Presently the thought of his disease recurred to him—it was seldom, indeed, absent from his mind—and the strict injunctions which he had given to his young companion.

"Boy!—boy!" he cried suddenly, with a vigour that caused the boy to start off his seat and almost capsize the cup, "did I not forbid you to enter my hut or to touch me?"

At first Cormac looked alarmed, but, seeing that a decided change for the better had taken place in his patient, his brow smoothed and he laughed softly.

"How dared you to disobey me?" exclaimed Bladud again in stern tones.

"I dared because I saw you were unable to prevent me," returned the lad, with a quiet smile. "Besides, you were too ill to feed yourself, so, of course, I had to do it for you. Do you suppose I am so ungrateful to the man who saved my life as to stand aside and let him die for want of a helping hand? Come, now, be reasonable and let me give you this drink." He approached as he spoke.

"Keep off!—keep off, I say," shouted the prince in a voice so resolute that Cormac was fain to obey. "It is bad enough to come into my hut, but you must not touch me!"

"Why not?—I have touched you already."

"How! when?"

"I have lifted your head many a time to enable you to drink when you could not lift it yourself."

A groan escaped Bladud.

"Then it is too late! Look at this," he cried, suddenly uncovering his arm.

"What is that?" asked the boy, with a look of curiosity.

"It is—leprosy!"

"I am not afraid of leprosy!"

"Not afraid of it!" exclaimed the prince, "that may well be, for you have the air of one who fears nothing; but it will kill you for all that, unless the Maker of all defends you, for it is a dread—a terrible—disease that no strength can resist or youth throw off. It undermines the health and eats the flesh off the bones, renders those whom it attacks horrible to look at, and in the end it kills them. But it is possible that you may not yet have caught the infection, poor lad, so you must keep away from me now, and let not a finger touch me henceforth. Your life, I say, may depend on it."

"I will obey you as to that," replied Cormac, "now that you are beginning to recover, but I must still continue to put food and water within your reach."

"Be it so," rejoined the prince, turning away with a slight groan, for his excitement not less than the conversation had exhausted him. In a few minutes more he was asleep with an expression of profound anxiety stereotyped on his countenance.

It was not long after the fever left him that returning strength enabled Bladud to crawl out of his hut, and soon after that he was able to ramble through the woods in company with Cormac, and with Brownie—that faithful friend who had lain by his master's side during all his illness. The sparkling river gladdened the eyes, and the bracing air and sunshine strengthened the frame of the prince, so that with the cheerful conversation of Cormac and the gambols of his canine friend he was sometimes led to forget for a time the dark cloud that hung over him.

One day he was struck by something in the appearance of his dog, and, sitting down on a bank, he called it to him. After a few minutes' careful examination he turned to Cormac with a look of deep anxiety.

"My boy," he said, "I verily believe that the hound is smitten with my own complaint. In his faithful kindness he has kept by me until I have infected him."

"That cannot be," returned Cormac, "for, during my rambles alone, when you were too ill to move, I saw that a great many of the pigs were affected by a skin disease something like that on the dog, and, you know, you could not have infected the pigs, for you have never touched them."

Bladud's anxiety was not removed but deepened when he heard this, for he called to remembrance the occasion when he had rescued one of the little pigs and carried it for some distance in his arms.

"And, do you know," continued the lad, "I have observed a strange thing. I have seen that many of the pigs, affected with this complaint, have gone down to the place where the hot waters rise, and, after bathing there, have returned all covered with mud, and these pigs seem to have got better of the disease, while many of those which did not go down to the swamp have died."

"That is strange indeed," returned the prince; "I must see to this, for if these waters cure the pigs, why not the dog?"

"Ay," rejoined Cormac, "and why not the man?"

"Because my disease is well known to be incurable."

"Are you sure?"

"We can hardly be sure of anything, not even of killing our mid-day meal," rejoined the prince. "See, there goes a bird that is big enough to do for both of us. Try your hand."

"That will be but losing an opportunity, for, as you know, I am not a good marksman," returned the youth, fitting an arrow quickly to his bow nevertheless, and discharging it. Although the bird in question was large and not far off, the arrow missed the mark, but startled the bird so that it took wing. Before it had risen a yard from the ground, however, an arrow from Bladud's bow transfixed it.

That night, after the bird had been eaten, when Brownie was busy with the scraps, and Cormac had retired to his couch in the firewood booth, Bladud lay in his hut unable to sleep because of what he had heard and seen that day. "Hope springs eternal in the human breast"—not less in the olden time than now. At all events it welled up in the breast of the royal outcast with unusual power as he waited anxiously for the first dawn of day.

