been a sound; he rubbed his eyes, but the stranger did not vanish, +he was a reality.</p> + +<p>"What dost thou here, son of a King?" asked the youth.</p> + +<p>Ulric was still more surprised at being recognised under a disguise that +had served him well so far; he could not speak for astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Thou seekest the 'deathless rose of friendship,' is it not so?" asked +the unknown.</p> + +<p>"Ay, good sir. Perhaps thou canst aid me in my search?"</p> + +<p>"Fair Prince, I can indeed advise thee how to proceed. First of all, hie +thee out of this forest with all speed."</p> + +<p>"Why, good sir, methinks it is a lovely place. The air is softer here +than any I have known before, the birds sing sweeter songs, the flowers +breathe a rarer perfume; for the first time in my life I feel happy; +everything is fresh and young, and full of hope."</p> + +<p>"Ay, royal minstrel, many love my land. Beware,<!-- Page 109 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> nevertheless, of +journeying through it. It is enchanted; and if thou wouldst indeed +follow thy quest, hie thee from the shelter of its trees and from the +scent of its flowers; but ere thou goest, I will tell thee what the word +<i>friendship</i> means. Friends should be as bells upon a hyacinth, fed with +the same rain, nourished by the same dew, warmed by the same sun, rocked +by the same wind; equal, placid, and calm in their lives; above all, +they should possess the virtue of unselfishness. Self-interest is the +death of friendship."</p> + +<p>"Good sir, I have ever felt thus; and being of this mind, I threw off my +habit of a Prince and started in search of the great gift; but I have +ridden now for a whole year, and I find it not, neither have I met in +all my travels any who possess this 'deathless rose.'"</p> + +<p>"Thou wast but a youth when thou didst leave thy father's palace; now +thou art a man, and the King mourns thee as dead."</p> + +<p>When Ulric heard this he was greatly grieved, and at once resolved to +return to the Rose Islands.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, before we part, good my lord, hast any proof that this 'rose +of friendship' exists?"</p> + +<p>Then Ulric told him the story of Winfred and Christabel, and described +the scene which he had witnessed in the<!-- Page 110 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> forest. The youth broke into +peals of laughter, and the hues of his flower-dress became so vivid that +the Prince's eyes were dazzled. Presently the stranger, assuming a +serious manner, said,—</p> + +<p>"I will tell thee where the Fairy Friendship dwells. She is my twin +sister. Thou shalt make one last attempt to find her. She holds her +Court in the clouds of the setting sun. Ere nightfall, go to the +seashore, stretch forth thy hands to the garments of departing day, and +say, 'Good Fairy Friendship, bring me unto thy chambers of light. If +thou canst say this with no thought of self, no longing for a friend +because of the pleasure that friendship bestows, but with the same +feeling that the hyacinth bells have for each other, then a ladder will +be let down from the regions of the sunset, and Friendship will give +thee her deathless rose, which is so rare, so scarce a blossom, so +seldom possessed by man or woman, so precious beyond all things, that +once attained, it will be the most priceless flower in thy kingly +crown."</p> + +<p>"I thank thee, from my heart," said Ulric.</p> + +<p>"If thou wouldst succeed, leave this land of mine; it will not bring +thee unto the courts of friendship. Give up thy quest, and I will show +thee something that is far sweeter than friendship, and far easier to +win."<!-- Page 111 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nay, fair youth, I will endeavour once more to find what I have so long +sought in vain; but, before I bid thy beautiful country farewell, wilt +thou tell me why the roses upon thy dress so far surpass those that +bloom in my father's kingdom?"</p> + +<p>"Good Ulric, hast never heard of Love? Love, who comes to mortals +without their knowledge, ay, without their asking; Love, whose voice is +sweeter than the nightingale's; Love, who was born of God in the Garden +of Eden, and was clothed with the deathless roses that bloomed there?"</p> + +<p>He did not wait for Ulric's answer, but vanished; and his laughter +echoed through the forest like a peal of silver bells.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>At sunset the Prince stood upon the shore and stretched forth his hands +heavenwards, uttering the words specified by Love. He never knew whether +his mind had not the selfless quality enjoined by the youth, or whether +the roses of friendship were all withered and dead; but the sunset and +its glory was suddenly hidden from his sight by a veil of mist. When the +mist cleared it was night. Ulric lay<!-- Page 112 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> down upon the sand and wept, for +he knew that the gift for which he had sought so long was not for him.</p> + +<p>Towards morning he retraced his steps, hoping to meet the youth and to +tell him how completely he had again failed in his quest; but he could +not find the way to the forest. About mid-day, however, he came upon a +hedged-in garden surrounding a lonely villa. Through the maze of boughs +and foliage the Prince could see a beautiful maiden. She was clad in +white, and her only ornament was a white rose. Ulric had never beheld so +pure nor so lovely a maid. Hardly knowing what he did, he dismounted and +leaped the hedge. When he was inside the garden he noticed that the +trees were white with bloom, and that the path glittered with the fallen +blossoms. He saw, too, that no coloured flowers grew in the floral beds; +they were all white. As he gazed around, a silvery mist arose, and he +could see nothing excepting the maiden, until it seemed to him that the +enclosure was filled with her image. Then the mist cleared; the spell +was broken, and he was alone.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i121.jpg" width="500" height="700" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The Prince was deeply sorry at having lost sight of the beautiful girl; +moreover, he hardly dared to seek her in the depths of the snowy garden. +An atmosphere of peace, which he feared to disturb, seemed to brood over +the place. Before<!-- Page 115 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span><!-- Page 114 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span><!-- Page 113 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> leaving the maiden's home he plucked a rose, as a +memento of the fair vision he had seen; but to his surprise it was +entirely without perfume. As he examined it, wondering at the strange +phenomenon, some one addressed him from outside the hedge. Looking up, +he recognised the youth with whom he had conversed in the forest. Ulric +hurried towards him, with a cry of joy.</p> + +<p>"That scentless bloom is not the rose of friendship, fair Prince," said +the youth, taking the flower from Ulric's hand.</p> + +<p>"Thou sayest true; I have not yet found it. Nevertheless, methinks I am +on the right path. Hope stirs in my heart and whispers 'Courage!' But +now, I saw a maiden here, beautiful as an angel. If I only dare seek her +yonder, my soul tells me that I may discover in her the deathless rose +for which I long."</p> + +<p>"Then go, thou King's son. Most like thou art right. Seek her."</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou not go too, good youth? In all my travels I have never known +fear until now; and yet here, in this land of white flowers and whiter +mists, Hope's gentle spur notwithstanding, I am overawed, I dare not +venture."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my Prince! if thou wilt find what thou desirest thou must be brave, +and advance with faith and courage. I cannot lead thee, neither can I +follow thee; but yonder<!-- Page 116 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> the edge of this garden joins my land, the +forest where I met thee yesterday. If thou findest not the maiden, seek +me there. Farewell. See," he added, "see how sudden red thy white rose +hath blushed!"</p> + +<p>And vanishing, he dropped Ulric's rose at the Prince's feet. It was of a +brilliant red, and gave forth a strangely powerful perfume.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the encouragement of his unknown preceptor, the Prince +would never have ventured far along the glittering path. The Fates +seemed to check his progress. If the maiden, whom his heart prompted him +to seek, had not left her bower to meet him, his quest, even so near +upon success, might yet have ended in disappointment. But with gracious +step the maid approached, and, holding forth her hand quite simply, +herself led him through the garden.</p> + +<p>Ulric walked on, looking into her eyes. His heart beat, and the +flower-strewn way seemed to melt from beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>"Good minstrel, who art thou?" asked the maiden.</p> + +<p>"I am thy devoted servant," murmured the Prince. "Prithee, tell me thy +name, gracious lady?"</p> + +<p>"I am called Innocent, and I am the Princess of the Garden of +Innocence."<!-- Page 117 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 119 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p><!-- Page 118 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i125.jpg" width="500" height="750" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Is this the Garden of Innocence?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is that the reason why the flowers are all white and scentless here?"</p> + +<p>"Are they ever different, fair sir?" she asked wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"In my land, sweet maiden, they are red, pink, purple, gold, and of +every colour. But now, I had one of your own white roses which had +changed to red."</p> + +<p>The Princess looked at Ulric in amazement as he searched for his rose. +There it lay at his feet; but it had again become as white and as +scentless as all the other flowers in the garden. The Prince was sorely +puzzled. Had he only dreamed that the rose had changed to red in the +youth's hands?</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for many a long hour, their eyes meeting in a +sympathy too great for words.</p> + +<p>"At last," thought the Prince, "I have found the 'white rose of +friendship,' the leaves whereof are immortal. I shall never part from +it; it will be with me all my life, great, sacrificing, eternal +friendship, straight from God."</p> + +<p>He told Innocent of his grief, and of the bitter troubles that he had +encountered in his search.</p> + +<p>"Poor minstrel!" she said softly. "Be happy now, for<!-- Page 120 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> thy sorrow is +ended. I feel this deathless friendship for thee."</p> + +<p>"God be thanked, that my quest is crowned with success; but since thou +art my true friend, since thou art noble enough to hold me dear, though +in thy eyes I seem but a poor beggar, know that I am the Prince of the +Rose Islands, which yield the many-coloured flowers I have told thee +of."</p> + +<p>"Good my lord, that does not make thee more precious to me. Wert thou +poor and despised, hated of all the world, weary and sick unto death, I +could but hold thee more dear. Didst thou ask me for my life, I could +but lay it willingly at thy feet."</p> + +<p>Tears stole down her cheeks, and she looked up at Ulric with eyes of +doglike fidelity.</p> + +<p>"Ah, this is friendship!" sighed the Prince; "this is what Christabel +and Winfred discovered in the forest. Come, sweet Innocent, I will take +thee to the King, my father, and show him the 'deathless rose.'"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i129.jpg" width="500" height="717" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>As Ulric finished speaking, he folded her in his arms and kissed her. +The air was suddenly filled with ringing peals of laughter, and on the +path, close to them, stood the youth who had not dared to venture inside +the garden but a few hours before. Why had he come into the depths of<!-- Page 123 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span><!-- Page 122 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span><!-- Page 121 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +the white country now? He waved his arms, and all the flowers changed to +a brilliant red. Innocent's white rose fell from her hair, and in its +place lay a crimson bloom, the wondrous perfume of which ascended like +incense heavenwards.</p> + +<p>"Fair Prince, thy search is fruitless," chanted the youth, in low +penetrating tones. "Thou hast indeed found a rose which is deathless; +but it is the sweet red rose of Love."<!-- Page 124 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="chap-V." title="A CHRISTMAS-ROSE"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i132.jpg" width="700" height="640" alt="A CHRISTMAS-ROSE. Small service is true service while it lasts Of friends, however humble, scorn not one The daisy by the shadow that it casts Protects a lingering dew-drop from the sun. WORDSWORTH" title="A CHRISTMAS-ROSE" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>It was in a desolate London lodging-house that Marietta's courage gave +way. In Italy she could live and be merry on the most frugal fare. A +little polenta, a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a +good meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta even if +she desired nothing else. The poor little heart needed nourishment +against the gloom and harass of the great dull city. So she laid her +head upon her brother's breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in<!-- Page 125 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> England at the end of +November. It was now nigh upon Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in +London over a year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to him +as a model, and to no other.</p> + +<p>Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare necessities of +life, so that Marietta might go and stay with him for a few months +before she commenced her novitiate, prior to taking the veil at the +convent where she had been educated. The nuns had adopted her when the +children became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to long for +the day which should make her one of the black-robed sisters of the +Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time after Marietta's arrival in +England, Rica's master had suddenly died, and the two children were left +friendless and almost penniless in the great city.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the ground. There was +neither fire on the hearth nor bread in the cupboard, and the night was +bitterly cold.</p> + +<p>Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister's face and tried to +comfort her. He could endure want and misery much better than she could. +The beautiful face had become delicately <i>spirituelle</i> through the +rigour of privation.</p> + +<p>"Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you; don't cry any +more."<!-- Page 126 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place! Take me back to the kind +sisters!" she moaned, giving way to hysterical sobs.</p> + +<p>"Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day; but believe me, when +once winter goes, England is not such a dreadful country. In summer it +is beautiful, and the flowers compare well with those at home."</p> + +<p>"Flowers! I don't believe there are any here, not at least in this cruel +city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless abodes."</p> + +<p>Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go out into the snowy +night. It grieved him to see Marietta utterly broken down. She had +failed in her first trial. But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to +have been a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. It was +all a mistake.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>In the garden of a house that was inscribed "To Let" there grew a sad +and solitary Christmas Rose, that lifted up pathetic complaint to the +leaden sky.</p> + +<p>Night heard her, and went to comfort her. He was enchanted with her +beauty, and she lifted her face to receive his soft caresses.<!-- Page 127 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p><!-- Page 129 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p><!-- Page 128 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i135.jpg" width="500" height="534" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Sweet flower," he murmured, "have you forgotten that it is still +winter? Why do you bloom in this dreary garden while the snow yet covers +the ground?"</p> + +<p>"I am a Christmas Rose, and I blossom on the eve of Jesus' birthday. I +was planted a year ago by the people who dwelt here; they left soon +afterwards. No human eyes have ever gazed on my face, and yet my heart +is full of love for them. A Christmas Rose, I long to help them, to give +my life in their service, as did my Infant Master," she said, as a +melted drop of snow ran down the white petals into her heart.</p> + +<p>"Do not grieve," whispered Night, rocking her in his arms; "but learn to +rest all through the winter and be a Summer Rose."</p> + +<p>"Ah! my only charm is that I bloom when June's flowers are sleeping; +besides, I should lose my birthright, my dedication to the Child Jesus, +if I did as you advise."</p> + +<p>"Remain then as you are, sweet one. It is midnight. I must proclaim the +gracious news of the coming of Christ. When His birthday wanes I will +visit you again."</p> + +<p>He kissed her tenderly, and there was a lull in his song as he gathered +his strength, spread his mighty wings, and took flight.</p> + +<p>The flower was lonelier than before, now that her friend<!-- Page 130 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> had departed. +Daylight came. The bells rang out their old story of peace and gladness. +Children passed, some with sprigs of holly in their coats.</p> + +<p>There was a summons at the gate in the garden of the next house; a voice +said, "A Merry Christmas," and another answered, "God bless you to-day +and always!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if human lips would say that to me!" thought the flower. "If I +could only bring a little joy into a human life!" Her heart ached, for +she knew that she would die when the clocks tolled midnight, announcing +that Christ's birthday had passed away.</p> + +<p>What was that? Are stars visible in the daytime? A little brown face was +pressed against the railings, and two brilliant eyes gazed at her. It +was a boy dressed in ragged velveteen breeches, and thin discoloured +shirt. Curls of black hair surrounded his face. He climbed over the +railings, knelt down on the sodden grass, and gazed at the Christmas +Rose.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" thought Rica, "at last, here is something to remind Marietta of +Italy, although this fair blossom breathing here in a London garden is +far sweeter than Italy's flowers. It must be the Infant Jesus' rose +which blooms on His birthday." His brown fingers closed round the stalk, +and the flower felt a thrill of joy as he plucked her; but all the<!-- Page 131 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +leaves bowed to the ground, and rent the air with sad moans.</p> + +<p>Rica carried the Christmas Rose far away from her birthplace, past the +Park, through the slushy streets, on—on—until the character of the +houses changed. Everything grew gradually sordid. Drunken men reeled +against each other, and ill-clad children played about at the mouths of +foul alleys.</p> + +<p>The Christmas Rose clung tighter to the little brown hand, and drew +comfort from the tender grasp. As Rica turned the corner of the street +which led to his wretched home he ran against an artist who was +sketching some crazy old houses.</p> + +<p>"Mind where you are going, my boy! Why! What a beautiful Christmas Rose! +How much do you want for it?" he asked, looking at the flower, and not +noticing Rica's handsome face.</p> + +<p>"I cannot part with it, sir. It is for my sister. She only came from +Italy in November, and she has been fretting so because we are in +trouble. I think that this beautiful flower may comfort her."</p> + +<p>Edward Thornhill was touched, and as he looked into the boy's face he +was almost startled by its beauty. It belonged to the sunny skies of +Italy, with its brilliant eyes, olive skin,<!-- Page 132 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> luxuriant hair, and red +lips. As he scanned the little Italian's countenance, he also remarked +his poverty, and placing his hand on Rica's shoulder he asked,—</p> + +<p>"Are you very poor, my child?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. +She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean +her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under +the kind glance and the sympathetic words.</p> + +<p>"I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you +were poor Godfrey's model?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him +entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless."</p> + +<p>"Does your sister sit?"</p> + +<p>"Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how +she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I +somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like +it."</p> + +<p>"Did they say they would object?"</p> + +<p>"Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She +came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for +her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil +soon<!-- Page 133 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether."</p> + +<p>"You don't like that?"</p> + +<p>"She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to +dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content."</p> + +<p>"Poor little chap! But I can help you in your present need. Let the +Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both of you. Give it to your +sister, and bring her to this address within an hour. You shall have +food and warmth, anyhow, and I will help you further."</p> + +<p>Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. Marietta was +watching anxiously for him at the window. He had been out all night, and +she was almost in despair.</p> + +<p>"Look, dearest, isn't it lovely?" he cried, as he rushed into the room +and held up the Christmas Rose for her to see.</p> + +<p>She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its beauty until +they filled with tears, which dropped on the rose's face and sank into +her grateful heart.</p> + +<p>"How exquisite, Rica! The Infant Jesus must have brought it from +heaven."</p> + +<p>Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit of despair +she threw the flower on the ground, and cried,<!-- Page 134 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"But it cannot help us; of what good is it? I thought you went out to +beg bread."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Marietta! don't scorn it; be grateful all your life that I found +the Christmas Rose. It has saved us!"</p> + +<p>On hearing her brother's story she was overjoyed. She picked up the +trembling flower, and hastily covering her head with a shawl, prepared +to accompany Rica.</p> + +<p>On the presentation of Thornhill's card they were shown into his studio.</p> + +<p>The Christmas Rose thought she was in Fairyland. The room was decorated +with festoons of evergreens, wreaths of holly, and bunches of mistletoe. +On the platform was a small Christmas tree hung with sweets, crackers, +silver ornaments, and coloured beads, surmounted by a fairy doll dressed +in white and studded with silver stars. Marietta stood gazing round the +studio, holding the trembling Rose in her hand. But what was this? The +Fairy Prince off the tree come to life? They had never seen anything so +fair before. A boy had risen from a seat by the stove, where he had been +amusing himself with a picture book. A slim little fellow, with dreamy, +hazel eyes set in a pale spiritual face, and what wonderful hair. It was +like golden sunbeams. Angel was the artist's son. His mother had died +two years ago. He was just six years old, a sweet, delicate child.<!-- Page 137 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span><!-- Page 136 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span><!-- Page 135 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +Often he was very lonely, for his father was frequently away, and he was +not strong enough to go to school.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i143.jpg" width="500" height="640" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>How much he missed his mother, and how the memory of her dwelt in his +young soul, even his father scarcely guessed. At night he cried himself +to sleep thinking of her, and wondering where she was. It had occurred +to the child that she had not been very happy, and that his father did +not love her as he did.</p> + +<p>"I have been watching for you," said Angel, putting out his small hand. +"Oh, what a pretty flower! I have never seen one like it before."</p> + +<p>"It is a Christmas Rose, dear," said Thornhill, who had entered as the +boy spoke.</p> + +<p>Marietta placed it in his hair. He looked at her gravely, and then held +up his face to be kissed.</p> + +<p>The Christmas Rose nearly swooned with joy, for she thought that Angel +was the Infant Jesus; and as she was set in the place of honour amongst +that golden glory, her heart throbbed with gratitude.</p> + +<p>Edward Thornhill had been accustomed to the society of pretty women all +his life; but in the presence of this convent girl he was absolutely +nervous. Her beauty fascinated him. He longed to take his brush, to +portray that face on canvas.