Up to this time, although living within a few miles of it, the prince had not paid more than one or two visits to the Hot Swamp, because birds and other game did not seem to inhabit the place, and the ground was difficult to traverse. He had, of course, speculated a good deal as to the cause of the springs, but had not come to any conclusions more satisfactory than have been arrived at by the scientific minds of modern days. That heat of some sort was the cause applied in one fashion or another to the water so as to make it almost boil he had no manner of doubt, but what caused the heat he could not imagine, and it certainly did not occur to him that the interior of the earth was a lake of fire— the lovely world of vision being a mere crust. At least, if it did, he was never heard to say so.

But now he went down to the swamp with a renewed feeling of hope that gave fresh impulse to his heart and elasticity to his tread.

Arrived at the place, he observed that numbers of his porcine family were there before him. On seeing him they retreated with indignant grunts—their hasty retreat being accelerated by a few remarks from Brownie.

Making his way to what he believed to be the main fountain of the spring, the prince and the dog stood contemplating it for some time. Then the former dipped his hand in, but instantly withdrew it, for he found the water to be unbearably hot. Following its course, however, and testing it as he went along, he soon came to a spot where the temperature was sufficiently cool to render it agreeable. Here, finding a convenient hole big enough to hold him, he stripped and bathed. Brownie, who seemed much interested and enlivened by his master's proceedings, joined him on invitation, and appeared to enjoy himself greatly. Thereafter they returned home to breakfast and found Cormac already up and roasting venison ribs before the fire.

"I thought you were still sound asleep in your hut," he said in surprise, as they came up, "and I have been doing my best to make little noise, for fear of awaking you. Have you been bathing at the springs? I see the hound's coat is muddy."

"Thanks for your care, Cormac. Ay, we have indeed had a bath—Brownie and I. You see I have taken your advice, and am trying the pigs' cure."

"Right, Bladud. Wiser men have learned lessons from pigs."

"Are you not presumptuous, my lad, to suggest that there may be a wiser man than I?"

"Truly, no, for taking the advice of a mere stripling like me, is not a sign of wisdom in a man."

"In the present case you are perhaps right, but there are some striplings whose wisdom is sufficient to guide men. However, I will hope that even you, with all your presumption, may be right this time."

"That encourages me to offer additional advice," retorted the lad with a laugh, "namely, that you should devote your attention to these ribs, for you will find them excellent, and even a full-grown man can hardly fail to know that without food no cure can be effected."

"You are right, my boy. Sit down and set me an example, for youth, not less than age, must be supported."

Without more words they set to work, first throwing a bone to the hound, in order, as Bladud remarked, that they might all start on equal terms.

From that day the health of the prince began to mend—slowly but steadily the spot on his arm also began to diminish and to assume a more healthy aspect. Brownie also became convalescent, and much to the joy of Bladud, Cormac showed no symptoms of having caught the disease. Still, as a precaution, they kept studiously apart, and the prince observed—and twitted the boy with the fact—that the more he gained in health, and the less danger there was of infection, the more anxious did he seem to be to keep away from him!

Things were in this state when, one evening, they received a visit— which claims a new chapter to itself.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

IN WHICH VERY PERPLEXING EVENTS OCCUR.

The visitor referred to in the last chapter was a tall, broad-shouldered old man with a snowy head of hair and a flowing white beard, a long, loose black garment, and a stout staff about six feet long.

Cormac had gone to a spring for water at the time he arrived, and Bladud was lying on his back inside his hut.

"Is any one within?" demanded the stranger, lifting a corner of the curtain.

"Enter not here, whoever you are!" replied the prince quickly, springing up—"stay—I will come out to you."

"You are wonderfully inhospitable," returned the stranger, as the prince issued from the hut and stood up with an inquiring look which suddenly changed to one of astonishment.

"Beniah!" he exclaimed.

"Even so," replied the Hebrew, holding out his hand, but Bladud drew back.

"What! will you neither permit me to enter your house nor shake your hand? I was not so churlish when you visited my dwelling."

"You know well, old man, that I do not grudge hospitality, but fear to infect you."

"Yes, I know it well," rejoined the Hebrew, smiling, "and knowing that you were here, I turned aside on my journey to inquire as to your welfare."

"I have much to say about my welfare and strange things to tell you, but first let me know what has brought you to this part of the land—for if you have turned aside to see me—seeing me has not been your main object."

"You are right. Yet it pleases me well to use this opportunity, and to see by your looks and bearing, that the disease seems to have been arrested."

"Yes, thanks be to the All-seeing One, I am well, or nearly so. But proceed to explain the reason of your journey."

"The cause of it is the unaccountable disappearance of the girl named Branwen."

"What! she who is the bosom friend of my sister Hafrydda?"

"The same. She had fled, you may remember, from your father's court for fear of being compelled to wed with Gunrig, the chief whose crown you cracked so deftly on the day of your arrival. She, poor thing, took refuge at first with me. I hid her for some time—"

"Then," interrupted the prince, "she must have been hidden in your hut at the time of my visit!"