</p> + +<p>Marietta was shy to a fault, and it was a long time<!-- Page 138 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> before he could get +anything excepting monosyllables from her in conversation.</p> + +<p>Christmas dinner was served in another part of the studio. It was not a +very grand one. The absence of a woman's hand in the household +arrangements had been keenly felt by the artist since his wife's death. +But there was a piece of roast beef and a plum-pudding, with dates, +apples, and oranges to follow. The two Italians had eaten nothing but a +little bread for two days, so to them it was a feast for the Gods.</p> + +<p>Later the tree was stripped of its ornaments. Angel pressed nearly all +the presents on Rica. He was a kind-hearted little fellow, and very +unselfish.</p> + +<p>"And so you are going to be a nun, my child?" said the artist, when by +sympathetic questioning he had elicited Marietta's story.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you will be happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>There was a slight hesitation in her manner. And yet, when she had +entered the studio only two hours ago, she had resolved to ask Edward +Thornhill to lend her enough money to pay her fare back to the convent, +so that she could begin her novitiate at once.<!-- Page 139 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your mind is quite made up, nothing could change it?"</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<p>How quickly her listener detected the little tremor in her voice, which +told him much more than the uncertainty implied in her words.</p> + +<p>"And yet I believe you might be happy here. I can help you both; you +shall not want for work. Your brother tells me that you have never been +a model, but perhaps you would be kind enough to favour me by sitting +for my Academy picture. The subject is to be the Annunciation."</p> + +<p>She did not answer, and he continued talking,—</p> + +<p>"You must remember that the city is not always as gloomy as it looks +to-night. We have picture galleries, parks and squares, and the country +is beautiful at all seasons. Do you not think you could be content to +stay a little?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a little."</p> + +<p>"I will get you some needlework to do, and Rica shall find in me as good +a master as the one he has just lost.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," she said, looking up at him with tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>"The nuns won't be angry with you for staying a little<!-- Page 140 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> while with your +brother; they will consent to receive you later, will they not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"And will you sit for my picture?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, as soon as you wish."</p> + +<p>Before Marietta left she kissed the Christmas Rose, and whispered, "Dear +Infant Jesus, guard the flower which has saved us."</p> + +<p>And it murmured:—</p> + +<p>"I am happy. My Master is pleased that I have followed in His footsteps, +and His reward is beyond all price."</p> + +<p>But Marietta did not hear.</p> + +<p>Before Angel went to rest he placed the Christmas Rose in a goblet of +water, and it lifted up its innocent face and breathed a sweet, faint +perfume. The hours flew by, and towards midnight a curious pink hue +stole over its white petals, the fragrance died away, the luxuriant stem +withered up, and it breathed its last as Christ's birthday passed away.</p> + +<p>The star of Bethlehem was alone in the heavens when Night visited the +garden to greet the beauteous flower of the morning, but it had +vanished. In its place was a tear which sparkled like a diamond, the +tear it had shed when yearning to help suffering humanity.<!-- Page 141 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>Four months afterwards Marietta received a letter from the superior of +her convent. She sat reading it in a clean and comfortably furnished +room. Though to all appearances perfectly happy, her face wore an +expression of sadness, and tears fell on the missive in her hand.</p> + +<p>At length she rose, placed the letter in the pocket of her gown, and +after packing up a costume she had just finished making for Edward +Thornhill, made her way to his studio.</p> + +<p>He praised her work. He had never found anybody so clever at carrying +out suggestions as Marietta; but to-day his commendation brought no +pleasure into her face, and the artist was quick to notice her changed +manner.</p> + +<p>"You are sad, Marietta?"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered hastily, turning to leave the studio.</p> + +<p>"Why no, when you mean yes?" he asked, following her.</p> + +<p>She did not reply, but the tears gathered in her eyes and fell upon her +dress.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what grieves you. I helped you once, and may be able to do so +again."</p> + +<p>She took the Reverend Mother's letter from her pocket<!-- Page 142 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> and placed it in +his hand. It contained a few lines, saying that they would expect their +child back in a fortnight's time.</p> + +<p>"Then you are going to leave us after all?"</p> + +<p>"It is better so."</p> + +<p>"But it makes you sad the thought of going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, with downcast face.</p> + +<p>"The sisters would not wish you to take the veil if you or they doubted +your vocation for such a surrender?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Your heart must be in this sacrament, your whole heart, you must have +no longings after the world. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," she said, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have you any longings that might be a shadow on your nun's life, my +child? Have you? Nay, don't be afraid to speak."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask me," she said, repressing her sobs.</p> + +<p>"You do not think your life here involves a sin? You have enabled me to +paint a heavenly image that might, so far as the pure spirit of it goes, +decorate the fairest church. I do not say the work, Marietta, but the +intention, the inspiration."</p> + +<p>She found this question too subtle for her comprehension, but there was +something in the artist's tone and manner that thrilled her, something +that was like the influence of the<!-- Page 143 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> <i>Magnificat</i> in the great choir of +the cathedral. She turned her wondering eyes towards him, and he took +her hands in his.</p> + +<p>"You have been happy here?" he asked, his voice trembling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very."</p> + +<p>"Then why leave me? Put up with the gloom and fog for my sake, Marietta. +Be the artist's little wife as well as his model."</p> + +<p>The sun came streaming into the studio as he bent over her fair hands +and kissed them.</p> + +<p>"It is not all gloom and fog," she replied. "To-day the London sun is as +bright and warm as it was in Italy when I was a child."</p> + +<p>It was not alone the London sun, it was the sunshine of the heart; and +it lasted all through the remainder of Marietta's life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i151.jpg" width="700" height="306" alt="" title="" /><!-- Page 144 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="chap-VI." title="THE WINDFLOWER"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i152.jpg" width="700" height="550" alt="THE WINDFLOWER. One·will·crown·thee·king Far·in·the·spiritual·city Lord Tennyson" title="THE WINDFLOWER" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><b>I.</b></p> + +<p>Lady Mercy sat writing of love in the early hours of morning. She had +been christened Mercy, but the people called her the "Windflower." She +was born in a high March wind, which had once more wooed her sisters +into life. They lay like a fall of snow in the adjacent forests.</p> + +<p>As the girl grew the title of the "Windflower" suited more and more her +long fair hair and clear grey eyes.</p> + +<p>She had never known any home beyond this beautiful palace. Here, in the +heart of a pastoral country, the birds sang and the flowers bloomed all +through the year. It was a haven of peace, of glorious morning dawns and +wind-swept evening skies.</p> + +<p>Her mother, the widowed Countess, wished to keep her<!-- Page 145 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> among the flowers +and meadows, and she had reached her seventeenth summer without ever +having been in a city. She had, indeed, many learned teachers, and had +heard and read of the great world which lay beyond the hills surrounding +her home, but had no longing in her heart to go there. She found hosts +of friends in nature—the flowers, birds, dogs, horses, golden fish in +the fountain, and the sun; but most of all the wind. It seemed as though +the poetic title, given to her by the good people of the village, had +already exercised an influence upon her life. She loved the wind, +whether he came from the icefields of the north or the sun-plains of the +equator, whether his breath were redolent of western seas or of spices +and Arabian perfumes.</p> + +<p>To feel his kisses on her face, to have him whirl her round in his +strength, to bend before his mighty wings as did her sisters, the +Windflowers, this was her delight. Her play hours were passed in +dreamland peopled with her own mystical creations. What should she know +of love? She was, indeed, an utter stranger to it, and yet she wrote of +love, and called her hero "Terah."</p> + +<p>But the time had come when the Countess thought her daughter ought to +begin to realise that the great world was not an ideal one like that of +her dreams.</p> + +<p>"Mercy," she said, "why do you always write of 'Terah'<!-- Page 146 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> as you call him? +He seems to be the hero of all your stories, and he is quite impossible. +You must not imagine that people in the great world are as lovely in +their lives as your flowers are. 'Terah' is an ideal."</p> + +<p>"An ideal?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is no such man."</p> + +<p>"In what way is he not true?" asked the girl, her eyes full of wonder.</p> + +<p>"Describe him again, and I will explain."</p> + +<p>"His name speaks for him; it means that he was a breather of good like +the wind, only he was always gentle. Then he drove away sorrow. He was a +comforter; his face was most beautiful; he was all mercy, all love; and +he had thought of others so much that self was quite dead in him. Is +that impossible in that wide world yonder?"</p> + +<p>The Countess sighed as she answered, "Do not make him so handsome, +Mercy, and then perhaps he will be a more probable character, the man +enriched by Providence with perfect beauty such as your hero cannot help +being self-imbued. It is the old story of Narcissus, every glass greets +him with the picture he likes best to see; even the eyes of the woman he +loves are dimmed by the reflection of his image."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i155.jpg" width="500" height="663" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Months passed, and a great change was noticed in Lady<!-- Page 149 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span><!-- Page 148 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><!-- Page 147 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> Mercy. She grew +paler and paler; she wrote no more stories; and all her studies were +stopped. She rose very early, and walked miles in the woods and by the +river, as if seeking for something. The "Windflower" seemed to have been +bruised by a rough tempest.</p> + +<p>A renowned doctor came from the metropolis and pressed her to say what +ailed her.</p> + +<p>"I am looking for 'Terah.' Mother said he was an ideal, merely the +creature of my brain, and since then I have lost him," she moaned. "Ask +her to take me to the great city that I may seek him, for I think he has +gone there to prove that he is true."</p> + +<p>And so the "Windflower" was uprooted from among her kith and kin. She +journeyed to the distant town, past the river and over the hills.</p> + +<p>And all was changed. She was thrust into the world of fashion. Dressed +in costly silks with long flowing trains, her hair was not allowed to +hang loosely over her shoulders any more. She was "out," so it was +dressed high on her head by a French <i>coiffeur</i>. She was forbidden to +walk unattended in the great city. Even in the parks she was always +accompanied by a chaperon. It was not correct to be seen alone, and +comfort and freedom had to be sacrificed.<!-- Page 150 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><b>II.</b></p> + +<p>Society made much of the ethereal-looking girl. Society took to her +title of the "Windflower"; it was so romantic, so "old world." She went +for rides in the Row, drove in the Park, visited the opera and theatres, +was present at evening receptions, and at ladies' "tea and scandal" +parties—weak tea and strong scandal. Here she learned to fear her own +sex.</p> + +<p>She was presented at Court in a low dress on a foggy afternoon; she went +everywhere in a sort of dream seeking her ideal, but she found no trace +of "Terah," the breather of good; and as time passed she grew sick at +heart, seeing on all hands the lust of self. Men battled for their idol +everywhere, women bartered away their souls to crown self with a diadem +of gold.</p> + +<p>Presently she was permitted to go about unattended, a freedom that +inspired her with new hopes. She went down to the busy part of the city +and stood in the surging crowd that battled for life. The "Windflower" +was alone in a world of anxious men whose all-consuming passion was +self. Time was precious. All was hurry. Everybody had business on hand; +even at luncheon they seemed to be racing. Not a minute was to be lost; +hesitate but for an<!-- Page 151 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> instant, and they were pushed aside, the great race +of self against self, pursuing its course without them. A few attained +the goal, but many were stricken down by the way. Those who reached it +bowed their heads to the ground and worshipped at the glittering shrine +where Gold and Self were throned kings of the human heart.</p> + +<p>Her quest seemed to be failing entirely. Among the poor, who learned to +love her, she now and then found a trace of her lost "Terah," but it was +only a straggling ray of light in a nightmare of darkness and sin.</p> + +<p>One night she was present at a great ball given in her honour by an +intimate friend of the Countess.</p> + +<p>The room was filled with sweet perfumes, the mantel-pieces heaped with +lilies of the valley and white lilacs. All the wealth of spring flowers +lay fainting in the hot atmosphere. Not a drop of water to cool them, +not a breath of air to ease their pain. The band shrieked out its cheap +melodies, the dancers danced beneath the glare of electric lights. The +fashionable throng enjoyed itself. But one out of its number felt as +weary as the flowers. Dressed in clinging folds of soft satin, her hair +was arranged low in her neck, and in her hand she held a few loose +roses. She looked like a garden lily which had strayed from its home, +and grieved to find that it had exchanged the evening air<!-- Page 152 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and the +silence of the night for the glare of electric globes, the heat of a +crowded room, and the hubbub of countless voices.</p> + +<p>"And so you do not like society?" said her partner, a young fellow whom +she had often met before, and whom she greatly interested.</p> + +<p>"From what I know of it I do not. I think, too, that people who live in +cities are cruel. Look at the poor lilacs and lilies massed together to +faint and die. In my home we never think of letting flowers remain +without water. We look upon them as living things. Every blossom has a +life of its own; it knows pain and thirst. When I see them, torn from +hedge and meadow by careless hands and thrown on to the roads to die in +the dust, I know that for each flower an angel weeps."</p> + +<p>"Do not talk of things that make you sad. I want you to be happy +to-night. You are enjoying yourself, are you not?" the young fellow +inquired wistfully. Dangerous question to ask the grave idealist, but he +had taken a great fancy to her, he sympathised with many of her +feelings. "If you cannot say that you are enjoying yourself, please +leave my question unanswered," he added hastily.</p> + +<p>Lady Mercy looked up in surprise, then partly comprehending his words, +she said,<!-- Page 153 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I like to talk with you; but I have had to converse with so many others +who have nothing to say that I am weary—men who asked me whether I had +seen this or that play, if I had been on the great wheel, did I approve +of bicycling for women? Had I tried golfing? And then, having finished +their stock of small talk, they taxed their poor ingenuity to pay me +compliments."</p> + +<p>"I am not surprised," was the grave reply.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I wish you had not said that. Why should a man seek to flatter a +woman; in short, to insult her?"</p> + +<p>"I would not offend you for the world!" he cried. "Indeed I am sorry."</p> + +<p>"And I am grieved to have spoken bitterly. Pardon me, I do not know how +to talk even to you, and everything is so strange," she said, flushing +deeply.</p> + +<p>"Tell me of what you like most yourself; that will interest me beyond +all other subjects."</p> + +<p>"I cannot speak of that," she answered, a gentle light playing on her +face. "I can only think about it. The remembrance of it is rooted in my +heart; it is a part of me."</p> + +<p>"Mercy," he cried, his face flushing and his eyes becoming strangely +brilliant, "the Countess has told me of your dream, of your search for +some one who has never<!-- Page 154 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> existed. Ah! give it up. Do you not know that +the bitterest chapter in the book of life is that which is headed +'Broken Ideals'? The pages are written in blood, they are blistered with +tears. The reader must decipher that chapter alone, the shattered +remains of what was once his divinity, his sunshine feeding on his +heart, and poisoning even his memory."</p> + +<p>"But humanity should not let its ideals be broken. It should fight for +them, lock them safe in the inmost chamber of its mind. It should never +suffer a profane hand to destroy that which is dearer than itself," she +answered, with a fixed, far-away look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Mercy, believe me, should you appear to find he whom you +seek, you will but dream, and then awake to learn that your young, fresh +life has been wasted, and that your Ideal is false. Then age will be +passed in useless longing and vain regrets."</p> + +<p>"I shall find him. I did know him once, and he left me, but he will come +back again." Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked so spiritual, so +beautiful, that her companion could contain himself no longer.</p> + +<p>"Mercy, I love you!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>The breathless words brought her back from dreamland, with its mists and +its dim beauties—back to a London ball<!-- Page 155 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>room, back to fading humanity +and faded flowers. The utter weariness and cheapness of it all struck +her painfully, the passionate cry of love associated itself in her mind +with the rustle and frippery of fashion.</p> + +<p>"My life is his of whom we have spoken," she said gently in response to +his beseeching glance, as her hostess, a bright, fashionable woman, +hurried up and whispered effusively: "Wait here a moment, dear. I have +at last found some one whom I am sure will please you. He is very rich +and handsome, quite a king in the world of fashion, and yet a Christian +gentleman—and oh, so wise! We call him our Ideal."</p> + +<p>She came back accompanied by a tall, fine man. Everybody thought him +beautiful—"pure Greek, you know"; but Lady Mercy started back in +terror, recovering herself the next minute. To her he was hideous—his +mouth misshapen, his eyes a dull red. Was it because her own soul was so +pure that she saw people's minds, not their faces, and when a mind was +evil its chief vice shone through its fleshly covering like a beacon?</p> + +<p>"Delighted to meet you, Lady Mercy; will you dance?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"We will sit it out, then, and talk. By the way, our mutual friend, Lady +R——, tells me that you are much dis<!-- Page 156 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>tressed over the condition of the +unemployed in our great city?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want mother to devise a scheme for helping them. I have seen so +much suffering since I have been here."</p> + +<p>"Money thrown away, I assure you; they are a rascally set. If a man is +willing to work there is work to be had."</p> + +<p>"I disagree, sir; work is most difficult to obtain. A character is +needed. Many of these poor, suffering creatures have no recommendation +that might entitle them to recognition at the hands of Christ's +followers. And most of them are not in a condition to work. They have +neither clothes, nor health, nor hope. Could you build with your feet +through your boots? Could you lift heavy weights with no strength in +your body and no hope in your soul?"</p> + +<p>"You forget I am not one of the unemployed," he said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"No? What do you do then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I do not exactly do anything."</p> + +<p>"Then you are unemployed."</p> + +<p>"I have no regular work; but I try to follow in Christ's steps. I am a +Christian like yourself. I believe that He was God, and worship Him as +such."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I fear His would have been a poor, useless martyrdom if you were +indeed a Christian. Go home and read<!-- Page 157 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> His life; see what He says about +the poor whom you despise. There, forgive me, I did not mean to say so +much. But I think you are in the wrong. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"What an awful girl you introduced me to, Lady R——! She was positively +insulting; a regular windbag, not a flower."</p> + +<p>"Didn't it make any impression? Poor Popsie," she replied, patting him +with her fan, "I hoped she would interest you; she is in search of the +Ideal. What a pity she did not recognise you! Never mind, I will +introduce you to Baby Joy, the music-hall singer who married Lord Clare. +You know? Come along."</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> + +<p>Years passed. Lady Mercy's first youth was over; her eyes had lost the +light of hope—a wild, sorrowful expression filled them. She had never +gone back to the country; she could not return to the happy home of her +childish ideals, the joyless, broken-hearted creature she was now.</p> + +<p>She drove out one day in September. Gaily dressed women were shopping. +Flower stalls of roses, carnations, marguerites, gave a foreign look to +the city. A wild west wind, fragrant with the breath of autumn, rushed +through the streets.<!-- Page 158 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly there was some confusion in the road. A policeman battled among +a host of prancing horses and grand carriages. A victoria containing two +gorgeously dressed ladies had run over a mongrel dog. One of its owners, +a ragged girl, sobbed on the pavement, as her half-starved brother +elbowed his way to the officer's side.</p> + +<p>"Our paw Jack; 'is leg's broke."</p> + +<p>"You should not let him run about in crowded streets," said one of the +smart occupants of the victoria.</p> + +<p>"End yer shouldn't let yer cussed 'osses droive over the paw beast," +replied the boy, taking it in his arms and trying to soothe its cries.</p> + +<p>"I was going to give you money, boy, but I shall not for your +impertinence."</p> + +<p>Lady Mercy stood on the pavement comforting the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Never moind, Puddles," said her brother, coming up with the dog in his +arms. "Our Prince will cure 'im."</p> + +<p>"Prince is doying, brother, you know thet."</p> + +<p>"Who is Prince, my boy?" asked Lady Mercy.</p> + +<p>"'E's our only friend. 'E's father and mother to all hus poor."</p> + +<p>"Is he beautiful?" she asked eagerly.<!-- Page 159 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What, in the faice? Rather not."</p> + +<p>"Ah! then it cannot be he," said Lady Mercy sadly. "Why do you call him +Prince?"</p> + +<p>"Becos 'e is Prince—the Prince of Pity. 'E's ill now; but 'e says 'e +can't doi till something 'appens."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Oi der know. Somethink."</p> + +<p>"Where does he live?"</p> + +<p>"Hover there," said the boy, with a vague wave of his hand.</p> + +<p>"I will take you there if you will let me. Will you get into the +carriage?"</p> + +<p>"What, in there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Rather. Come on, Puddles."</p> + +<p>Lady Mercy helped the two forlorn creatures into her carriage, and +placed the dog tenderly on the front seat.</p> + +<p>"Will you tell the coachman where to go?"</p> + +<p>"Yaas, droive ter Greenleaf Court."</p> + +<p>The Prince of Pity lay dying of want in one of the poorest quarters of +the great city. His face was gaunt and weather-beaten, his eyes glazed +and dull. A young child sat on the floor nursing a half-starved +cat—both<!-- Page 160 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> waifs of the street rescued from utter misery by the good +Samaritan.</p> + +<p>Sorrow was always with the poor of Greenleaf Court; but now their +affliction was more bitter than ever. Their dear master, who had devoted +his life to them, and had given away all his worldly goods until he was +as poor and destitute as they, the man who told them of sweet flowers +and green meadows and silver streams, he who made peace in their +quarrels, divided his scanty earnings among them, taught the children, +he, their only stay in a world of suffering and want, was leaving them +for ever.</p> + +<p>The Prince of Pity lay drowsing away to "poppied death."</p> + +<p>The wind wailed and sobbed round the house, and burst in at the door as +Lady Mercy entered.</p> + +<p>She saw the man. His clothes were worn and old, but she beheld only his +face; that face which even the poor who almost worshipped him thought +ugly, was beautiful to her; it told of love and charity. She knew his +life had been lived for others.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have come at last!" he cried. "Welcome. I so feared I should +die without any one to continue my work, and I asked the Wind that +sprung up in the early hours to waft me some one hither."<!-- Page 161 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He has obeyed you. I am named the Windflower; but, sir, you too have a +beautiful title; they call you the Prince of Pity. Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"I am an unworthy follower of the man Christ."</p> + +<p>"You are then a Christian?"</p> + +<p>"I said the <i>man</i> Christ. I belong to no Church. I profess no creed."</p> + +<p>"What do you do?"</p> + +<p>"My child," he said, and his voice sounded sorrowful like the sobbing of +the sea, "my life's work is all in these simple lines,—</p> + +<p>"'Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.'"</p> + +<p>"You are then he whom I seek. You are Terah, the breather of good. But, +sir, you seem ill. Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, care for my poor. Be to them all the Wind is to you; rock them +into life, soothe them into death; sob with them in grief, shout with +them in joy. I am going away."</p> + +<p>"Whither?"</p> + +<p>"To the earth, to rest and peace at last."</p> + +<p>"Not to heaven?"</p> + +<p>"My child, have you lived in the great city and not<!-- Page 162 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> learned that we can +imagine no heaven so lovely as the joy of our hearts when we do a good +action? I am on the verge of that sleep which knows no awakening. The +Halls of Death lead not unto Life."</p> + +<p>Mercy was dazed with the beauty of the man's soul. It filled his eyes +with a radiance which overwhelmed her.</p> + +<p>"I have found Terah," she cried, looking heavenwards, and clasping her +hands in an ecstasy of happiness. "The world is bright again. My ideal +is true. Beautiful, merciful; and self an immolated sacrifice. Why have +I lost my youth in seeking him to lose him now?"</p> + +<p>A distant voice seemed to float on the wind. "Had he lived you must have +died. The good action has its reward here and hereafter. He has passed +through the Halls of Death unto the House of Life. Be content, you have +been much blessed. The Ideal is realised in heaven."</p> + +<p>The room was filled with a perfume as of many flowers. The wind sobbed +out a requiem. Lady Mercy's face shone with a great light. She looked +down. The Prince of Pity lay dead.</p> + +<p>On the site of Greenleaf Court a beautiful house now stands, every +window full of flowers. Designed by a great architect, all the poor of +the district were employed to help<!-- Page 163 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> in its erection. It is called the +"House of Pity." In the large hall, where the hungry are fed and the +sorrowful are comforted, the following inscription is wrought on the +wall in letters of gold, wreathed with windflowers:—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/i171.jpg" width="700" height="368" alt="REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE AND WEEP WITH THEM THAT +WEEP" title="REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE AND WEEP" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + +<p class="center"> +<i>SECOND EDITION.</i></p> + +<p class="center">THE GOLDEN FAIRY BOOK.</p> + +<p class="center">FAIRY TALES OF OTHER LANDS.</p> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">GEORGE SAND, MORITZ JOKAI, ALEXANDRE DUMAS, VOLTAIRE, +DANIEL DARE, XAVIER MARMIER, <span class="smcap">Etc., Etc.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>In crown 4to, richly gilt, and gilt edges, 6s.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><b>With 110 Illustrations by H. R. Millar.</b></p> + +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> + +<p class="center"><b>A FEW PRESS OPINIONS.</b></p> + +<p>"'The Golden Fairy Book' is brimful of charm, and must be cordially +welcomed. The book is one to be bought. It is rarely that fairy stories +by such important authors come together. Young people are to be +congratulated upon the provision of such a boon companion as 'The Golden +Fairy Book,' to which Mr. H. R. Millar has contributed over one hundred +artistic and amusing illustrations."—<i>Gentlewoman.</i></p> + +<p>"An excellent collection of charming tales by famous authors. The volume +is prettily bound, and excellently printed, with a profusion of +illustrations."—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<p>"'The Golden Fairy Book' need not be considered inferior to any. In +appearance it is possibly ahead of all. Mr. Millar's illustrations are +spirited and clever, and the tales in themselves have been selected with +great judgment from writers of all countries. If any find the old tales +at all tiresome, let them take this 'Golden Book' in +preference."—<i>Daily Graphic.</i></p> + +<p>"A new and delightful departure ... this most attractive gift-book, +which one may safely prophesy will be a sure delight to its many +possessors."—<i>St. James' Budget.</i></p> + +<p>"'The Golden Fairy Book' is as good as can be, and the illustrations are +refined and attractive. The stories are gathered from many nations—a +particular charm to this excellent collection."—<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"Not only the little folk, but we 'children of a larger growth' will +also be delighted with this collection of wondrous fairy tales. The book +is beautifully illustrated."—<i>The Lady.</i></p> + +<p>"Among the prettiest books of the season is 'The Golden Fairy Book.' +Admirably illustrated, this volume is pleasing within and +without."—<i>Globe.</i></p> + +<p>"Boundless variety and that of the best.... 'The Golden Fairy Book' is +well calculated to charm and satisfy the most omnivorous youthful +appetite for imagined wonders."—<i>Sketch.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row.</span> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="center">With over 60 Full-page and other Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Harry Furniss</span> and +<span class="smcap">Dorothy Furniss.</span></p> + + +<p class="center"> +<big><b>THE WALLYPUG OF WHY.</b></big><br /> +A Fanciful Story.<br /> +<span class="smcap">By G. E. FARROW.</span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>In crown 4to, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, and gilt edges, 5s.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Contents.</span></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Way to Why.</li> +<li>The Fish with a Cold.</li> +<li>Breakfast for Tea.</li> +<li>Girlie Sees the Wallypug.</li> +<li>What is a Goo?</li> +<li>The Wallypug's fancy Dinner Party.</li> +<li>The Invisible Joke.</li> +<li>Can a Pig Perch?</li> +<li>Buying an Excuse.</li> +<li>The Ride with the Alphabet.</li> +<li>Girlie is Cartwrecked.</li> +<li>The Sphinx and the Bathing-Machine Woman.</li> +<li>What Happened at Why.</li> +</ul> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="center">With 84 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">H. R. Millar</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><big><b>THE SILVER FAIRY BOOK.</b></big><br /> +Fairy Tales of Other Lands.</p> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">SARAH BERNHARDT, E. P. LARKEN, HORACE MURREIGH, HEGESIPPE MOREAU, +VOLTAIRE, QUATRELLES, EMILE DE GIRARDEN, WILHELM HAUF, XAVIER MARMIER, +LOUIS DE GRAMONT, <span class="smcap">Etc.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>In crown 4to, silvered cloth and silvered edges, 6s.</i></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row.</span> +<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="center"><b><big>The Boys' Golden Library.</big></b></p> + +<p class="center">Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> per +Volume.</p> + +<p> +<i>By PROFESSOR CHURCH.</i> +</p> + +<ul> +<li>Pictures from Greek Life and Story.</li> +<li>Pictures from Roman Life and Story.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By DANIEL DE FOE.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Robinson Crusoe.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By EDWARD A. RAND.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Our Clerk from Barkton.</li> +<li>Fighting the Sea.</li> +<li>Up North in a Whaler.</li> +<li>Making the Best of It.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Cruise of the Crystal Boat.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By FLORENCE MARRYAT.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Little Marine.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Warriors of the Crescent.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By JULES VERNE.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Round the World in Eighty Days, and Adventures in Southern Africa. (Double Volume.)</li> +<li>Five Weeks in a Balloon, and A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. (Double Volume.)</li> +<li>The English at the North Pole, and The Desert of Ice. (Double Volume.)</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row.</span> +<br /> +<br /></p> + + +<p class="center"><big><b>New Library for Girls.</b></big></p> + +<p class="center"><big>THE GIRLS' GOLDEN LIBRARY.</big></p> + +<p class="center">Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> per +Volume.</p> + +<p> +<i>By SARAH TYTLER.</i></p> + +<ul><li>A Bubble Fortune.</li></ul> + +<p><i>By AMELIA E. BARR.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>A Singer from the Sea.</li> +<li>Love for an Hour is Love for Ever.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By E. WETHERELL.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Wide, Wide World.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By E. S. CUMMINS.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Lamplighter.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By S. DOUDNEY.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Where Two Ways Meet.</li> +<li>The Family Difficulty.</li> +<li>A Child of the Precinct.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By MRS. J. KENT SPENDER.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>No Humdrum Life for Me.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By ANNA E. LISLE.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Winnie Travers.</li> +<li>Self and Self-Sacrifice.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Maid of Orleans.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By M. C. HALIFAX.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Among the Welsh Hills.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By MARGARET HAYCRAFT.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>The Clever Miss Jancy.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By MRS. G. LINNÆUS BANKS.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Miss Pringle's Pearls.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By EVELYN EVERETT GREEN.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>My Cousin from Australia.</li> +</ul> + +<p><i>By LOUISA M. ALCOTT.</i></p> + +<ul> +<li>Little Women and Nice Wives.</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row.</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village of Youth, by Bessie Hatton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + +***** This file should be named 36977-h.htm or 36977-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/7/36977/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Bessie Hatton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Village of Youth + and Other Fairy Tales + +Author: Bessie Hatton + +Illustrator: W. H. Margetson + +Release Date: August 5, 2011 [EBook #36977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration] + + + + The Village + of Youth + And Other Fairy Tales + + BY + + BESSIE HATTON + _Author of "Enid Lyle," etc._ + + With Numerous Illustrations + BY + _W. H. MARGETSON_ + + London, 1895 + + HUTCHINSON & CO + + _34 PATERNOSTER ROW_ + + +Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + I. The Village of Youth 1 + + II. A Child of the Winds 31 + + III. The Flower that reached the Sun-lands 72 + + IV. The Garden of Innocence 96 + + V. A Christmas Rose 124 + + VI. The Windflower 144 + + + + + The Village of Youth + +[Illustration: The Village of Youth] + + "Yet Ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose! + That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!" + + + I. + +There was a young King who ought to have been the happiest monarch in +the world. He was blessed with everything a mortal could desire. His +palace might have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so +perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens with its +dependent village at its gates, like a dream of feudal beauty in a story +of romance. Notwithstanding his good fortune, the King was oppressed +with what he conceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of a +happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, as if an intense +fear had taken possession of his soul; and so it had. It was the fear +of Age. He could no longer bear to meet old people, and eventually grew +to hate the hoary heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects. +He therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders lived in one +half of the realm, under the government of his mother, while he was King +of the young. Riding, hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never +saw a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the Village of Youth. + +The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. She loved her +future husband dearly, though his strange malady and the exodus of the +old people from his dominions had clouded her happiness, and made her +long for some way of alleviating his suffering. + +When the lovers were together they held no gentle, tender discourse. +Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed with mournful eyes, and when she +besought him not to be sorrowful he would say, "Sweet lady, how can I be +other than I am? Each loving word that falls from thy lips, each sweet +smile that plays upon thy face, is as a dagger in my heart; for I +remember how soon the bloom of youth will pass from thy cheeks and the +softness from thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of +Eld, grim with unlovely age." + +[Illustration] + +Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such an extent, that +while she sat sewing among her women tears would often fall upon the +embroidery, and she would be obliged to leave her work. + +Among the many fair maidens who attended upon Rowena, the fairest of +them all was the Lady Beryl. She grieved sincerely to see her mistress +so dejected, and taxed her brain night and day for some plan by which +she might save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her +heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek advice from the +people who lived in the Village of Eld. It was spring; the grass was +green, the sky was blue. The sunshine gleamed on the maiden's hair and +on her dove-coloured garments. + +As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered around her. She +found herself in the midst of a crowd of grey-headed men and women, many +of whom touched her dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down +and almost worshipped her; she reminded them of their own early days, a +sweet personification of the young spring. Beryl lifted up her voice, +and said,-- + +"Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of our sovereign and +of its cause; and now our dear Princess shares his sorrow. We are +ignorant and inexperienced, neither have we any wise men or women to +counsel us; therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep our +youths and maidens always young, that they may never know age?" + +A long wailing cry was heard from the people of the village,-- + +"There is no way--no way!" One old man, who was bent and tottering, +raised his wrinkled face to the maiden's, and said,-- + +"Spring gives place to summer, and summer to autumn, and autumn to +winter. What would you? Age is beautiful; it is a time of peace, of +meditation. Youth knows not rest; it is ever striving, fighting, +suffering. When age comes upon us we cease to enjoy as keenly as the +young, but we cease to suffer as bitterly as they who are in the spring +of life. If the scent of the air is less fresh and the voice of the +brook is less sweet, why, the thunder clouds are less dark and the storm +is robbed of its fury." + +Beryl bowed her head and rode away. As she passed through the gate an +old woman followed her, and whispered these words,-- + +"An hour before sunset, on the longest day of summer, Time, in his +chariot, rides through the Village of Youth. If each year thou canst +prevent his doing so, the world will still grow old, but the Village +of Youth will remain young for ever." + +"Alas, good dame, how can I hope to succeed in this endeavour?" + +"Sweet maiden, thou art beautiful, thou art in the April of life. Time +is gentle and pitiful; throw thyself before his chariot. Thou wilt stay +his flying feet, and thy sovereign will bless thee." + +Beryl returned, pondering over the woman's words. She entered that +portion of the palace occupied by the Princess and her suite, and +proceeded to her own chamber. + +The hangings were of white silk, and the floor was of ivory. Silver +vases, filled with purple lilacs, perfumed the air. Presently three +maidens entered, to attire their mistress for the evening banquet. One +bathed her face and hands with spring-water, another combed her hair +with a silver comb, and the third robed her in a gown of soft silk, +edged with pearls. + +Beryl's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement, as +she hastened along the corridor to the apartments of the Princess. Her +royal mistress was seated in the portico which looked on to the palace +gardens. Never had Beryl seen the future Queen so sad. Forgetting her +news in her anxiety, she threw herself at Rowena's feet, and besought +her to say what ailed her. + +"It is the old trouble that afflicts me, dear child. The King grows +worse, and I fear that if he cannot conquer his melancholy he will go +mad." + +Then Beryl, in hurried words, told Rowena of her visit to the Village +of Eld, and of the woman's message. + +The Princess became deeply interested in the recital, and as her +handmaiden unfolded her plan of waiting for Time on the longest day of +summer, she gradually caught her excitement. + +"Young for ever," she murmured, with a sigh, "young for ever in a summer +world! It is too good to be true, Beryl; besides, if it were not, how +could I let thee depart upon such a quest? Better far that I should go +myself." + +"Nay, sweet lady; thou art espoused to our lord, the King, but I have no +lover who would grieve for me. Besides, I can but fail; and so thou wilt +pity my unsuccess, I shall be content." + +[Illustration] + +The air was filled with the scent of spring flowers, and of the many +roses which had clambered over the portico. Beryl sat at the Princess' +feet, and lifted up a pair of beseeching eyes to her face. At that +moment the young King entered. He was made acquainted with the question +in dispute. On hearing of Beryl's plan a joyful expression lighted up +his sad features, and at his earnest entreaty Rowena gave her consent +to the undertaking. + + + II. + +Summer had laid her hands upon the land, broadening with vigorous +strokes the delicate colours of the faded spring. Fields of corn and +barley were ripening, and far away on the uplands crimson poppies lay +sleeping in the sunlight. + +Beryl waited outside the village on the longest day of the year. In +white robes and silken cap she watched for the passing of Time. Before +the day began to wane a chariot, drawn by the Winds, dashed along the +road which led to the Village of Youth. The maiden, though half dead +with terror, flung herself down before the gates with a loud cry. She +felt herself raised from the ground, and on opening her eyes found that +she was in the arms of a ragged youth. His face was beautiful beyond all +description, though its expression was full of sorrow; his garments were +smirched with mud and hung in tatters, but they were jewelled from +shoulder to hem with diamonds, whiter and more brilliant than any she +had ever seen. Awed and wondering, Beryl laid her finger softly upon +one of the gems. But it dissolved and vanished at her touch; and she +realised that Time's garments were jewelled with the world's tears. + +Presently the youth addressed her, and his voice was the saddest of all +the music that she had ever heard,-- + +"Maiden, what wouldst thou with me?" + +"Good sir, I pray thee to spare the Village of Youth. Let its young days +last for ever." + +"For ever!" he sighed. "What spell is there in this 'for ever' that +mortals must always crave after it? I am the spirit of Time, the king of +change. The Winds are my servants. My palace is built on the shores of +Eternity; and yet, for one hour passed in the Village of Youth, or for +knowledge of the peace which reigns in the Village of Eld, I would lay +down my immortality without a pang. In my flight through the world I see +little joy. I ring the bells of birth, of marriage, and of death. Upon +my garments the tears of humanity gather fast. Still, my task is not all +unhappy, in that a day comes when I have healed their wounds with my +touch, though scars remain, which even I, an Immortal, cannot efface. +Alas, sweet maiden! I dare not leave the Village of Youth unvisited, +even at the prayer of the fairest of its daughters." + +Nevertheless, after many a sigh and many a tear, Beryl touched the +changeful heart of Time; and because she was so beautiful the youth +loved her, and he bore her away in his chariot, leaving the Village +of Youth unvisited. + +Desolate, and misty, and grey, was the country of Time, and rugged the +castle built on the shores of Eternity. Strange, colourless flowers +bloomed in the garden, and the paths were heavy and wet. In the great +hall of the palace there were tables laden with fruit and wine, and +after Beryl had eaten she felt refreshed. The place was lonely. There +was not a sigh nor a token of any living creature within its walls. + +Some of the sorrow seemed to pass out of the youth's face as he watched +the maiden. And when she looked up at him and smiled all the tears on +his dress melted away. + +"Sweet lady," he presently said, "I did unwisely to bring thee here, for +when thou art gone I shall feel more lonely than ever before. Until I +met thee, I had never exchanged words with an earthly maid. Thy presence +gives me much comfort; I am so weary of travel, so tired of this grim +country. I must, nevertheless, leave thee at sunrise. Remain here until +I return, and I will not pass through the Village of Youth." + +Beryl's heart leapt with gratitude. Her mission was accomplished. Then a +sudden fear smote her. Must she remain alone in this weird place, and +walk continually in this garden of colourless flowers? + +"Good my lord, how long wilt thou be gone?" she tremblingly inquired. + +"A year, though it will seem but as a day to thee, for here time counts +not; this is his resting-place. In his palace there is no change; it is +built on the everlasting shore." + +As the youth finished speaking Beryl observed that the hall was full of +weird shades, in jewelled cloaks of tears; but amongst them there was +one whose garments were of shining white, gemmed with violets. + +"These," said Time, "are the hours of to-day." + +The shades flitted past, bending before their King. Beryl noticed that +the sadness in their faces was akin to that of Time, with one exception. +He of the white garments wore an expression that was smiling and happy, +and the violets on his dress filled the hall with perfume. + +"Good my lord, why doth this last shadow look so different from all the +rest?" asked Beryl. + +At a sign from Time the shadow spoke,-- + +"I am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily, having enriched +the world with his song. The moon kissed his lips as he breathed his +last in my arms." + +"Whither are they going?" asked Beryl, as the hours floated through the +hall. + +"I will show thee," said the youth, leading her into the open. + +The air was keen. In the distance, Beryl could hear the sound of the +sea. Heavy clouds of mist hung around the castle. The maiden stooped to +pluck one of the colourless flowers that bloomed in the garden. To her +surprise, she could not break its stalk. She hurried after the youth, +who was standing on a jutting piece of rock, some paces away. + +"Look," he said, "yonder, to westward." + +The maiden saw the winged hours floating over the sea. Far away she +beheld a dim coast-line of a distant country. The sky on that far shore +was a mass of rosy clouds, rosier still to Beryl's eyes, accustomed as +she had become to the greyness and mist of the country of Time. + +"The sea which lies beneath us is the sea of Eternity, and yonder land +is the Garden of the Past. The sun always shines there; the past forges +its own halo." + +Beryl watched in silence the flying shadows floating over the Eternal +Sea. The hours of her earliest days were there, in that Garden of the +Past. If she went thither, should she find them, and with them the +playmates and the innocence of childhood? + +Time noticed the sorrowful expression of her face, and pitied her. + +"Maiden," he said, "thou must not look backwards. Let the aged dream of +the days that are gone; thy future is before thee. It waits for thee, +yonder behind the sun that is rising on the world. Wilt thou go with me +and give up thy wish, content to let the Village of Youth grow old, as +is the fate of all things mortal? Thou wilt be happier in thine own +country. Far away, in its valleys, the flowers and the summer call for +thee. Come." + +He stepped into his chariot, and held out his arms towards her. + +"Nay, good my lord; I will await thee here, and try to forget the +flowers and the summer, remembering only thee and thy promise." + +The youth waved his hand in token of adieu, and vanished from her sight. + +[Illustration] + +After her companion's departure she roamed about the garden. That +portion of it which surrounded the palace was bare and treeless, but in +the distance she could see forests of white poplars. She found some +grey poppies in the garden not unlike those that bloomed in the Village +of Youth, excepting that these of the country of Time had thick pulpy +stems, resembling the water-lily. A straggling plant attracted her +notice; it looked like hemlock, only that the flower was of a deep +purple. Lifting her face from the gloom of the floral beds, her eyes +rested on the Garden of the Past. The wish to explore it, and to find in +its green mazes her early days once more, was irresistible. + +Trembling with excitement, she sought for a path that should lead her to +the seashore. With much difficulty, she succeeded in clambering down the +steep descent. Upon the strand she found a tiny boat, with quaint +paddles, in which she made for the shining coast. The skiff progressed +rapidly. As it neared the land, Beryl noticed a great change in the +atmosphere. The cold and mist of the country of Time were left behind +her. Resting upon her oars, she cooled her hands in the sea. To her +astonishment, she discovered that the water was not salt; it tasted as +fresh and as pure as the crystal stream that flowed through the Village +of Youth. Great as was her desire to enter the wonderful garden that lay +stretched before her, she almost regretted this last adventure. The heat +became intense. There was no longer a ripple on the sea. Everything lay +dead still. When close in shore, all suddenly she could make no further +progress; the more she plied her paddles, the further she drifted +backwards. At length exhausted, she lost consciousness. + +On recovering Beryl was surprised to find herself in the misty garden +again, Time bending over her with a pitying expression on his face. + +"Thou shouldst not have gone to seek the Garden of the Past; even I +cannot gain access to its groves," he said, when she had revived. + +"I am grieved, and wish I had not ventured thither." + +Touched by her sorrowful contrition, the youth held up a bunch of faded +red poppies and said soothingly,-- + +"I thought of thee as I passed by the Village of Youth." + +"Tell me, my dear lord, why is it that the sea washing the shores of the +Garden of the Past is not salt, but fresh as a mountain spring?" said +Beryl, taking the dead flowers and holding them tenderly in her hand. + +"All bitterness is purged from the Past, my child; therefore the waters +that wash its shores are sweet." + + + III. + +So years and years fled by, but there was no change in the Village of +Youth. It was always summer and always daylight. In the success of +Beryl's scheme the King found the dearest wish of his heart gratified. +His face regained its former beauty, and his manner its old charm. But +at length, although he would not breathe the fact aloud, the unending +season began to pall upon him. + +Always summer and always daylight! His wedding-day would never come, for +the present time would never pass. At length the sun grew hateful to +him. He longed for night, and he gazed with agony upon the face of his +ever-youthful love. When he walked through the gardens he prayed that +the flowers might wither. He was weary of seeing them always the same, +shedding the same scent on the air, never less, never more. The lark +soaring upwards sang the same song of liberty and hope all through the +unending day. No change in the Village of Youth, young for ever. + +The Princess, however, felt differently. A maiden wants so little to +make her happy. The eternal day was not long to her; her King was with +her through its everlasting hours, and summer would never leave them and +their love would never die. Had she only known whether Beryl was safe, +her mind would have been quite at rest. + +Meeting her Lord one day in the palace gardens, she read the agony in +his face; and after listening to his plaints, she gently, though +fearlessly, reprimanded him. + +"Methinks, dear love, that we shall all be punished yet for thy +discontent. Thou art placed upon the throne of a great kingdom as its +sovereign. Thy subjects are true and loyal. Thy betrothed, as is well +known, is neither clever enough nor good enough to fill the high post +for which thou hast selected her; but she loves thee, and would lay down +her life for thee without regret. She sends her favourite maiden on a +quest which is fraught with much danger; on the accomplishment of that +mission thy happiness depends. It succeeds; but the royal attendant does +not return. Time visits the Village of Youth no more; and yet thou +dwellest in its vernal freshness, ill-content." + +"Thou hast good cause to reproach me, dear one, erring only when thou +dost affirm that she whom I love is not worthy to be my Queen. Were I +but fit to tie her sandal or kiss the hem of her robe, I were glad +indeed." + +[Illustration] + +He took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, while the hot sun +beat down upon the weary village. + +It was thus that Beryl returned to her sovereign's kingdom, on the same +day and at the same hour she had left it, though the world was older by +forty years. She walked through the streets, a bent, grey-haired woman. +Everywhere smiling youth met her gaze. Little children had remained +little. They gathered round her, pulling at her dress, and gazing +wonderingly into her lined and worn face. + +"Where art thou going, good dame?" a girl inquired. + +"To the palace. I wish to see the King." + +"In good sooth, they will never admit thee into the palace; and did his +majesty know that thou wert in the village he would have thee conducted +thence." + +"Ah, maiden! I know of his folly, which will be punished yet, rest +assured. I was once a girl like thee, had hair like thine, and smooth +white skin." + +"That must have been a long time ago." + +"It seems but as yesterday," said Beryl. + +She dragged her tired limbs to the palace gates, and stood there, bent +and tottering. The guard who kept the door refused her admittance, +saying that his master would not allow the aged within the precincts of +the village; but the King happened to overhear the argument, and at once +gave orders to have the woman brought before him. Although she appeared +quite unknown to him, he fell upon her neck and embraced her, so wearied +was he of the perpetual youth around him. But when she told them who she +was, and her story, they greatly marvelled. + +"Why didst thou leave the Palace of Time, dear Beryl?" asked Rowena. + +"Sweet Princess, I learned to love the Spirit, forgetting how great, how +godlike he was. And little understanding the difference between us, I +grew unhappy because he never embraced me. What would you? I was but a +woman, still chained to earth, though the companion of an Immortal in +the courts of Eternity. I grew to believe that he did not love me; and +he, seeing sorrow in my face, thought that I longed to go back to the +world. I gave him my love, which was all I had of spiritual to give, and +he was happy; but I lived within his home ill-content. One night, when +he returned from his yearly circle, I threw my arms around him and +kissed him. All the palace shook, and he looked at me with strange, +wistful eyes. I felt tired and weak; and I remember nothing more until I +awoke, as from a long dream, and found that I was lying on the banks of +the stream yonder. I arose and washed in the river, and realised that +I was bent, and grey. Then I knew that the fault had been mine; his +unwilling lips had given me age, and taken my youth for ever." + +[Illustration] + +They led her within the palace, and she was clothed and fed. Rowena +looked at her, and marvelled. In the worn, faded face she tried to trace +some of the beauty that had been Beryl's; but all in vain. Once they +were of the same years, but now Beryl was old and the Princess was in +the springtime of life. + +During the watches of the night the aged woman heard the wings of Time +sweeping through the silent village. Hurrying from the palace, she +stretched out her arms to him in mute entreaty. + +There was a tone of sorrow in his voice as he cried, "Too late--too +late; only Youth with its beacon-light of Hope can stay the flying feet +of Time!" + +Morning came in the full glory of the risen sun, but the Village of +Youth was no more. It was as a dream that had passed. Again old age +gossiped in the streets and sat serene at its board of council. The King +bowed his head, and accepted his punishment with a dignified humility. +In the autumn of his life he found joy his youth had never known. He +became wise in judgment, patient in sorrow, and was beloved by all his +subjects. In latter years his kingdom grew large and prosperous, and it +was no longer known as the Village of Youth, but was called the City of +Content. + +[Illustration] + + + + + A CHILD OF THE WIND + +[Illustration: A CHILD OF THE WINDS] + + "Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears + By some cold morning glacier" + Lord Tennyson + + + I. + +When Sorrow was a little child and the Sea yet nursed pale Grief on her +breast, there lived in a distant country a great and wise King. Renowned +for justice, he was both loved and revered by his subjects, and if God +had blessed him with a child to inherit his lands he could have died +without a regret. However, time passed, and it seemed that his wish was +to remain ungratified. Being a noble and sagacious man, he reconciled +himself to the will of his Creator; but his Queen still hoped against +hope. The King's time was fully occupied. Each day brought its +different tasks. There was much state business to be discussed in +council, and the administration of justice made great demands on the +monarch's leisure. His spouse, on the other hand, had little to do, +excepting to tend her flowers and to ply her needle. She took to +brooding and wishing impiously for what God evidently did not intend she +should have. Unknown to the King, she visited all the magicians in his +realm, and sought their help to aid her in the fulfilment of her wish; +but in vain. + +When very much depressed, it was the Queen's habit to wander by the sea +and speak her thoughts aloud. One day, feeling more wretched than she +had ever done before, she left the palace secretly, and walked some +miles along the coast, unburdening her mind as she went. + +It was late autumn. The approaching death of the year struck her majesty +painfully. The ocean was a dull green under the heavy sky. She turned, +and looked at the silver spires of the palace which lay in the distance. +"Ah! what a difference it would have made in our dear home," she said, +"had we been blessed with a child." She clasped her hands in a frenzy of +desire. It seemed to her agitated mind that the sea too was perturbed, +that its rippling waves kissed her sandalled feet lovingly. At +length, tired with her walk, she lay down and wept herself to sleep. + +[Illustration] + +When she awoke it was evening. The woodlands and mountains lay in deep +shadow. + +The Queen started up, scarcely remembering where she was. When she quite +realised her position she drew her hooded cloak more tightly around her, +and prepared to return home. She had scarcely made any progress, when +suddenly, a few feet from her, she observed in the sea a face of +surpassing beauty. The hair lay floating on the waves like red weed; the +eyes were as green as emeralds, with a fierce tenderness in them. The +Queen stood transfixed with amazement, gazing at the woman's face. She +was uncertain what to do, whether to remain where she was, or whether to +fly homewards along the shore. The royal lady had been reared in the +simplest manner; she had been taught to distrust her imagination, so she +rubbed her eyes, expecting that when she looked again the vision would +have vanished. But she was mistaken; moreover, the apparition began to +address her in throbbing bursts of song. + +"Mortal, I am here to grant thy desire. I have heard thy plaints and +caught thy tears, and I have sorrowed for thee and tried to soothe thy +woe, for I too have known bitterness and despair. I was once the love +of the North Wind. He wooed me amidst the ice-plains, in a world of +crystal glaciers. He chased me through space, until we lay panting on +the shores of Africa. But he has left me for the South Wind, with her +golden hair and her hot breath. They have made their home on a +mountain-top, where the snow-flowers bloom in profusion, where the sea +can never go. Four years since he came, bearing a child in his arms. He +laid it on my breast, saying that I was to keep it and rear it for his +sake. That child I will give to thee. She knows nothing of her +parentage, and it would be best that thou shouldst never tell her to +whom she owes her being." + +"But when the North Wind finds that thou hast parted with thy precious +charge what will he do?" panted the Queen. + +"He will storm and tear and lash my waves into mountains, and moan round +continent and island, and search my ocean from the North to the South +Pole. His spouse will scorch me with her breath till I am forced to dive +down to cool crystal caverns, where, upon a bed of seaweed, I shall +laugh loud and long, a conqueror." + +The Queen held her breath in terror. She would have liked to escape from +the fierce Sea, whose face wore a look of wild triumph; but her anxiety +to see the Child of the Winds overcame her fear, and she waited +patiently, her hands clasped tightly together to quell her rising +agitation. + +By this time it was quite dark; the sky was starless, there was not a +breath of air. In her imagination the Queen seemed to see the Winds in +their mountain home, unconscious of the peril of their daughter. The Sea +had disappeared, and was so long absent that the Queen began to think +she had been dreaming, when suddenly, by invisible hands, a child was +placed in her arms. + +"Thou must call her Myra," said a voice, "for she hath known only +bitterness on the breast of her foster-mother." + +The Queen looked around, but saw no one. Pressing the burden to her +heart, she started homewards. She dared not look at the little one; but +she felt the tiny arms clasped confidingly round her neck, and the sweet +mouth pressed against her cheek gave her more happiness than she had +ever known. + +The Sea followed her, washing the shore with phosphorescent waves to +light her steps homewards. The royal lady flew along with the agility of +early youth, and the burden in her arms was made light by love. + +At length the marble steps were reached. She hurried up them and through +the golden gates--along winding passages and across alabaster halls, +until at length, breathless and trembling with excitement, she burst +into the King's apartments, where she placed Myra in the arms of her +amazed and happy husband. + +Cognisant of his just and upright nature, she did not tell him of the +child's parentage, knowing that he would have been the first to restore +it to its rightful owners. She said that she had found the little +creature on the shore, and that fearing it would be drowned by the +incoming tide, she had borne it to the palace, hoping that, should it be +unclaimed, her royal lord would, in pity of her loneliness, and in +consideration of their desire for a daughter, allow her to keep and rear +it as their own. + +Long into the night they sat, admiring the lovely waif. + +"She must be royally born, my love," said the King. "Washed overboard, +perhaps, from some regal ship. Be sure she will be claimed of thee." + +Suddenly Myra awoke, and the Queen set her on her feet, that they might +the better observe her. + +[Illustration] + +She was about four years old. Heavy black hair fell around her face, +which was lit with wild, pale eyes. Her small seamless garment was +embroidered with pearls and shells, and through its transparent folds +the little body looked like a blush rose with the dew upon it. The +Queen, in an ecstasy of happiness, drew Myra's hands within her own +and kissed them; her heart went out in motherly tenderness to the poor +babe, hitherto unkissed by mortal lips, though born of the Winds and +rocked by the Sea. Yet, as she gazed into the child's sorrowful face, a +strange fear smote her, and she almost wished that she had left the +eerie creature in its salt sea home, or that she had told her husband +the story of its birth. Still, she could not go back now. + +In the night a great storm arose. The Queen lay trembling in her +chamber. Myra's powerful father had learned of the loss of his daughter. +He lashed the Sea from Pole to Pole; it thundered on the shore, and +burst into wild shrieks of triumph. The night was long and tempestuous; +whole towns were destroyed, and many ships were sunk; but towards +morning the North Wind subsided into low wails of pain, which were +answered by the languorous sighs of the South, as they returned to their +mountain home sad and desolate, while in a marble palace a Queen awoke +pressing their child to her breast. She had taken the weird sea-tossed +thing to her heart, for weal or woe. + + +II. + +Myra's first years in her new home were trying ones to her +foster-parents. Nothing in the palace seemed to please her. Not that she +ever in any way testified her dislike of anybody or anything; but there +was a wistful look in her face, and she had a listless way of sitting +for hours on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands +supporting her chin. Asked what she thought about at these times her +reply was an odd one, and always gave the Queen a creepy feeling. "I am +not thinking; I am only seeing things," she would say. + +A spacious nursery had been built for the child's use in the grounds of +the palace. It had a walled-in garden of its own, in which there were +flowers, fruit trees, soft lawns, and sparkling fountains. All the +toy-makers in the kingdom had been employed to furnish the nursery with +ingenious inventions. There were dolls by the hundred, tea and dinner +services, farmyards, woolly animals, games innumerable, everything that +the heart of the most petted child could desire; yet Myra took no +pleasure in them. The only playthings she appeared to care for were a +collection of shells, which had been gathered for her on the beach and +pierced with holes; these she would string and re-string for hours. + +Time passed, and Myra grew into a lovely woman. The King was exceedingly +proud of her, and he made her heiress to his crown and estates. One +thing alone troubled him deeply. Myra would not consent to marry any of +the great nobles who had frequented his court. All the high-born princes +of his realm had wooed her in vain, and many others from distant lands +had failed to please her. The King had often heard of princesses who set +so high a value on themselves that they did not think any man good +enough for them in the light of a husband, but Myra was not proud. She +was of a very gentle nature, and he could not believe that she was +cold-hearted; yet she appeared to be so, for none of her noble lovers +could boast the smallest word of encouragement from her sweet lips. She +moved through the palace, a slim, dark beauty, in her pale draperies, +her hair half hidden beneath her jewelled head-dress, her face, though +calm and serene, still lit by the strange, wistful eyes which had so +struck the Queen on that night seventeen years ago when the Winds had +lost their daughter. + +As she grew to womanhood Myra delighted in her garden. She often sat +there most of the day, reading or sewing or talking with the flowers. +It amused the Princess to find that, from simple daisy to proud +tiger-lily, they were all in love. With one exception. + +Near the wall there grew a purple Hollyhock or Rose-Mallow. The Princess +preferred to call him by his latter name, because it seemed to her the +grander and also the more euphonious of the two. He, of all the flowers +in the enclosure, was her favourite, and he alone had not yet found a +lady upon whom to bestow his affections. + +Myra always attended upon the garden herself. She cut off the dead +blossoms, raked the soil with a golden rake, and gave the plants water +out of a golden pitcher when the heat of the sun had been oppressive. +Therefore, she participated in all their secrets. She knew that, +although the Rose-Mallow was not in love with any inmate of the garden, +there was an humble Violet which grew at his feet, in whose eyes he was +the rarest and most lovely flower in the world. It amused Myra to see +the Violet peep from its green leaves at the stately Mallow, and then, +if he chanced to be looking, which, of course, was just what the Violet +wanted, she would hide herself, in a strange tremor of excitement. + +"I feel so happy, and yet so miserable, to-day," said the Rose-Mallow to +the Princess one morning. "Last night, when all the others were asleep, +I heard, from over the wall, a sweet voice singing a hymn to Night. I +asked the Poplar who it was, and he said it was the Evening Primrose; +that there were none of her race in our garden, and that she was more +beautiful than daylight." + +"And why should that knowledge distress thee?" asked the Princess, +sitting down at his feet. + +"Because I love her. Her voice is music. I am pining to see her." + +He trembled as he spoke. The Princess rose, laughing. + +"Well, this is a strange garden," she said. "I did think my Rose-Mallow +was sensible. What is it," she cried aloud, "what is this Love, for +which all Nature pines?" + +There was no answer; but the sun shot down a handful of golden sunbeams +upon her face, which dazzled her and made her laugh again. + +"Ah! thou wilt know ere long," said the Rose-Mallow, much hurt at her +want of sympathy. "Do not think, Princess, that the most beautiful of +women will be allowed to go unscathed." + +Myra threw her arms around him, to make up for her unfeeling remarks, +and then in soft tones advised him to climb the wall and look over at +his lady-love. + +"But it will take so long, and be so hard!" he replied. + +"Still, thy reward may be great, sweet flower. Look higher than the +homely flowers of thy home, for the blossom beyond the walls may be far +more rare, and may outshine them all." + +So the Rose-Mallow prepared to follow the Princess's advice, and to +leave the lilies, and lupins, and all the sweets of the garden behind +him. + +As Myra turned to go, she noticed that the Violet had drooped and lay +panting. She hurried to fetch it some water, for which it returned her +modest thanks. She wondered what ailed it to faint in the cool of the +morning, when the earth was yet damp with early rain. Then it struck her +that the Violet's love for the Rose-Mallow would be of no use if he +found the Evening Primrose. "And I suppose that would make her unhappy," +she said aloud, as she plucked a bunch of heartsease and placed it in +her dress, the wonder in her eyes deepening into an expression of grave, +severe thoughtfulness. + + + III. + +Protected by a hedge of myrtle, in the heart of a mighty forest, Love +had fashioned his bower. His couch was strewn with honey-flowers and +rose-leaves. Stately red chrysanthemums made splashes of crimson +brilliance against the dark green of the scented myrtle. Pink +carnations, roses of every hue, sweetbriar, ambrosia, balsams, +forget-me-nots, and every flower sacred to the great god, Love, grew in +profusion, to make his bower into a resting-place worthy of him. + +He lay tossing on his fragrant couch in a fit of anger. For some time +Princess Myra's disdain of all the great princes and nobles whom he had +sent to woo her had offended him deeply. But on this particular +afternoon his messengers had informed him of the maiden's morning +interview with the Rose-Mallow, and of the question she had asked with +regard to himself. Unable to forget the Princess's impertinence, he lay +brooding and fretting, until the position of the sun warned him that the +day was passing away. + +"What is this Love for which the whole earth pines?" he murmured, as he +bounded from his couch into a cluster of forget-me-nots. "Ah! I will +teach thee. Thou shalt learn, ere the day is dead, what Love is. In the +semblance of an earthly prince, I will woo thee myself. I will adore +thee, sweet Myra, gaze into thine eyes, and pretend that there is only +one woman in all the world for me. I will do as men do--pet thee, and +coax thee, and win thy affections by the thousand little nothings that +make up a courtship. When I have conquered thee, and thy heart is mine, +I will break it and trample it under foot, and leave thee all thy life a +remembrance of the power of Love. Thou shalt never hear sweet music, but +a desperate longing for my presence shall come over thee. Thou shalt +never see a rose, but thy heart shall bleed. The sight of a lark, +winging his morning flight heavenwards, shall draw tears to thy weary +eyes. Ah! woe betide the mortal maid when Eros is her lover!" + +"These," he said, choosing a hundred chrysanthemums, "shall be my +escort." + +As he spoke, the flowers were transformed into a hundred gallant +knights; their dresses were of crimson brocade, and on their heads were +caps of chrysanthemum petals. Then Love took up honey-flowers and +rose-leaves, and changed them into a suit of rich purple silk. + +Meanwhile the King had been having a far from pleasant interview with +Her Majesty on the subject of their daughter. + +"Indeed, it is not my fault," the Queen had said. "I cannot help it if +our child's heart is still whole." + +"But, my dear love, thou never givest her any counsel. If thou wert to +tell her that it is meet she should marry one of the many lords who +desire her I feel assured she would do thy will." + +The Queen burst into tears. Knowing the girl's parentage as she did, how +could she advise her to accept a mortal for her husband? Yet she dared +not tell the King of Myra's birth; she must always keep the hateful +secret to herself. Oh that she had chosen the straight path when the +choice had been hers! + +The King was distressed to see her weep. But just at that moment he +observed a small fleet with crimson sails flying up the river towards +the royal landing-stage. + +"Why, that must be another suitor for our daughter's hand!" he +exclaimed. + +All the flowers remarked the pretty boats scudding along in the late +afternoon sunlight. The Rose-Mallow alone was too busily employed in +climbing the wall to observe what circumstance was disturbing the +flower-garden. The ladies of the palace, the lords and the pages, were +aware of the visit of the Prince long before he had landed. The +household was greatly agitated. Their Majesties hurried to the audience +chamber, to find the Court already assembled to receive the high-born +visitor. Myra alone was unconscious of the advent of another suitor. Had +she known of it, the fact would only have annoyed her somewhat, and +made her eyes a trifle more wistful than they usually were. + +Suddenly the Queen entered the Princess's room trembling with +excitement. + +"My child, my child! thou must proceed at once to the audience chamber, +by the King's commands. A great Prince has come to woo thee." + +Myra was robed in a loose gown of fine linen, her dark hair hung upon +her shoulders, and a book which she had been reading lay open on her +knee. + +"Oh, come, let me clothe thee!" cried the Queen, assisting the girl to +her feet and hurrying her into the adjoining room, where, with nervous +fingers, she bound up the thick hair in embroidered bands of opals and +diamonds. Then, opening a cedar chest which stood at the end of the +apartment, she drew forth a dress, and was about to slip it over the +Princess's head, when Myra started back in amazement. + +"My royal Queen, I cannot wear that garment," she said. "Why, it cost +the King, my father, over a hundredweight in gold. I was warned to keep +it only for great occasions." + +"Foolish girl, is not thy betrothal a great occasion? Ah! I do not jest. +Pause until thou hast seen the youth who awaits thee. He is handsome +beyond all men that even I, old as I am, have ever looked upon." + +The Princess was struck by the Queen's enthusiasm. She allowed herself +to be attired in the superb robe which had been a present from the King. +It was fashioned of rich silk, and had a design of lilies round the hem +and on the sleeves, each flower being worked with opals and diamonds. +Twenty maidens had been employed for twenty months embroidering the +costly pattern. In sunlight the fabric was pale sea-green, bordering on +silver-grey; but when the sky was dull there were faint purple tones in +its folds, like the soft bloom on the fruit of the plum-tree. + +When Myra entered the hall a murmur of admiration fell from the lips of +the assembly. She had never looked so lovely. She seemed to stand in a +halo of light; the opals on her dress reflected themselves in the +diamonds, making a haze of pale fantastic colour, strange as it was +beautiful. As she entered, the Prince was talking apart with the King; +so she had a moment in which to observe him before he knew of her +advent. He appeared to be a merry youth, with golden curls and blue eyes +that were full of mirth and the love of fun. He turned and saw her, and +fell on one knee and took her hand, lifting up his face to hers. Then, +as he gazed upon her, the brightness and the mirth that had illuminated +his lovely countenance died away. She looked down to see his eyes filled +with a new meaning, a wondrous expression of mingled tenderness and pain +shadowed them. She looked down to see large tears furrowing his cheeks. +She looked down to love him! + + + IV. + +"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. + + + V. + +Myra wandered about the precincts of her home like one distraught with +sorrow. The sun of her life had gone out, and left all dark and cold and +desolate. The flowers had lost their rare colours, and had clothed +themselves in sombre tints of red and purple. The river had lost its +merry voice, and went sobbing through the grounds. Many days passed, and +life became one long memory. With brooding and sorrowing over her lost +Love she grew pale and thin. Her eyes became wan and hollow, and misery +closed her lips. + +Some weeks after the Prince had disappeared she visited her garden. The +flowers had grown tall and straggling, the walks were weedy, the lawn +had lost its velvet softness, and all was desolation. As she walked, +weeping, beside the once brilliant border, she saw the Rose-Mallow lying +half-dead across her path. + +"Alas, sweet flower! what aileth thee?" she said, lifting his head and +looking into his face. + +"My dear mistress, I am hurt to death," he murmured. + +"Speak. Tell me thy sorrow." + +"I worked by day and by night to climb the wall of the garden, and after +much labour I reached the summit, just as the sun was setting. There I +saw the lady whose melodious voice had won my heart. Ah, fair Princess! +she was more beautiful than dawn or daylight. I gazed at her, and told +her that I loved her; but she would not even look at me; she spread +forth her pale blossoms with sweet pride. 'I love the Night alone, and +only raise my face to his,' she said. Then I drooped and drooped with +pain. I am indeed hurt to death," he moaned. + +She threw her arms around him, while her tears fell on his poor faded +leaves; and when the moon had risen her favourite lay dead in the once +happy garden. + +The Princess fetched her golden spade, and dug his grave where he had +lived. Then she bent down and plucked a little cluster of flowers from +the Violet whose love had been wasted, to place upon the earth above +his resting-place; and from each blossom a tear-drop flowed from the +Violet's heart. + +"Ah! if I had not advised him to seek his love away from those with whom +his life had been passed," moaned Myra. "He could have cared for one of +the flowers in the garden before he saw the Evening Primrose; his life +was spoilt through my counsel, and ended in pain. And, oh! that I had +been as other women, and had taken a knight of my father's court for +husband. If only I had put up with little imperfections, then this +trouble had not come upon me. But now life is over, and I can never know +happiness again." + +That night Fate told the North Wind the story of his child. On his +mountain home he learned of the Queen's treachery, of Myra's early life, +and of Love's hateful blunder. + +Spreading his powerful wings, by Fate's command, he flew earthwards, to +bear his daughter to the halls of that dread arbiter of destiny. He was +oppressed with sorrow. The snow-flowers hid their heads as he rushed, +sobbing, down the mountain; the earth shook at his voice as he shrieked +through village and valley; the dead leaves sighed as he scattered them +in thousands before him. But when he gained the palace gardens and +approached his daughter's window his fierce sorrow abated, and he +touched the strings of her harp with gentle fingers. The first strains +were more like the voice of the South Wind than that of the wilder +North. Then followed long wailing strains of melody, as of a soul in +distress. + +Myra, sitting brooding on her misery, became strangely roused, as she +heard the weird instrument played upon by a master hand. Often the sad +music seemed to be the voice of her lover; then the tones softened to a +sigh; it was the Rose-Mallow's dying sob. + +An overmastering wish seized her to open the casement. She must admit +those pleading tones, or her heart would break. Unable to quell the +desire, she threw wide the window. + +[Illustration] + +There stood a tall, winged man. His shaggy hair was heavy and black, his +face was gaunt and wild. He was sweeping the harp-strings with long, +bony fingers. Strange and uncouth and terrible as he looked, there was +such strength about the great figure, such power in the face, that the +Princess, though terror-stricken, was drawn towards him. And when he saw +her leaning from her casement, so gentle an expression crossed his worn +visage, that her fear of him departed instantly, and she said:-- + +"I know thee, great master. Thou art the Wind, and thou hast met my +Love. Ah, in mercy take me to him!" + +"Wilt thou not be afraid to entrust thyself to my arms?" he whispered. + +"Good sir, carry me all over the earth, through frozen worlds of endless +ice, so thou layest me at my lord's feet at last, and I shall not know a +moment's fear. I love him!" she said simply. + +The Wind clasped her in his arms and flew away, lulling her to sleep as +he went. + +When the Princess awoke she was standing in a gloomy cavern. The walls +were of black onyx. A stream of crystal water ran gurgling at her feet. + +When her eyes became more accustomed to the haze and dimness of the +place, she saw a sight which made her wish to shriek aloud; but her +voice seemed to have gone, and she stood powerless and terror-stricken. +As she gazed a light seemed to break upon her mind. + +Fate, robed in lowering mists, sat gazing into a divining glass, with +keen, prophetic eyes; with her right hand she held Love in strong and +terrible grasp. In the crouching, penitent figure, Myra recognised, with +bursting heart, that her Prince and Love were one. Then she became +conscious of the deep voice of Fate ringing through the gloom in +threatening tones. + +"Thou didst think thou couldst play with her affections as thou dost +with those of a mortal maid, couldst win her love and break her heart by +thy desertion! But, trickster as thou art, in thine own net art thou +caught. See, where each tear she lets fall, a lily springs." + +Myra's eyes followed Fate's pointing finger. Love looked up and saw the +Princess standing in a cluster of white lilies. + +"Know that she is a spirit, immortal as thyself; a child of the Winds, +nursed on the salt Sea's breast. Therefore, as thou only canst feel +punishment in her agony, she shall be called Grief. Henceforth, in all +Love there shall be much of bitterness. Parting from the thing loved +shall be the keenest pang of human pain. She shall visit her +foster-parents but once again, and mingle her sobs with theirs. She +shall pursue thee through the ages, and fear of her coming shall lessen +thy rapture. Disappointment, despair, and misery, shall walk in her +train. Man shall weep tears of blood in that thou hast created Grief!" + +Love shrieked aloud in pain, and flinging aside the cruel hand of Fate, +threw his arms about the shrinking girl. They stood in the misty gloom +together, his brilliant form regained its strength. Grief lifted her +brimming eyes to his and caught their power. + +[Illustration] + +A great wave of tenderness broke over the mournful face of Fate; her +calm glance rested prophetically on the two figures as she addressed +them for the last time. + +"But her love of thee shall endure until the Lilies of Grief are lost in +the Roses of Love; for Love shall be king of Grief, and of Time, and of +Eternity." + +[Illustration: UNTIL THE LILIES OF GRIEF ARE LOST IN THE ROSES OF LOVE] + + + + + The Flower that reached the Sun-lands + +[Illustration: The Flower that reached the Sun-lands] + + "No star is ever lost we once have seen + We always may be what we might have been" + Adelaide Procter + + + I. + +Though only a miserable little waif, born in sorrow and nurtured in +poverty, George Ermen had resolved to be a great man. + +He earned six shillings a week at sorting rags and paper, adding +frequently to this a smaller sum gained by cleaning pots at a +public-house. It was a miserable pittance. He and his mother could +hardly be said to live upon it, they only existed; and they found this +still more difficult when George's father, a lazy, ne'er-do-well, came +to visit them. + +The boy and his mother dwelt in a garret in Paradise Court. It was a +bare, miserable room, its only furniture an old iron bedstead, a rickety +table, and two chairs. Opening out of the attic was a tiny chamber with +a mattress in one corner, on which George slept. He had no bed-clothes, +and was in the habit of covering himself with papers during the chill +winter nights. + +On the wall hung a small plaster crucifix. A sprig of box was thrust +through the ring by which the cross was suspended. The window looked out +upon a wilderness of chimneys and grimy tenement houses. + +It seemed to George that God had been very good to him, although he was +poor and ragged and half starved, for besides his old mother, whom he +loved above everything, he had three good friends--Father Francis, the +Roman Catholic priest; Miss Brand, who was devoting both time and money +to the suffering poor in the district; and Maggie Reed, his little +sweetheart, who was as poverty-stricken and as tattered as himself. + +George sang in the choir at the church. He possessed a beautiful voice, +and the priest felt sure that were it possible to procure him an +efficient musical training he would have a future. But it seemed rash to +even hope for a chance for the boy among the squalor and misery and sin +which surrounded the poor. Father Francis, however, did not lose heart, +because he was a good man, believing in God, and feeling convinced that +He would stretch forth His hand to the waif and help him in His own +good time. The lad himself was even more hopeful than the priest, +because he was young, and had resolved that death alone should prevent +the fulfilment of his vow. + +Not that poor George Ermen had much idea of what the term "a great man" +meant, excepting that they usually dressed in frock coats, wore gaiters +over their boots, and drove about in a carriage, all of which seemed +very pleasant and most desirable to the bare-footed waif. + +Strangely enough, he was frequently pondering over very material things +when he sang his best and when his eyes seemed most dreamy. + +"What were you a-thinking of this mornin' in church when you was singin' +the _Ave Maria_?" his mother had once inquired. + +"Why, didn't I sing it well?" he asked anxiously. + +"Yaas, better than ever before, and yer faice looked loike an angel's." + +"Well, I was promisin' God that if ever I got rich enough to ride about +in a carriage like the lords do that come and lay foundation stones and +opens schools and things, I'd invite all the little children what's so +miserable to tea and muffins." + +Mrs. Ermen smiled sadly. She had no belief in her son ever rising to be +anything better than a wretched waif, fated to live and die in Paradise +Court. But as long as he was honest, and brave, and true to his friends, +she must not complain. She was content, almost happy indeed, when she +looked around her and saw boys of George's age swearing and fighting and +drinking, while George was sober, well behaved, and industrious. + +Maggie Reed knew in her young soul that George would surely live to be a +great man, and often when they roamed about the weary streets together, +she would cheer him with her childish confidence. + +"We'll live on 'Ampstead 'Eath, George, when you're rich and we're +married, at one of them big 'ouses by the pond, and we'll 'ave donkey +rides and bicycles and things." + +"Yes, darling," George would answer. + +By the advice of Father Francis they often spent hours in the parks and +squares, where the air was sweeter than that of Paradise Court; but +frequently George's little sweetheart grew so tired that he had to carry +her on his back most of the way home again. + +It was a cold day in early spring. Mrs. Ermen sat shivering in a corner +of their garret, when her boy bounded into the room carrying a geranium +in a pot. + +"Mother, mother," he cried in wild excitement, "Miss Brand is gettin' up +a geranium show! It's ter come off in July. Four hundred plants have +been given out to the children this morning. They are to keep them, +water them, attend to them, make them grow and flower, and when the day +comes round for the show the plants must be taken to the schoolroom, and +the best will get a prize." + +"Who is ter judge?" asked Mrs. Ermen, catching George's excitement. + +"A lord!" + +"A lord?" + +"Yes, one of them that wears gaiters over their boots. And I am going to +win the first prize!" he added firmly, his sharp face wearing an +expression of happy anticipation. + +"I 'ope you will, my dear," she answered, kissing him, and breathing a +prayer from her poor ignorant soul for the good woman whose unselfish +devotion had brought that look into her boy's face. + +Time passed, and the bitter, easterly winds proved to be more than Mrs. +Ermen could bear. She became too weak to rise, and when George grew +alarmed she tried to comfort him by saying that she felt warmer in bed; +and when June came she should be about again, and he must not distress +himself for her sake. + +Supposing she should die! Men and women died frequently in Paradise +Court. Their bodies were carried out of the squalid dwellings and +rattled over the streets to the crowded burial ground. The thought smote +him painfully, and made a burning flush mount to his face. She must not +die! What would riches and greatness mean to him unless she were there +to share in his good fortune? + + + II. + +The geranium was not at all happy in her new quarters. Although George +attended to her wants most carefully she still thought with bitter +regret of the greenhouse where she had been reared, and of the old +gardener who had ministered to her. Here on the window sill of George's +attic thousands of smuts settled daily upon her leaves, and the air was +heavy. So great was her discomfort that she would have most certainly +ceased to live had not a sunbeam lost his way among the narrow courts of +the city, and while darting in and out of the grimy streets in his +endeavours to find the sun, espied the unhappy flower. He immediately +climbed up his golden ladder, and rested among the broad green leaves, +much to her delight. + +She confided her pitiful history to this new-found friend, who was so +kind and sympathetic that the geranium grew warm and happy. Presently +the sun shone out in the murky sky, and immediately the sunbeam glided +along his golden thread and rejoined his parent. He did not, however, +forsake the plant which had sheltered him, but frequently visited her, +so that she forgot her struggle for life, and grew into a fine healthy +geranium, much to the delight of her young master. + +As time passed George began to realise that his mother would never rise +from her bed again. Father Francis had gently told him that there was +little hope of her recovery, and that when the great blow fell upon him +he must reconcile himself to the will of the Almighty. + +The poor waif suffered many hours of agony alone in his garret. Kneeling +before the crucifix, he would beg God to spare the one thing he loved in +all the world. + +"I have so few comforts, dear Lord," he would say, "no clothes, little +food; I can stand want if only you will not take her away." But when he +was tired out with pain, he would raise his lips to the pierced feet, +and kissing them, murmur, "Thy will be done." + +His imagination had so often realised the picture that one morning, on +finding his mother dead in her bed, he was hardly shocked. + +The doctor said that death had resulted from syncope, accelerated by +want of nourishment and neglect. + +So the waif was left alone. His bright look departed. The wish for +greatness was forgotten in his sorrow, and even his little sweetheart +failed to comfort him. + +On hearing of George's sad plight his father returned to live with him. +The boy's saddened face touched Ermen's hard heart, and for a time the +son's misery was alleviated by his parent's kindness. His father was +decently dressed, and evidently had a little money, for food was more +plentiful in the garret than it had ever been during George's +remembrance. + +Thanks to the sunbeam's care, the geranium continued to thrive +marvellously, and as show day drew near she approached her prime. + +Miss Brand gave George a clean collar and a decent jacket, and Father +Francis bought him his first pair of shoes for the great occasion. + +On the morning of the distribution he was up at five o'clock, for at +that early hour he had been told to take his geranium to the schoolroom, +and enter it for the competition. + +Very gently he watered the leaves, taking care that not a drop should +fall upon one of the five brilliant blossoms. As he stood admiring the +plant he was surprised to hear footsteps in the adjoining room. His +father had been away some days. He thought he must have returned earlier +than he had expected. He therefore hurried to the door, and opened it, a +joyful expression on his face. But it was the landlady, who stood there +holding a dirty-looking letter in her hand. + +"Look 'ere, sonnie, your father's been took ter gaol. 'E was on 'is way +'ome when the perlice took 'im in charge for that big jewel robbery at +Manchester. 'E's wrote me this letter," she said, pausing to unfold the +dirty piece of paper, while George stood pale to the lips with terror. + +"'E sends you this message: 'Tell my son not ter grieve for me. It's all +quite true what they says against me. I am a scamp, and always have +been.'" + +"'E'll get a lifer, that's a certainty," she observed to the lodgers +downstairs when she had left the horror-stricken boy alone. + +George couldn't weep at this last blow. He had not shed a tear since his +mother's death. The agony in his heart was therefore all the more +unbearable. He clenched his hands in pain. + +Hours passed, the bitterest he had ever spent. Whatever suffering the +future held for him he never experienced such anguish again. + +At last he raised his head. His face was white, his eyes were heavy and +dull. + +"Everything is against me," he moaned. "My mother's dead; my father, who +had become so kind, taken and thrown into gaol. Why should I suffer +hunger and cold and disgrace and beggary? Other boys, through no merit +of theirs, are born rich. Why wasn't I a lord's son instead of a waif of +the streets? Why should my mother die of neglect, when others have all +they need? Oh! I'll ask God to kill me; death ain't so very terrible. +I've seen lots of boys of my age fished out of the river. It's only a +few moments' pain, and Jesus wouldn't be 'ard on a little chap what's +ben drove to it." + +The geranium trembled with fear as she heard the boy's wild words. She +spread out her blossoms and endeavoured to attract his attention. + +Suddenly the garret was brilliantly illuminated. The sunbeam had glided +down his golden ladder, and stood on the window sill. + +George was amazed. He must be dreaming! What was this beautiful tiny +creature enveloped in a haze of glory? + +"The angels are sad when you despair, little boy. Gather your energies. +Receive your prize! You are ungrateful to the flower which has grown +into so beautiful a plant for your sake. You are ungrateful to your God +thus to abandon hope when you possess one of His greatest gifts." + +"What gift?" + +"Youth, a magic watchword that can open the enchanted gates in the land +of genius." + +"Genius?" said the boy wonderingly. "I have never heard of it." + +"Live your life. Lose not a moment. At your years time flies. Be a great +and a good man. Persevere. Out of the mire of this wilderness a golden +flower shall rear its head, and grow in beauty day by day. It may even +reach the Sun-lands." + + + III. + +The schoolroom looked like a little paradise to the poor waifs assembled +there. Many flags hung from the roof, and festoons of evergreens +decorated the walls. A raised platform was covered with scarlet cloth. +On this were many well-dressed ladies, the seat of honour being filled +by Lord Eltonville, who had consented to distribute the prizes. The +geraniums were displayed around the room. Some amongst them were frail +and sickly looking,--they had not been able to thrive in their squalid +and sunless abodes,--others appeared more promising, and a few +amongst the number had grown strong and handsome. + +[Illustration] + +Of the four hundred plant cuttings thirty alone had not been returned +for competition. + +At one side of the platform was a table upon which the prizes were +arranged. They consisted of workboxes, paints, tops, knives, drums, +books, blotters, aprons, pencils, etc. + +Miss Brand, much distressed at the news of Ermen's arrest, and at his +son's nonappearance, had told the story to some of the visitors, and a +great deal of interest and sympathy were excited in his favour. + +Father Francis had just uncovered the prizes. The crowd of children +pushed and scrambled to get a look at the good things; but at a word +from their lady chief even the most turbulent grew quiet. + +Some lovely countenances were discernible among the little gathering. +Under ordinary circumstances they would hardly have been noticed for the +dirt and grime which covered them; but this was a gala day, and, thanks +to Miss Brand's kind care, each child's face and hands had been washed, +and their white collars lent an air of cleanliness even to the most +ragged and worn dress. + +Suddenly there was a stir in the room. A boy was seen advancing through +the crowd holding a magnificent geranium in his arms. + +Father Francis welcomed George in a quiet, kindly way. His plant was +placed upon the platform for inspection, and it was universally agreed +that had it been in time for the competition George would have taken the +first prize. + +Grieved that her little friend should be too late, Miss Brand hastily +unfastened a silver compass from her watch chain and gave it to Lord +Eltonville, to whom she said a few private words. + +The atmosphere was stifling, and George was faint for want of food. Many +of the children's mothers were present holding infants in their arms. +Their worn, anxious faces beamed with delight as Lord Eltonville rose to +distribute the prizes. + +"George Ermen, in consideration of your misfortune, Miss Brand wishes to +overlook the fact that your geranium was not entered for the competition +this morning. I have, therefore, the great pleasure of awarding you a +special extra prize, the presentation of which shall have precedence in +our day's business." + +George walked to the platform and received the pretty silver compass, a +flush of pride and delight colouring his pale cheek. + +"Let me advise you to cultivate smilax round your window," added his +lordship, doubtless thinking of his magnificent greenhouses, and little +realising the misery and squalor in which the waifs of the great city +dwelt. + +"Smilax!" murmured George wonderingly. + +"Yes, it is a beautiful creeper, and ought to grow nicely round your +window and make you quite a little bower." + +The excitement of the children could no longer be curbed. Miss Brand was +heartily glad when the distribution was over, and she could see the poor +waifs happy with their little presents. It would be difficult to +describe their joy. Many of their number had never possessed anything +before. To have a book, a doll, a top, a pencil--something that was +their very own--seemed like a delightful dream. + +Father Francis had resolved to strike a blow for his _protege_ before +the day was over. Just as Lord Eltonville was preparing to depart, he +told him that there was a little chorister among his flock who had a +lovely voice, and that if his lordship would oblige him by staying +through the short prayer with which they were about to end the day's +pleasure he would hear the boy sing. + +The nobleman graciously complied, and stood, hat in hand, while the +priest said a Paternoster and three Aves, the children joining in +fervently. Then Father Francis rose and sat at the harmonium. His +lordship watched George take his place beside his spiritual director. He +noticed the lad's pale, worn face, his ragged clothes, and his air of +utter helplessness, and felt sorry that the good priest should have +prevailed upon him to stay and witness the poor little fellow's failure. + +There was not a sound in the schoolroom. The grand ladies held their +breath in pity. Miss Brand looked anxious. The children longed for the +success of their gentle comrade, and Maggie's heart beat with suppressed +excitement. + +"_Te Deum Laudamus, te Dominum confitemur._" + +The voice seemed to pierce the heavens, so fresh and pure was its tone. +Lord Eltonville's heart stood still. The waif's face had changed with +those first words of praise; it had become illuminated with a great +light, his insignificant little figure had gained a king's dignity. + +"_Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur._" + +Lord Eltonville's imagination was fired by the music. He seemed to be in +a little church of his own that was full of the perfume of incense. The +low of distant oxen and the ripple of the river came through the open +window. His only son, who died at about George's age, lay buried in the +churchyard; the small grave was yellow with early primroses. He, too, +had an angel's voice, stilled for ever excepting in his father's memory. + +"_Tu Rex gloriae, Christe._" + +Tears fell from the nobleman's eyes. Nor song of lark, nor rustle of +waving grass, nor anything he had ever heard in all nature, had touched +him so deeply as the waif's rendering of that hymn of praise. + +As the last words died away Lord Eltonville stepped forward with +outstretched hand; but George's strength was exhausted, the flush died +away from his face, and he fell backwards into the priest's arms. + + + IV. + +Time and circumstances change men, some for good and some for ill. It is +an acknowledged fact that success often spoils the best natures, +although to those on whom Fortune seldom smiles, this is hard to +realise. + +Thanks to Lord Eltonville's generosity and kind care, George Ermen had +become a great man. His wish had been gratified; he had earned money and +position. + +Twenty years had passed since the geranium show. The ragged waif of that +day had owned a sweet, loving nature, which seemed lost in the great +musician of St. James's. + +His father had died in prison. His mother's memory had scarcely +survived. He never spoke of his early days, and looked upon them as a +disgrace. Miss Brand's name seldom occurred to him, Father Francis was +forgotten, and Maggie Reed languished in poverty. + +In a gorgeous mansion, replete with every luxury, the musician sat at +dinner with his young wife. The room was elegantly furnished; the walls +were hung with fine oil-paintings. The table was decorated with +hot-house flowers. Outside it was snowing, and the night was bitterly +cold. + +There was a great hush in the house. In the morning they had buried +their only child. She had lived a year, and the first snow of winter had +covered her grave. + +George Ermen's selfish heart had been deeply touched by the loss of the +little one, and somehow, when dinner was over, and he sat alone in his +study, the remembrance of his childhood came over him like a forgotten +strain of music. + +The snow, every now and then, fell hissing into the fire which blazed +upon the hearth. + +The musician sat down to the organ and sang a few snatches from his +Mass, which was to be given for the first time on Christmas Day. + +"There is a poor woman at the door, dear," said his wife, coming in +silently and standing near him, a pathetic figure in her black dress. + +"Oh, Mary, I can't see anybody to-day," he answered, placing his arm +round her with unwonted gentleness. + +"Gordon tried to dismiss her, George; but she seemed so distressed, and +begged so hard to be allowed to speak with you, that he came to me, and +when I saw her----" + +"I understand, dear, I know your tender heart. If I gave in to you we +shouldn't have a penny in the world----" + +"We are so rich, George, we could give and give, and never feel it----" + +"Well, well, don't cry, Mary. What is the woman's name?" + +"Maggie Reed!" + +Maggie Reed. The little face seemed to rise up before him as an angel's +among the squalid surroundings of his childhood. + +"Let her come in, dear," he said, with a tenderness in his voice that +she had seldom heard of late. + +Presently Maggie stood before him, ragged and wet, her pale face worn +with want and suffering. She must have been about twenty-eight; but she +looked ten years older. + +"Maggie!" he cried, taking her hand, and placing her in a chair. + +"Mr. Ermen. I came ter ask yer somethin, not ter beg. Don't think I've +come ter beg. I want yer ter let Father Francis say yer Mass. 'E's seen +all about it in the papers, how it's ter be sung on Christmas Day. 'E's +an old man, and he would never ask yer 'imself, but 'e always thinks of +yer, and prays for yer." + +"And do you?" murmured George. + +What a low cur he had been to let this poor girl suffer all her life! +And his other humble friends, too, whom he had vowed never to forsake! + +"I hev' prayed for yer every night and morning since yer left us. I've +said, 'God bless him, and make him great.' Yer see, sir, women don't +forget." + + + V. + +It was Christmas Day. The church was filled with great and fashionable +people. Among the gorgeous crowd were to be seen Miss Brand and Maggie +Reed, the latter in a warm dress of grey cloth. + +Nearer the altar knelt George and his wife, his eyes often seeking the +place where his friends were seated. + +Father Francis, assisted by two other priests, was officiating. + +George looked happier to-day. The presence of his hitherto forgotten +companions had revived him, and the good father had spoken soothing +words to him about his child's death. George had been overcome, and +unaccustomed tears coursed down his face as he clasped the father's +hand, and said,-- + +"Ah! one's early friends are true. Their love makes life worth having." + +While the choir sang the _Gloria in Excelsis_, the musician's thoughts +had strayed to his early days. He was thinking of the sunbeam, and +wondering whether its visit was a dream. If so, it must have been a +dream straight from God, for that day had gained him his career. + +The golden flower had reared its head very near to the Sun-lands. Would +it ever reach them? + +He remembered a secret drawer in his escritoire, in which there was a +small plaster crucifix, a faded geranium leaf, and a silver compass. He +had kept these little relics, and yet he had ceased to remember the +friends who had smoothed the rough pages of his childhood and pencilled +his name in the book of fortune. + +But Father Francis and Maggie and Miss Brand should be safe now; they +should know no further sorrow! + +The sun burst forth in the winter sky, shone into the church, and +brightened the gloomy corners. + +George knew well in his heart that it was not his care that had made the +geranium thrive. The sunbeam which he pretended to treat as a dream had +nourished it. However, if that chapter in his life was blurred and +misty, to-day's was clear. + +The Mass that was being sung was his masterpiece. It was the outpouring +of his soul. He would compose still greater religious works. What more +wonderful theme could he have than a God's agony! + +"_Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus!_" muttered the priest. The consecration +drew near, the people bent their heads. + +Still the musician remained lost in his thoughts. All over the world the +advent of the Babe of Bethlehem was being celebrated. What a wonderful +story it was! The star in the East, the wise men, the Infant wrapped in +swaddling clothes and cradled in a manger. His unrecorded childhood, His +love for little children, the more forsaken and forlorn, the greater His +love. And he had been rich and prosperous, and yet had never given a +thought to those poor little waifs whose life he himself had once lived. +Happy in the love of his own child, he had forgotten the woes of others. +God had taken her away; but he would accept the Divine warning, and +follow in the Divine footsteps. He would open his heart to the children +of the poor; he would clothe them and give them bread. + +The priest lifted the chalice. On the incense veiled altar the musician +saw a sunbeam dart into the Holy Cup, and he heard the well-remembered +voice breathe forth a glorious message,-- + +"Clothe them and give them bread. In that last vow the flower has +reached the Sun-lands." + +[Illustration: "THOU SHALT CLOTHE THEM AND GIVE THEM BREAD"] + + + + + THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE + +[Illustration: THE GARDEN OF INNOCENCE] + + "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough + A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou + Beside me singing in the Wilderness + Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow!" + Omar Khayyam + + + I. + +Many a year ago, in a land that was washed by the sea, there lived a +King who had an only son whom he loved very dearly. + +Fertile gardens surrounded the palace. They extended for miles and +miles. In the distance the sapphire sea looked like a calm lake. The +gardens were rich in flowers, which bloomed all the year in this land of +perpetual summer. There were lilies and violets, hyacinths, carnations, +cyclamens, and orchids; but the rose was mistress of the land, and they +called it the "Rose Islands." The trees were filled with song-birds, and +the air was fragrant with perfume tempered by the sea. + +If ever mortal man was framed for happiness, the Prince of the Rose +Islands was he--a youth of a gallant disposition, his golden hair +hanging from beneath his jewelled cap, his brown eyes half hidden by +their long lashes. His doublet was of white brocade, his hose and +pointed shoes of silk; he was the _beau ideal_ of a prince in form and +figure, and brave as he was amiable, two royal qualities. + +The King, his father, observing that he appeared to be sad when it +seemed to him he should be most happy, asked Ulric what troubled him. + +"I am lonely, so please your Grace, and I would fain have a friend." + +"I am thy friend, sweet son. Have I done aught that should forfeit me +thy friendship?" + +"My lord the King, I am always thine--thine in true obedience, thine in +the sight of God, thine in filial love, but not in friendship. Though I +dream of it night and day, I have never known friendship; sometimes, +indeed, I fear that it cannot exist," replied the Prince sadly. + +"Nay, Ulric, in good sooth, thou art mistaken. Look about thee, in the +palace. The noble lords of our Court, the high-born pages who minister +to thy wants, are all thy humble and devoted friends." + +"Father, prithee pardon me for my temerity in differing from thy +gracious word; but those of whom thou speakest are not my friends. They +know that I am all-powerful with thee. They are but fawning sycophants, +who feed upon thy bounty. If the sentiment they profess to cherish for +me be friendship, then indeed my dreams of the meaning of the word are +hollow, as hollow as is my life in this paradise of beauty." + +The King laid his hand upon his son's head, and looked into his sad +face. + +"My poor child," he said, "God knows I love thee better than myself. Art +thou not my successor to these fair islands? Tell me, what can a King do +for thy comfort?" + +"Prithee, good my lord, send for the Lady Christabel, the daughter of +the great Earl, thy subject, and for Prince Winfred, the heir of that +land yonder, which reflects itself in our sea; let them live here for a +time, and help me to discover the meaning of that magic word +friendship." + +The King gave orders that an escort should start at once to bring the +Lady Christabel to his palace. He also commanded that a ship should be +built, in which to fetch Prince Winfred of the Sea Islands. + +Lady Christabel arrived in the evening of the next day. She was mounted +on a white steed, and was clad in a silken robe of opaline hue, her +cloak and cap jewelled with moonstones. Ulric stood on the steps of the +palace to receive her. She knelt and kissed his hand, and then looked +upwards into his face. He noted the abundance of her dark hair and the +strange beauty of her changing eyes, which were grey and blue by turn, +as were the hues of her silken gown. + +"Welcome, sweet Christabel, to our palace," said the Prince. "Dost think +thou canst be happy here?" + +"Ah, my dear lord, ask me if I could be happy in Paradise." + +Ulric flushed with pleasure, and led her up the marble steps to the +King's audience chamber. As the doors unclosed a sweet melody floated on +the air, increased in volume for a brief space, then grew fainter and +died away. Christabel found herself in an immense room. The walls were +set with rubies, the floor was of rock crystal, strewn with pink and +white rose-leaves. In the centre of the hall, upon a dais covered with +cloth of gold, sat the King, in his robes of state. The ladies of the +Court, the lords and the pages, were clad in silks of various colours. +Prince Ulric led Christabel to the foot of the throne. + +"Welcome to our Court, my child," said the King. "Our dear son is +lonely; wilt thou befriend him? Wilt thou teach him the solace of +friendship? Wilt thou prove to him that it is a reality and not a +dream?" + +"Most gracious King," replied Christabel, "I will teach him all I know +of selfless, sacrificing, eternal friendship." + +"It does exist, then?" asked the Prince eagerly. + +"Do the stars exist, my good lord, or the sun or the roses?" + +"The roses wither, sweet lady, even here, in paradise." + +"But friendship, good my lord, is a deathless rose; its leaves are +immortal." + + + II. + +At last Prince Ulric was happy. The days passed freighted with golden +hours. He roamed with Christabel among the Rose Islands, and showed her +the wonders thereof. Every day they inspected the progress made in the +building of the ship which was to carry Prince Winfred to their shores. +At length the vessel was finished, and she sailed away, the two +companions watching her from the beach until her rosy flag and +glittering figure-head were but specks in the distance. Then the Prince +handed Christabel into a boat that spread its silken sails to the +breeze, and they sailed along the coast. + +[Illustration] + +"Art thou quite happy now, my gracious lord?" asked Christabel. + +"Ay, in good sooth, sweet lady. Have I not found solace in thy +companionship? Do I not at length possess the white rose of friendship?" + +"My dear Prince, I am indeed thy true, though humble, friend for ever." + +"For ever!" sighed Ulric. "Ah, Christabel, I was so sad before thou +camest. Thou hast saved me. I lived in doubt of honest friendship until +now." + +Ulric gazed into her face. She took up her lute and sang to him, a song +of youth and springtime. + +Some days afterwards the ship which bore Prince Winfred anchored off the +Rose Islands, and for the first time the two Princes met. Winfred, as +became a son of the sea, was clothed in a garb of emerald tone, +embroidered with shells. His cap was woven of strange sea-flowers. Great +was the rejoicing in the Rose Islands over the advent of Prince Winfred. +And as time went by great was the happiness of Ulric, for now he had +another friend, a youth like unto himself. + +Months passed, scarcely making a ripple on the sea of Time. The three +companions basked in an eternal sunshine. Sometimes they sailed over the +blue water, sometimes they sat among the flowers, while Winfred told +them tales of his life and home--of strange caverns along the coast, of +yellow sand-dunes covered with sea-flowers, of moorlands where purple +heather bloomed, of long days passed in fishing, of stress and storms, +of a sea that was often stern and angry, with crested waves beating +shoreward. Ulric would gaze at his guest in wonder, but Christabel's +eyes swam in a mist of tears, and when Winfred's hand touched hers she +would tremble. He gazed into her eyes, and understood their meaning. As +time went by Winfred grew silent, but each day he looked oftener at +Christabel. + +The roses withered, and bloomed again. Morning followed evening, hour +succeeded hour. One day, as Prince Ulric wandered in the forest, he came +suddenly upon his two friends. They did not see him, and he was +spell-bound by the picture that met his gaze. Christabel was standing +under a rose-bush, her hair falling from beneath a crown of flowers, and +at her feet knelt Winfred, with upturned wondrous eyes. They remained +long thus, in a blaze of sunlight from no earthly sun. + +Ulric stole away, hurt to death. "Alas! I have been deceived," he +moaned. "This is friendship, but I have never known it. They have found +it; but not I--not I!" + +Prince Winfred sailed away to his own land, with the Lady Christabel and +many of the noblest members of the King's Court. Ulric would not +accompany them. He preferred to be alone now that his companions had +failed to teach him the secret of that friendship, the existence of +which he had discovered in the forest. Furthermore, neither Winfred nor +Christabel were solicitous for Ulric to journey with them to the Sea +Islands. They had latterly grown strangely oblivious of their host's +presence. The young Prince, however, only blamed himself. He felt that +his was not a nature to inspire friendship, but he longed for the great +gift more and more, until his life became almost unbearable. Seeking for +the white rose among the people of his father's realm, he saw that they +were only kind to him either through fear of his power or from motives +of self-interest. + +One day, as he rode through the kingdom attended by his pages, he came +upon a garden where a young girl was gathering fruit. Ulric, thinking +she had not observed his approach, dismounted hastily, and throwing his +dark cloak around him, entered the garden. The maiden was well pleased +to see the youth, in whom she recognised her future King. She had used +all her feminine arts to entertain her guest, when suddenly the Prince's +cloak slipped from his shoulders, and he stood before her in all the +radiance of his princely garments. + +For a moment the maiden feigned surprise, and her companion observed a +new expression upon her face. He had almost guessed her thoughts before +she threw herself upon her knees, and said, "Most gracious lord, prithee +give me some jewels like unto these which adorn thy doublet." + +Ulric cast down his cap in sorrow, for he remembered that it had +remained undisguised upon his head all through the interview. From the +first the maiden must have guessed his high degree. It was revealed by +the royal badge of the pink rose, which glittered among its jewelled +ornaments. + +"She only was good to me because I could be of use to her," mused the +Prince, as he rode homewards. "She flattered me and smiled upon me +because I am supposed to be one of the lucky ones of the earth. Had I +been a poor man's son it had been different." + +The thought was an inspiration to him. Why should he not search for the +deathless rose, disguised, that none might seek his friendship falsely? +The idea haunted him. At length he discussed it with the King, who, +seeing that the Prince was nearly desperate with grief, consented to his +plan. Ulric dressed himself as a minstrel, and having received his +father's blessing, left the palace and rode through the territory of +the Rose Islands, opening his purse to the poor, and comforting the +sorrowful with the strains of his lyre. As long as his supply of gold +lasted he was well received; when it was gone his troubles commenced. He +was hungry, and none would give him to eat or to drink. Moreover, he had +crossed the sea, and had left the Islands of Summer behind him. The +kingdom in which he was now travelling was a land of mist and storm. He +rode bravely on, nevertheless. Often, when he asked for help at the +cottagers' doors, they laughed at him, and the children beat him with +sticks. Winter was severe in the land of mist and storm, and the Prince +turned his horse's head southwards. After some days the character of the +scenery changed. The climate became warm and sunny. One morning he led +his steed through the mazes of a great forest. It was springtime; the +birds were singing, the valleys were blue with wild hyacinths, and here +and there Ulric came upon clusters of late primroses. Looking up, he +could scarcely see the sky, so thick was the tracery of foliage between +him and the heavens. They had no spring in the Rose Islands, no faint +greens, no tender buds, but always the full glory of summer, with its +vivid colouring and its drowsy breath. He was so enchanted with the +beauty of this forest, the like of which he had never seen before, that +for awhile he had actually forgotten his quest, when suddenly, right in +front of him, he saw a beautiful youth. Small and delicately made, his +dress was entirely fashioned of pink rose-leaves, and he had golden +wings. The Prince stood amazed, the apparition was so sudden, there had +not been a sound; he rubbed his eyes, but the stranger did not vanish, +he was a reality. + +"What dost thou here, son of a King?" asked the youth. + +Ulric was still more surprised at being recognised under a disguise that +had served him well so far; he could not speak for astonishment. + +"Thou seekest the 'deathless rose of friendship,' is it not so?" asked +the unknown. + +"Ay, good sir. Perhaps thou canst aid me in my search?" + +"Fair Prince, I can indeed advise thee how to proceed. First of all, hie +thee out of this forest with all speed." + +"Why, good sir, methinks it is a lovely place. The air is softer here +than any I have known before, the birds sing sweeter songs, the flowers +breathe a rarer perfume; for the first time in my life I feel happy; +everything is fresh and young, and full of hope." + +"Ay, royal minstrel, many love my land. Beware, nevertheless, of +journeying through it. It is enchanted; and if thou wouldst indeed +follow thy quest, hie thee from the shelter of its trees and from the +scent of its flowers; but ere thou goest, I will tell thee what the word +_friendship_ means. Friends should be as bells upon a hyacinth, fed with +the same rain, nourished by the same dew, warmed by the same sun, rocked +by the same wind; equal, placid, and calm in their lives; above all, +they should possess the virtue of unselfishness. Self-interest is the +death of friendship." + +"Good sir, I have ever felt thus; and being of this mind, I threw off my +habit of a Prince and started in search of the great gift; but I have +ridden now for a whole year, and I find it not, neither have I met in +all my travels any who possess this 'deathless rose.'" + +"Thou wast but a youth when thou didst leave thy father's palace; now +thou art a man, and the King mourns thee as dead." + +When Ulric heard this he was greatly grieved, and at once resolved to +return to the Rose Islands. + +"Tell me, before we part, good my lord, hast any proof that this 'rose +of friendship' exists?" + +Then Ulric told him the story of Winfred and Christabel, and described +the scene which he had witnessed in the forest. The youth broke into +peals of laughter, and the hues of his flower-dress became so vivid that +the Prince's eyes were dazzled. Presently the stranger, assuming a +serious manner, said,-- + +"I will tell thee where the Fairy Friendship dwells. She is my twin +sister. Thou shalt make one last attempt to find her. She holds her +Court in the clouds of the setting sun. Ere nightfall, go to the +seashore, stretch forth thy hands to the garments of departing day, and +say, 'Good Fairy Friendship, bring me unto thy chambers of light. If +thou canst say this with no thought of self, no longing for a friend +because of the pleasure that friendship bestows, but with the same +feeling that the hyacinth bells have for each other, then a ladder will +be let down from the regions of the sunset, and Friendship will give +thee her deathless rose, which is so rare, so scarce a blossom, so +seldom possessed by man or woman, so precious beyond all things, that +once attained, it will be the most priceless flower in thy kingly +crown." + +"I thank thee, from my heart," said Ulric. + +"If thou wouldst succeed, leave this land of mine; it will not bring +thee unto the courts of friendship. Give up thy quest, and I will show +thee something that is far sweeter than friendship, and far easier to +win." + +"Nay, fair youth, I will endeavour once more to find what I have so long +sought in vain; but, before I bid thy beautiful country farewell, wilt +thou tell me why the roses upon thy dress so far surpass those that +bloom in my father's kingdom?" + +"Good Ulric, hast never heard of Love? Love, who comes to mortals +without their knowledge, ay, without their asking; Love, whose voice is +sweeter than the nightingale's; Love, who was born of God in the Garden +of Eden, and was clothed with the deathless roses that bloomed there?" + +He did not wait for Ulric's answer, but vanished; and his laughter +echoed through the forest like a peal of silver bells. + + + III. + +At sunset the Prince stood upon the shore and stretched forth his hands +heavenwards, uttering the words specified by Love. He never knew whether +his mind had not the selfless quality enjoined by the youth, or whether +the roses of friendship were all withered and dead; but the sunset and +its glory was suddenly hidden from his sight by a veil of mist. When the +mist cleared it was night. Ulric lay down upon the sand and wept, for +he knew that the gift for which he had sought so long was not for him. + +Towards morning he retraced his steps, hoping to meet the youth and to +tell him how completely he had again failed in his quest; but he could +not find the way to the forest. About mid-day, however, he came upon a +hedged-in garden surrounding a lonely villa. Through the maze of boughs +and foliage the Prince could see a beautiful maiden. She was clad in +white, and her only ornament was a white rose. Ulric had never beheld so +pure nor so lovely a maid. Hardly knowing what he did, he dismounted and +leaped the hedge. When he was inside the garden he noticed that the +trees were white with bloom, and that the path glittered with the fallen +blossoms. He saw, too, that no coloured flowers grew in the floral beds; +they were all white. As he gazed around, a silvery mist arose, and he +could see nothing excepting the maiden, until it seemed to him that the +enclosure was filled with her image. Then the mist cleared; the spell +was broken, and he was alone. + +[Illustration] + +The Prince was deeply sorry at having lost sight of the beautiful girl; +moreover, he hardly dared to seek her in the depths of the snowy garden. +An atmosphere of peace, which he feared to disturb, seemed to brood over +the place. Before leaving the maiden's home he plucked a rose, as a +memento of the fair vision he had seen; but to his surprise it was +entirely without perfume. As he examined it, wondering at the strange +phenomenon, some one addressed him from outside the hedge. Looking up, +he recognised the youth with whom he had conversed in the forest. Ulric +hurried towards him, with a cry of joy. + +"That scentless bloom is not the rose of friendship, fair Prince," said +the youth, taking the flower from Ulric's hand. + +"Thou sayest true; I have not yet found it. Nevertheless, methinks I am +on the right path. Hope stirs in my heart and whispers 'Courage!' But +now, I saw a maiden here, beautiful as an angel. If I only dare seek her +yonder, my soul tells me that I may discover in her the deathless rose +for which I long." + +"Then go, thou King's son. Most like thou art right. Seek her." + +"Wilt thou not go too, good youth? In all my travels I have never known +fear until now; and yet here, in this land of white flowers and whiter +mists, Hope's gentle spur notwithstanding, I am overawed, I dare not +venture." + +"Ah, my Prince! if thou wilt find what thou desirest thou must be brave, +and advance with faith and courage. I cannot lead thee, neither can I +follow thee; but yonder the edge of this garden joins my land, the +forest where I met thee yesterday. If thou findest not the maiden, seek +me there. Farewell. See," he added, "see how sudden red thy white rose +hath blushed!" + +And vanishing, he dropped Ulric's rose at the Prince's feet. It was of a +brilliant red, and gave forth a strangely powerful perfume. + +Notwithstanding the encouragement of his unknown preceptor, the Prince +would never have ventured far along the glittering path. The Fates +seemed to check his progress. If the maiden, whom his heart prompted him +to seek, had not left her bower to meet him, his quest, even so near +upon success, might yet have ended in disappointment. But with gracious +step the maid approached, and, holding forth her hand quite simply, +herself led him through the garden. + +Ulric walked on, looking into her eyes. His heart beat, and the +flower-strewn way seemed to melt from beneath his feet. + +"Good minstrel, who art thou?" asked the maiden. + +"I am thy devoted servant," murmured the Prince. "Prithee, tell me thy +name, gracious lady?" + +"I am called Innocent, and I am the Princess of the Garden of +Innocence." + +[Illustration] + +"Is this the Garden of Innocence?" + +"Yes." + +"Is that the reason why the flowers are all white and scentless here?" + +"Are they ever different, fair sir?" she asked wonderingly. + +"In my land, sweet maiden, they are red, pink, purple, gold, and of +every colour. But now, I had one of your own white roses which had +changed to red." + +The Princess looked at Ulric in amazement as he searched for his rose. +There it lay at his feet; but it had again become as white and as +scentless as all the other flowers in the garden. The Prince was sorely +puzzled. Had he only dreamed that the rose had changed to red in the +youth's hands? + +They walked on in silence for many a long hour, their eyes meeting in a +sympathy too great for words. + +"At last," thought the Prince, "I have found the 'white rose of +friendship,' the leaves whereof are immortal. I shall never part from +it; it will be with me all my life, great, sacrificing, eternal +friendship, straight from God." + +He told Innocent of his grief, and of the bitter troubles that he had +encountered in his search. + +"Poor minstrel!" she said softly. "Be happy now, for thy sorrow is +ended. I feel this deathless friendship for thee." + +"God be thanked, that my quest is crowned with success; but since thou +art my true friend, since thou art noble enough to hold me dear, though +in thy eyes I seem but a poor beggar, know that I am the Prince of the +Rose Islands, which yield the many-coloured flowers I have told thee +of." + +"Good my lord, that does not make thee more precious to me. Wert thou +poor and despised, hated of all the world, weary and sick unto death, I +could but hold thee more dear. Didst thou ask me for my life, I could +but lay it willingly at thy feet." + +Tears stole down her cheeks, and she looked up at Ulric with eyes of +doglike fidelity. + +"Ah, this is friendship!" sighed the Prince; "this is what Christabel +and Winfred discovered in the forest. Come, sweet Innocent, I will take +thee to the King, my father, and show him the 'deathless rose.'" + +[Illustration] + +As Ulric finished speaking, he folded her in his arms and kissed her. +The air was suddenly filled with ringing peals of laughter, and on the +path, close to them, stood the youth who had not dared to venture inside +the garden but a few hours before. Why had he come into the depths of +the white country now? He waved his arms, and all the flowers changed to +a brilliant red. Innocent's white rose fell from her hair, and in its +place lay a crimson bloom, the wondrous perfume of which ascended like +incense heavenwards. + +"Fair Prince, thy search is fruitless," chanted the youth, in low +penetrating tones. "Thou hast indeed found a rose which is deathless; +but it is the sweet red rose of Love." + + + + + A CHRISTMAS-ROSE + +[Illustration: A CHRISTMAS-ROSE] + + "Small service is true service while it lasts + Of friends, however humble, scorn not one + The daisy by the shadow that it casts + Protects a lingering dew-drop from the sun." + -WORDSWORTH- + + +I. + +It was in a desolate London lodging-house that Marietta's courage gave +way. In Italy she could live and be merry on the most frugal fare. A +little polenta, a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a +good meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta even if +she desired nothing else. The poor little heart needed nourishment +against the gloom and harass of the great dull city. So she laid her +head upon her brother's breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly. + +Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in England at the end of +November. It was now nigh upon Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in +London over a year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to him +as a model, and to no other. + +Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare necessities of +life, so that Marietta might go and stay with him for a few months +before she commenced her novitiate, prior to taking the veil at the +convent where she had been educated. The nuns had adopted her when the +children became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to long for +the day which should make her one of the black-robed sisters of the +Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time after Marietta's arrival in +England, Rica's master had suddenly died, and the two children were left +friendless and almost penniless in the great city. + +It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the ground. There was +neither fire on the hearth nor bread in the cupboard, and the night was +bitterly cold. + +Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister's face and tried to +comfort her. He could endure want and misery much better than she could. +The beautiful face had become delicately _spirituelle_ through the +rigour of privation. + +"Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you; don't cry any +more." + +"Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place! Take me back to the kind +sisters!" she moaned, giving way to hysterical sobs. + +"Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day; but believe me, when +once winter goes, England is not such a dreadful country. In summer it +is beautiful, and the flowers compare well with those at home." + +"Flowers! I don't believe there are any here, not at least in this cruel +city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless abodes." + +Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go out into the snowy +night. It grieved him to see Marietta utterly broken down. She had +failed in her first trial. But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to +have been a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. It was +all a mistake. + + +II. + +In the garden of a house that was inscribed "To Let" there grew a sad +and solitary Christmas Rose, that lifted up pathetic complaint to the +leaden sky. + +Night heard her, and went to comfort her. He was enchanted with her +beauty, and she lifted her face to receive his soft caresses. + +[Illustration] + +"Sweet flower," he murmured, "have you forgotten that it is still +winter? Why do you bloom in this dreary garden while the snow yet covers +the ground?" + +"I am a Christmas Rose, and I blossom on the eve of Jesus' birthday. I +was planted a year ago by the people who dwelt here; they left soon +afterwards. No human eyes have ever gazed on my face, and yet my heart +is full of love for them. A Christmas Rose, I long to help them, to give +my life in their service, as did my Infant Master," she said, as a +melted drop of snow ran down the white petals into her heart. + +"Do not grieve," whispered Night, rocking her in his arms; "but learn to +rest all through the winter and be a Summer Rose." + +"Ah! my only charm is that I bloom when June's flowers are sleeping; +besides, I should lose my birthright, my dedication to the Child Jesus, +if I did as you advise." + +"Remain then as you are, sweet one. It is midnight. I must proclaim the +gracious news of the coming of Christ. When His birthday wanes I will +visit you again." + +He kissed her tenderly, and there was a lull in his song as he gathered +his strength, spread his mighty wings, and took flight. + +The flower was lonelier than before, now that her friend had departed. +Daylight came. The bells rang out their old story of peace and gladness. +Children passed, some with sprigs of holly in their coats. + +There was a summons at the gate in the garden of the next house; a voice +said, "A Merry Christmas," and another answered, "God bless you to-day +and always!" + +"Ah, if human lips would say that to me!" thought the flower. "If I +could only bring a little joy into a human life!" Her heart ached, for +she knew that she would die when the clocks tolled midnight, announcing +that Christ's birthday had passed away. + +What was that? Are stars visible in the daytime? A little brown face was +pressed against the railings, and two brilliant eyes gazed at her. It +was a boy dressed in ragged velveteen breeches, and thin discoloured +shirt. Curls of black hair surrounded his face. He climbed over the +railings, knelt down on the sodden grass, and gazed at the Christmas +Rose. + +"Ah!" thought Rica, "at last, here is something to remind Marietta of +Italy, although this fair blossom breathing here in a London garden is +far sweeter than Italy's flowers. It must be the Infant Jesus' rose +which blooms on His birthday." His brown fingers closed round the stalk, +and the flower felt a thrill of joy as he plucked her; but all the +leaves bowed to the ground, and rent the air with sad moans. + +Rica carried the Christmas Rose far away from her birthplace, past the +Park, through the slushy streets, on--on--until the character of the +houses changed. Everything grew gradually sordid. Drunken men reeled +against each other, and ill-clad children played about at the mouths of +foul alleys. + +The Christmas Rose clung tighter to the little brown hand, and drew +comfort from the tender grasp. As Rica turned the corner of the street +which led to his wretched home he ran against an artist who was +sketching some crazy old houses. + +"Mind where you are going, my boy! Why! What a beautiful Christmas Rose! +How much do you want for it?" he asked, looking at the flower, and not +noticing Rica's handsome face. + +"I cannot part with it, sir. It is for my sister. She only came from +Italy in November, and she has been fretting so because we are in +trouble. I think that this beautiful flower may comfort her." + +Edward Thornhill was touched, and as he looked into the boy's face he +was almost startled by its beauty. It belonged to the sunny skies of +Italy, with its brilliant eyes, olive skin, luxuriant hair, and red +lips. As he scanned the little Italian's countenance, he also remarked +his poverty, and placing his hand on Rica's shoulder he asked,-- + +"Are you very poor, my child?" + +"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. +She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean +her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under +the kind glance and the sympathetic words. + +"I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you +were poor Godfrey's model?" + +"Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him +entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless." + +"Does your sister sit?" + +"Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how +she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I +somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like +it." + +"Did they say they would object?" + +"Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She +came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for +her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil +soon after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether." + +"You don't like that?" + +"She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to +dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content." + +"Poor little chap! But I can help you in your present need. Let the +Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both of you. Give it to your +sister, and bring her to this address within an hour. You shall have +food and warmth, anyhow, and I will help you further." + +Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. Marietta was +watching anxiously for him at the window. He had been out all night, and +she was almost in despair. + +"Look, dearest, isn't it lovely?" he cried, as he rushed into the room +and held up the Christmas Rose for her to see. + +She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its beauty until +they filled with tears, which dropped on the rose's face and sank into +her grateful heart. + +"How exquisite, Rica! The Infant Jesus must have brought it from +heaven." + +Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit of despair +she threw the flower on the ground, and cried,-- + +"But it cannot help us; of what good is it? I thought you went out to +beg bread." + +"Ah, Marietta! don't scorn it; be grateful all your life that I found +the Christmas Rose. It has saved us!" + +On hearing her brother's story she was overjoyed. She picked up the +trembling flower, and hastily covering her head with a shawl, prepared +to accompany Rica. + +On the presentation of Thornhill's card they were shown into his studio. + +The Christmas Rose thought she was in Fairyland. The room was decorated +with festoons of evergreens, wreaths of holly, and bunches of mistletoe. +On the platform was a small Christmas tree hung with sweets, crackers, +silver ornaments, and coloured beads, surmounted by a fairy doll dressed +in white and studded with silver stars. Marietta stood gazing round the +studio, holding the trembling Rose in her hand. But what was this? The +Fairy Prince off the tree come to life? They had never seen anything so +fair before. A boy had risen from a seat by the stove, where he had been +amusing himself with a picture book. A slim little fellow, with dreamy, +hazel eyes set in a pale spiritual face, and what wonderful hair. It was +like golden sunbeams. Angel was the artist's son. His mother had died +two years ago. He was just six years old, a sweet, delicate child. +Often he was very lonely, for his father was frequently away, and he was +not strong enough to go to school. + +[Illustration] + +How much he missed his mother, and how the memory of her dwelt in his +young soul, even his father scarcely guessed. At night he cried himself +to sleep thinking of her, and wondering where she was. It had occurred +to the child that she had not been very happy, and that his father did +not love her as he did. + +"I have been watching for you," said Angel, putting out his small hand. +"Oh, what a pretty flower! I have never seen one like it before." + +"It is a Christmas Rose, dear," said Thornhill, who had entered as the +boy spoke. + +Marietta placed it in his hair. He looked at her gravely, and then held +up his face to be kissed. + +The Christmas Rose nearly swooned with joy, for she thought that Angel +was the Infant Jesus; and as she was set in the place of honour amongst +that golden glory, her heart throbbed with gratitude. + +Edward Thornhill had been accustomed to the society of pretty women all +his life; but in the presence of this convent girl he was absolutely +nervous. Her beauty fascinated him. He longed to take his brush, to +portray that face on canvas. + +Marietta was shy to a fault, and it was a long time before he could get +anything excepting monosyllables from her in conversation. + +Christmas dinner was served in another part of the studio. It was not a +very grand one. The absence of a woman's hand in the household +arrangements had been keenly felt by the artist since his wife's death. +But there was a piece of roast beef and a plum-pudding, with dates, +apples, and oranges to follow. The two Italians had eaten nothing but a +little bread for two days, so to them it was a feast for the Gods. + +Later the tree was stripped of its ornaments. Angel pressed nearly all +the presents on Rica. He was a kind-hearted little fellow, and very +unselfish. + +"And so you are going to be a nun, my child?" said the artist, when by +sympathetic questioning he had elicited Marietta's story. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you think you will be happy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +There was a slight hesitation in her manner. And yet, when she had +entered the studio only two hours ago, she had resolved to ask Edward +Thornhill to lend her enough money to pay her fare back to the convent, +so that she could begin her novitiate at once. + +"Your mind is quite made up, nothing could change it?" + +"I think not." + +How quickly her listener detected the little tremor in her voice, which +told him much more than the uncertainty implied in her words. + +"And yet I believe you might be happy here. I can help you both; you +shall not want for work. Your brother tells me that you have never been +a model, but perhaps you would be kind enough to favour me by sitting +for my Academy picture. The subject is to be the Annunciation." + +She did not answer, and he continued talking,-- + +"You must remember that the city is not always as gloomy as it looks +to-night. We have picture galleries, parks and squares, and the country +is beautiful at all seasons. Do you not think you could be content to +stay a little?" + +"Perhaps a little." + +"I will get you some needlework to do, and Rica shall find in me as good +a master as the one he has just lost. + +"You are very kind," she said, looking up at him with tearful eyes. + +"The nuns won't be angry with you for staying a little while with your +brother; they will consent to receive you later, will they not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And will you sit for my picture?" + +"Yes, as soon as you wish." + +Before Marietta left she kissed the Christmas Rose, and whispered, "Dear +Infant Jesus, guard the flower which has saved us." + +And it murmured:-- + +"I am happy. My Master is pleased that I have followed in His footsteps, +and His reward is beyond all price." + +But Marietta did not hear. + +Before Angel went to rest he placed the Christmas Rose in a goblet of +water, and it lifted up its innocent face and breathed a sweet, faint +perfume. The hours flew by, and towards midnight a curious pink hue +stole over its white petals, the fragrance died away, the luxuriant stem +withered up, and it breathed its last as Christ's birthday passed away. + +The star of Bethlehem was alone in the heavens when Night visited the +garden to greet the beauteous flower of the morning, but it had +vanished. In its place was a tear which sparkled like a diamond, the +tear it had shed when yearning to help suffering humanity. + + +III. + +Four months afterwards Marietta received a letter from the superior of +her convent. She sat reading it in a clean and comfortably furnished +room. Though to all appearances perfectly happy, her face wore an +expression of sadness, and tears fell on the missive in her hand. + +At length she rose, placed the letter in the pocket of her gown, and +after packing up a costume she had just finished making for Edward +Thornhill, made her way to his studio. + +He praised her work. He had never found anybody so clever at carrying +out suggestions as Marietta; but to-day his commendation brought no +pleasure into her face, and the artist was quick to notice her changed +manner. + +"You are sad, Marietta?" + +"No," she answered hastily, turning to leave the studio. + +"Why no, when you mean yes?" he asked, following her. + +She did not reply, but the tears gathered in her eyes and fell upon her +dress. + +"Tell me what grieves you. I helped you once, and may be able to do so +again." + +She took the Reverend Mother's letter from her pocket and placed it in +his hand. It contained a few lines, saying that they would expect their +child back in a fortnight's time. + +"Then you are going to leave us after all?" + +"It is better so." + +"But it makes you sad the thought of going?" + +"Yes," she said, with downcast face. + +"The sisters would not wish you to take the veil if you or they doubted +your vocation for such a surrender?" + +"I don't understand." + +"Your heart must be in this sacrament, your whole heart, you must have +no longings after the world. Is it not so?" + +"Oh yes," she said, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes. + +"Have you any longings that might be a shadow on your nun's life, my +child? Have you? Nay, don't be afraid to speak." + +"Oh, don't ask me," she said, repressing her sobs. + +"You do not think your life here involves a sin? You have enabled me to +paint a heavenly image that might, so far as the pure spirit of it goes, +decorate the fairest church. I do not say the work, Marietta, but the +intention, the inspiration." + +She found this question too subtle for her comprehension, but there was +something in the artist's tone and manner that thrilled her, something +that was like the influence of the _Magnificat_ in the great choir of +the cathedral. She turned her wondering eyes towards him, and he took +her hands in his. + +"You have been happy here?" he asked, his voice trembling. + +"Yes, very." + +"Then why leave me? Put up with the gloom and fog for my sake, Marietta. +Be the artist's little wife as well as his model." + +The sun came streaming into the studio as he bent over her fair hands +and kissed them. + +"It is not all gloom and fog," she replied. "To-day the London sun is as +bright and warm as it was in Italy when I was a child." + +It was not alone the London sun, it was the sunshine of the heart; and +it lasted all through the remainder of Marietta's life. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE WINDFLOWER + +[Illustration: THE WINDFLOWER] + + "One.will.crown.thee.king + Far.in.the.spiritual.city" + Lord Tennyson + + +I. + +Lady Mercy sat writing of love in the early hours of morning. She had +been christened Mercy, but the people called her the "Windflower." She +was born in a high March wind, which had once more wooed her sisters +into life. They lay like a fall of snow in the adjacent forests. + +As the girl grew the title of the "Windflower" suited more and more her +long fair hair and clear grey eyes. + +She had never known any home beyond this beautiful palace. Here, in the +heart of a pastoral country, the birds sang and the flowers bloomed all +through the year. It was a haven of peace, of glorious morning dawns and +wind-swept evening skies. + +Her mother, the widowed Countess, wished to keep her among the flowers +and meadows, and she had reached her seventeenth summer without ever +having been in a city. She had, indeed, many learned teachers, and had +heard and read of the great world which lay beyond the hills surrounding +her home, but had no longing in her heart to go there. She found hosts +of friends in nature--the flowers, birds, dogs, horses, golden fish in +the fountain, and the sun; but most of all the wind. It seemed as though +the poetic title, given to her by the good people of the village, had +already exercised an influence upon her life. She loved the wind, +whether he came from the icefields of the north or the sun-plains of the +equator, whether his breath were redolent of western seas or of spices +and Arabian perfumes. + +To feel his kisses on her face, to have him whirl her round in his +strength, to bend before his mighty wings as did her sisters, the +Windflowers, this was her delight. Her play hours were passed in +dreamland peopled with her own mystical creations. What should she know +of love? She was, indeed, an utter stranger to it, and yet she wrote of +love, and called her hero "Terah." + +But the time had come when the Countess thought her daughter ought to +begin to realise that the great world was not an ideal one like that of +her dreams. + +"Mercy," she said, "why do you always write of 'Terah' as you call him? +He seems to be the hero of all your stories, and he is quite impossible. +You must not imagine that people in the great world are as lovely in +their lives as your flowers are. 'Terah' is an ideal." + +"An ideal?" + +"Yes, there is no such man." + +"In what way is he not true?" asked the girl, her eyes full of wonder. + +"Describe him again, and I will explain." + +"His name speaks for him; it means that he was a breather of good like +the wind, only he was always gentle. Then he drove away sorrow. He was a +comforter; his face was most beautiful; he was all mercy, all love; and +he had thought of others so much that self was quite dead in him. Is +that impossible in that wide world yonder?" + +The Countess sighed as she answered, "Do not make him so handsome, +Mercy, and then perhaps he will be a more probable character, the man +enriched by Providence with perfect beauty such as your hero cannot help +being self-imbued. It is the old story of Narcissus, every glass greets +him with the picture he likes best to see; even the eyes of the woman he +loves are dimmed by the reflection of his image." + +[Illustration] + +Months passed, and a great change was noticed in Lady Mercy. She grew +paler and paler; she wrote no more stories; and all her studies were +stopped. She rose very early, and walked miles in the woods and by the +river, as if seeking for something. The "Windflower" seemed to have been +bruised by a rough tempest. + +A renowned doctor came from the metropolis and pressed her to say what +ailed her. + +"I am looking for 'Terah.' Mother said he was an ideal, merely the +creature of my brain, and since then I have lost him," she moaned. "Ask +her to take me to the great city that I may seek him, for I think he has +gone there to prove that he is true." + +And so the "Windflower" was uprooted from among her kith and kin. She +journeyed to the distant town, past the river and over the hills. + +And all was changed. She was thrust into the world of fashion. Dressed +in costly silks with long flowing trains, her hair was not allowed to +hang loosely over her shoulders any more. She was "out," so it was +dressed high on her head by a French _coiffeur_. She was forbidden to +walk unattended in the great city. Even in the parks she was always +accompanied by a chaperon. It was not correct to be seen alone, and +comfort and freedom had to be sacrificed. + + +II. + +Society made much of the ethereal-looking girl. Society took to her +title of the "Windflower"; it was so romantic, so "old world." She went +for rides in the Row, drove in the Park, visited the opera and theatres, +was present at evening receptions, and at ladies' "tea and scandal" +parties--weak tea and strong scandal. Here she learned to fear her own +sex. + +She was presented at Court in a low dress on a foggy afternoon; she went +everywhere in a sort of dream seeking her ideal, but she found no trace +of "Terah," the breather of good; and as time passed she grew sick at +heart, seeing on all hands the lust of self. Men battled for their idol +everywhere, women bartered away their souls to crown self with a diadem +of gold. + +Presently she was permitted to go about unattended, a freedom that +inspired her with new hopes. She went down to the busy part of the city +and stood in the surging crowd that battled for life. The "Windflower" +was alone in a world of anxious men whose all-consuming passion was +self. Time was precious. All was hurry. Everybody had business on hand; +even at luncheon they seemed to be racing. Not a minute was to be lost; +hesitate but for an instant, and they were pushed aside, the great race +of self against self, pursuing its course without them. A few attained +the goal, but many were stricken down by the way. Those who reached it +bowed their heads to the ground and worshipped at the glittering shrine +where Gold and Self were throned kings of the human heart. + +Her quest seemed to be failing entirely. Among the poor, who learned to +love her, she now and then found a trace of her lost "Terah," but it was +only a straggling ray of light in a nightmare of darkness and sin. + +One night she was present at a great ball given in her honour by an +intimate friend of the Countess. + +The room was filled with sweet perfumes, the mantel-pieces heaped with +lilies of the valley and white lilacs. All the wealth of spring flowers +lay fainting in the hot atmosphere. Not a drop of water to cool them, +not a breath of air to ease their pain. The band shrieked out its cheap +melodies, the dancers danced beneath the glare of electric lights. The +fashionable throng enjoyed itself. But one out of its number felt as +weary as the flowers. Dressed in clinging folds of soft satin, her hair +was arranged low in her neck, and in her hand she held a few loose +roses. She looked like a garden lily which had strayed from its home, +and grieved to find that it had exchanged the evening air and the +silence of the night for the glare of electric globes, the heat of a +crowded room, and the hubbub of countless voices. + +"And so you do not like society?" said her partner, a young fellow whom +she had often met before, and whom she greatly interested. + +"From what I know of it I do not. I think, too, that people who live in +cities are cruel. Look at the poor lilacs and lilies massed together to +faint and die. In my home we never think of letting flowers remain +without water. We look upon them as living things. Every blossom has a +life of its own; it knows pain and thirst. When I see them, torn from +hedge and meadow by careless hands and thrown on to the roads to die in +the dust, I know that for each flower an angel weeps." + +"Do not talk of things that make you sad. I want you to be happy +to-night. You are enjoying yourself, are you not?" the young fellow +inquired wistfully. Dangerous question to ask the grave idealist, but he +had taken a great fancy to her, he sympathised with many of her +feelings. "If you cannot say that you are enjoying yourself, please +leave my question unanswered," he added hastily. + +Lady Mercy looked up in surprise, then partly comprehending his words, +she said,-- + +"I like to talk with you; but I have had to converse with so many others +who have nothing to say that I am weary--men who asked me whether I had +seen this or that play, if I had been on the great wheel, did I approve +of bicycling for women? Had I tried golfing? And then, having finished +their stock of small talk, they taxed their poor ingenuity to pay me +compliments." + +"I am not surprised," was the grave reply. + +"Oh! I wish you had not said that. Why should a man seek to flatter a +woman; in short, to insult her?" + +"I would not offend you for the world!" he cried. "Indeed I am sorry." + +"And I am grieved to have spoken bitterly. Pardon me, I do not know how +to talk even to you, and everything is so strange," she said, flushing +deeply. + +"Tell me of what you like most yourself; that will interest me beyond +all other subjects." + +"I cannot speak of that," she answered, a gentle light playing on her +face. "I can only think about it. The remembrance of it is rooted in my +heart; it is a part of me." + +"Mercy," he cried, his face flushing and his eyes becoming strangely +brilliant, "the Countess has told me of your dream, of your search for +some one who has never existed. Ah! give it up. Do you not know that +the bitterest chapter in the book of life is that which is headed +'Broken Ideals'? The pages are written in blood, they are blistered with +tears. The reader must decipher that chapter alone, the shattered +remains of what was once his divinity, his sunshine feeding on his +heart, and poisoning even his memory." + +"But humanity should not let its ideals be broken. It should fight for +them, lock them safe in the inmost chamber of its mind. It should never +suffer a profane hand to destroy that which is dearer than itself," she +answered, with a fixed, far-away look in her eyes. + +"Ah, my dear Mercy, believe me, should you appear to find he whom you +seek, you will but dream, and then awake to learn that your young, fresh +life has been wasted, and that your Ideal is false. Then age will be +passed in useless longing and vain regrets." + +"I shall find him. I did know him once, and he left me, but he will come +back again." Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked so spiritual, so +beautiful, that her companion could contain himself no longer. + +"Mercy, I love you!" he whispered. + +The breathless words brought her back from dreamland, with its mists and +its dim beauties--back to a London ballroom, back to fading humanity +and faded flowers. The utter weariness and cheapness of it all struck +her painfully, the passionate cry of love associated itself in her mind +with the rustle and frippery of fashion. + +"My life is his of whom we have spoken," she said gently in response to +his beseeching glance, as her hostess, a bright, fashionable woman, +hurried up and whispered effusively: "Wait here a moment, dear. I have +at last found some one whom I am sure will please you. He is very rich +and handsome, quite a king in the world of fashion, and yet a Christian +gentleman--and oh, so wise! We call him our Ideal." + +She came back accompanied by a tall, fine man. Everybody thought him +beautiful--"pure Greek, you know"; but Lady Mercy started back in +terror, recovering herself the next minute. To her he was hideous--his +mouth misshapen, his eyes a dull red. Was it because her own soul was so +pure that she saw people's minds, not their faces, and when a mind was +evil its chief vice shone through its fleshly covering like a beacon? + +"Delighted to meet you, Lady Mercy; will you dance?" + +"No, thank you." + +"We will sit it out, then, and talk. By the way, our mutual friend, Lady +R----, tells me that you are much distressed over the condition of the +unemployed in our great city?" + +"Yes, I want mother to devise a scheme for helping them. I have seen so +much suffering since I have been here." + +"Money thrown away, I assure you; they are a rascally set. If a man is +willing to work there is work to be had." + +"I disagree, sir; work is most difficult to obtain. A character is +needed. Many of these poor, suffering creatures have no recommendation +that might entitle them to recognition at the hands of Christ's +followers. And most of them are not in a condition to work. They have +neither clothes, nor health, nor hope. Could you build with your feet +through your boots? Could you lift heavy weights with no strength in +your body and no hope in your soul?" + +"You forget I am not one of the unemployed," he said, smiling. + +"No? What do you do then?" + +"Well, I do not exactly do anything." + +"Then you are unemployed." + +"I have no regular work; but I try to follow in Christ's steps. I am a +Christian like yourself. I believe that He was God, and worship Him as +such." + +"Sir, I fear His would have been a poor, useless martyrdom if you were +indeed a Christian. Go home and read His life; see what He says about +the poor whom you despise. There, forgive me, I did not mean to say so +much. But I think you are in the wrong. Good-night." + +"What an awful girl you introduced me to, Lady R----! She was positively +insulting; a regular windbag, not a flower." + +"Didn't it make any impression? Poor Popsie," she replied, patting him +with her fan, "I hoped she would interest you; she is in search of the +Ideal. What a pity she did not recognise you! Never mind, I will +introduce you to Baby Joy, the music-hall singer who married Lord Clare. +You know? Come along." + + +III. + +Years passed. Lady Mercy's first youth was over; her eyes had lost the +light of hope--a wild, sorrowful expression filled them. She had never +gone back to the country; she could not return to the happy home of her +childish ideals, the joyless, broken-hearted creature she was now. + +She drove out one day in September. Gaily dressed women were shopping. +Flower stalls of roses, carnations, marguerites, gave a foreign look to +the city. A wild west wind, fragrant with the breath of autumn, rushed +through the streets. + +Suddenly there was some confusion in the road. A policeman battled among +a host of prancing horses and grand carriages. A victoria containing two +gorgeously dressed ladies had run over a mongrel dog. One of its owners, +a ragged girl, sobbed on the pavement, as her half-starved brother +elbowed his way to the officer's side. + +"Our paw Jack; 'is leg's broke." + +"You should not let him run about in crowded streets," said one of the +smart occupants of the victoria. + +"End yer shouldn't let yer cussed 'osses droive over the paw beast," +replied the boy, taking it in his arms and trying to soothe its cries. + +"I was going to give you money, boy, but I shall not for your +impertinence." + +Lady Mercy stood on the pavement comforting the little girl. + +"Never moind, Puddles," said her brother, coming up with the dog in his +arms. "Our Prince will cure 'im." + +"Prince is doying, brother, you know thet." + +"Who is Prince, my boy?" asked Lady Mercy. + +"'E's our only friend. 'E's father and mother to all hus poor." + +"Is he beautiful?" she asked eagerly. + +"What, in the faice? Rather not." + +"Ah! then it cannot be he," said Lady Mercy sadly. "Why do you call him +Prince?" + +"Becos 'e is Prince--the Prince of Pity. 'E's ill now; but 'e says 'e +can't doi till something 'appens." + +"What?" + +"Oi der know. Somethink." + +"Where does he live?" + +"Hover there," said the boy, with a vague wave of his hand. + +"I will take you there if you will let me. Will you get into the +carriage?" + +"What, in there?" + +"Yes." + +"Rather. Come on, Puddles." + +Lady Mercy helped the two forlorn creatures into her carriage, and +placed the dog tenderly on the front seat. + +"Will you tell the coachman where to go?" + +"Yaas, droive ter Greenleaf Court." + +The Prince of Pity lay dying of want in one of the poorest quarters of +the great city. His face was gaunt and weather-beaten, his eyes glazed +and dull. A young child sat on the floor nursing a half-starved +cat--both waifs of the street rescued from utter misery by the good +Samaritan. + +Sorrow was always with the poor of Greenleaf Court; but now their +affliction was more bitter than ever. Their dear master, who had devoted +his life to them, and had given away all his worldly goods until he was +as poor and destitute as they, the man who told them of sweet flowers +and green meadows and silver streams, he who made peace in their +quarrels, divided his scanty earnings among them, taught the children, +he, their only stay in a world of suffering and want, was leaving them +for ever. + +The Prince of Pity lay drowsing away to "poppied death." + +The wind wailed and sobbed round the house, and burst in at the door as +Lady Mercy entered. + +She saw the man. His clothes were worn and old, but she beheld only his +face; that face which even the poor who almost worshipped him thought +ugly, was beautiful to her; it told of love and charity. She knew his +life had been lived for others. + +"Ah, you have come at last!" he cried. "Welcome. I so feared I should +die without any one to continue my work, and I asked the Wind that +sprung up in the early hours to waft me some one hither." + +"He has obeyed you. I am named the Windflower; but, sir, you too have a +beautiful title; they call you the Prince of Pity. Who are you?" + +"I am an unworthy follower of the man Christ." + +"You are then a Christian?" + +"I said the _man_ Christ. I belong to no Church. I profess no creed." + +"What do you do?" + +"My child," he said, and his voice sounded sorrowful like the sobbing of +the sea, "my life's work is all in these simple lines,-- + +"'Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.'" + +"You are then he whom I seek. You are Terah, the breather of good. But, +sir, you seem ill. Can I help you?" + +"Yes, care for my poor. Be to them all the Wind is to you; rock them +into life, soothe them into death; sob with them in grief, shout with +them in joy. I am going away." + +"Whither?" + +"To the earth, to rest and peace at last." + +"Not to heaven?" + +"My child, have you lived in the great city and not learned that we can +imagine no heaven so lovely as the joy of our hearts when we do a good +action? I am on the verge of that sleep which knows no awakening. The +Halls of Death lead not unto Life." + +Mercy was dazed with the beauty of the man's soul. It filled his eyes +with a radiance which overwhelmed her. + +"I have found Terah," she cried, looking heavenwards, and clasping her +hands in an ecstasy of happiness. "The world is bright again. My ideal +is true. Beautiful, merciful; and self an immolated sacrifice. Why have +I lost my youth in seeking him to lose him now?" + +A distant voice seemed to float on the wind. "Had he lived you must have +died. The good action has its reward here and hereafter. He has passed +through the Halls of Death unto the House of Life. Be content, you have +been much blessed. The Ideal is realised in heaven." + +The room was filled with a perfume as of many flowers. The wind sobbed +out a requiem. Lady Mercy's face shone with a great light. She looked +down. The Prince of Pity lay dead. + +On the site of Greenleaf Court a beautiful house now stands, every +window full of flowers. Designed by a great architect, all the poor of +the district were employed to help in its erection. It is called the +"House of Pity." In the large hall, where the hungry are fed and the +sorrowful are comforted, the following inscription is wrought on the +wall in letters of gold, wreathed with windflowers:-- + +[Illustration: REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE AND WEEP WITH THEM THAT +WEEP] + + + + + _SECOND EDITION._ + + THE GOLDEN FAIRY BOOK. + + FAIRY TALES OF OTHER LANDS. + + BY + + GEORGE SAND, MORITZ JOKAI, ALEXANDRE DUMAS, VOLTAIRE, + DANIEL DARE, XAVIER MARMIER, Etc., Etc. + + _In crown 4to, richly gilt, and gilt edges, 6s._ + + With 110 Illustrations by H. R. Millar. + +A FEW PRESS OPINIONS. + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' is brimful of charm, and must be cordially +welcomed. The book is one to be bought. It is rarely that fairy stories +by such important authors come together. Young people are to be +congratulated upon the provision of such a boon companion as 'The Golden +Fairy Book,' to which Mr. H. R. Millar has contributed over one hundred +artistic and amusing illustrations."--_Gentlewoman._ + +"An excellent collection of charming tales by famous authors. The volume +is prettily bound, and excellently printed, with a profusion of +illustrations."--_Times._ + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' need not be considered inferior to any. In +appearance it is possibly ahead of all. Mr. Millar's illustrations +are spirited and clever, and the tales in themselves have been selected +with great judgment from writers of all countries. If any find the old +tales at all tiresome, let them take this 'Golden Book' in +preference."--_Daily Graphic._ + +"A new and delightful departure ... this most attractive gift-book, +which one may safely prophesy will be a sure delight to its many +possessors."--_St. James' Budget._ + +"'The Golden Fairy Book' is as good as can be, and the illustrations are +refined and attractive. The stories are gathered from many nations--a +particular charm to this excellent collection."--_Westminster Gazette._ + +"Not only the little folk, but we 'children of a larger growth' will +also be delighted with this collection of wondrous fairy tales. The book +is beautifully illustrated."--_The Lady._ + +"Among the prettiest books of the season is 'The Golden Fairy Book.' +Admirably illustrated, this volume is pleasing within and +without."--_Globe._ + +"Boundless variety and that of the best.... 'The Golden Fairy Book' is +well calculated to charm and satisfy the most omnivorous youthful +appetite for imagined wonders."--_Sketch._ + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row. + + +With over 60 Full-page and other Illustrations by Harry Furniss and +Dorothy Furniss. + + THE WALLYPUG OF WHY. + A Fanciful Story. + + By G. E. FARROW. + + _In crown 4to, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, and gilt edges, 5s._ + +Contents. + + The Way to Why. + The Fish with a Cold. + Breakfast for Tea. + Girlie Sees the Wallypug. + What is a Goo? + The Wallypug's fancy Dinner Party. + The Invisible Joke. + Can a Pig Perch? + Buying an Excuse. + The Ride with the Alphabet. + Girlie is Cartwrecked. + The Sphinx and the Bathing-Machine Woman. + What Happened at Why. + + * * * * * + + With 84 Illustrations by H. R. Millar. + + THE SILVER FAIRY BOOK. + Fairy Tales of Other Lands. + + BY + +SARAH BERNHARDT, E. P. LARKEN, HORACE MURREIGH, HEGESIPPE MOREAU, +VOLTAIRE, QUATRELLES, EMILE DE GIRARDEN, WILHELM HAUF, XAVIER MARMIER, +LOUIS DE GRAMONT, Etc. + + _In crown 4to, silvered cloth and silvered edges, 6s._ + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34, Paternoster Row. + + The Boys' Golden Library. + +Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3_s._ 6_d._ per Volume. + +_By PROFESSOR CHURCH._ + Pictures from Greek Life and Story. + Pictures from Roman Life and Story. + +_By DANIEL DE FOE._ + Robinson Crusoe. + +_By EDWARD A. RAND._ + Our Clerk from Barkton. + Fighting the Sea. + Up North in a Whaler. + Making the Best of It. + +_By DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N._ + The Cruise of the Crystal Boat. + +_By FLORENCE MARRYAT._ + The Little Marine. + +_By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS._ + The Warriors of the Crescent. + +_By JULES VERNE._ + Round the World in Eighty Days, and Adventures in Southern Africa. + (Double Volume.) + Five Weeks in a Balloon, and A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. + (Double Volume.) + The English at the North Pole, and The Desert of Ice. (Double Volume.) + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row. + + New Library for Girls. + + THE GIRLS' GOLDEN LIBRARY. + +Each Volume in crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt binding, bevelled boards +and gilt edges, with Illustrations on Plate Paper, 3_s._ 6_d._ per Volume. + +_By SARAH TYTLER._ + A Bubble Fortune. + +_By AMELIA E. BARR._ + A Singer from the Sea. + Love for an Hour is Love for Ever. + +_By E. WETHERELL._ + The Wide, Wide World. + +_By E. S. CUMMINS._ + The Lamplighter. + +_By S. DOUDNEY._ + Where Two Ways Meet. + The Family Difficulty. + A Child of the Precinct. + +_By MRS. J. KENT SPENDER._ + No Humdrum Life for Me. + +_By ANNA E. LISLE._ + Winnie Travers. + Self and Self-Sacrifice. + +_By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS._ + The Maid of Orleans. + +_By M. C. HALIFAX._ + Among the Welsh Hills. + +_By MARGARET HAYCRAFT._ + The Clever Miss Jancy. + +_By MRS. G. LINNAEUS BANKS._ + Miss Pringle's Pearls. + +_By EVELYN EVERETT GREEN._ + My Cousin from Australia. + +_By LOUISA M. ALCOTT._ + Little Women and Nice Wives. + + + London: HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 Paternoster Row. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village of Youth, by Bessie Hatton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH *** + +***** This file should be named 36977.txt or 36977.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/7/36977/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charlene Taylor and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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