"She was. But that was no business of yours."

"Surely it was, old man, for my father's business is my business."

"Yea, but it was not my business to enlighten you, or the king either, while I had reason to know that he meant unduly to coerce the maiden. However, there she was hidden, as I tell you. Now, you are aware that Branwen's father Gadarn is a great chief, whose people live far away in the northern part of Albion. I bade Branwen remain close in my hut, in a secret chamber, while I should go and acquaint her father with her position, and fetch him down with a strong band of his retainers to rescue her. You should have seen the visage of Gadarn, when I told him the news. A wild boar of the woods could scarce have shown his tusks more fiercely. He not only ordered an armed band to get ready, instantly, but he roused the whole country around, and started off that same day with all his followers armed to the teeth. Of course I led them. In due course we arrived at my hut, when—lo! I found that the bird was flown!"

"I could see by the appearance of things," continued the Hebrew, "that the foolish girl had left of her own will, for there was no evidence of violence anywhere—which would doubtless have been the case if robbers had found her and carried her away, for they would certainly have carried off some of my goods along with her. The rage of her father on making this discovery was terrible. He threatened at once to cut off my old head, and even drew his sword with intent to act the part of executioner. But I reminded him that if he did so, he would cut off the only head that knew anything about his daughter, and that I had still some knowledge regarding her with which he was not acquainted.

"This arrested his hand just in time, for I actually fancied that I had begun to feel the edge of his sword slicing into my spinal marrow. When he had calmed himself enough to listen, I told him that Branwen had spoken about paying a visit to the Hot Springs—that I knew she was bent on going there, for some reason that I could not understand, and that I thought it more than likely she had gone. 'Axe-men, to the front! Form long line! hooroo!' yelled the chief—(or something of that sort, for I'm a man of peace, and don't understand warlike orders), and away went the whole host at a run, winding through the forest like a great snake; Gadarn and I leading them, except when the thickets became impenetrable, and then the axe-men were ordered to the front and soon broke them down. And so, in course of time, we came within a few miles of the Hot Swamp, and—and, as I have said, I have been permitted to turn aside to visit you."

"Truly a strange tale," remarked the prince. "And is the armed host of Gadarn actually within a few miles of us?"

"It is; and, to say truth, I have come out to search for you chiefly to inquire whether you have seen any young woman at all resembling Branwen during your wanderings in this region?"

The Hebrew looked keenly at the prince as he put this question.

"You forget I have never seen this girl, and, therefore, could not know her even if I had met her. But, in truth, I have not seen any woman, young or old, since I came here. Nor have I seen any human being save my mad master, Konar, and a poor youth whom I rescued some time ago from the hands of robbers. He has nursed me through a severe illness, and is even now with me. But what makes you think that Branwen intended to come to the Swamp?"

"Because—because, she had reasons of her own. I do not profess to understand the workings of a young girl's mind," answered the Hebrew.

"And what will you do," said Bladud, "now that you find she has not been here? Methinks that when Gadarn hears of your failure to find her at the Swamp, your spinal marrow and his sword will still stand a good chance of becoming acquainted."

The Hebrew looked perplexed, but, before he could answer, Brownie came bounding gaily round the corner of the hut. Seeing a stranger, he stopped suddenly, displayed his teeth and growled.

"Down, pup! He is not accustomed to visitors, you see," said his master apologetically.

At that moment Cormac turned the corner of the hut, bearing an earthen jar of water on his shoulder. His eyes opened wide with surprise, so did those of the Hebrew, and the jar dropped to the ground, where it broke, and Brownie, quick to see and seize his opportunity, began to lap its contents. The prince—also wide-eyed—gazed from one to the other. It was a grand tableau vivant!

The first to recover himself and break the spell was Cormac. Leaping forward, he grasped the old man by the hand, and turning so as to present his back to Bladud, gave the Hebrew a look so powerfully significant that that son of Israel was quite disconcerted.

"My old, kind friend—is it—can it—be really yourself? So far from home—so unexpected! It makes me so glad to see you," said the youth. Then, turning to Bladud, "A very old friend of mine, who helped me once in a time of great distress. I am so rejoiced, for now he will guide me back to my own home. You know I have sometimes talked of leaving you lately, Bladud."

"You say truth, my young friend. Frequently of late, since I have been getting well, you have hinted at a wish to go home, though you have not yet made it clear to me where that home is; and sad will be the day when you quit me. I verily believe that I should have died outright, Beniah, but for the kind care of this amiable lad. But it is selfish of me to wish you to stay—especially now that you have found a friend who, it would seem, is both able and willing to guard you through the woods in safety. Yet, now I think, my complaint is so nearly cured that I might venture to do that myself."

"Not so," returned the lad, quickly. "You are far from cured yet. To give up using the waters at this stage of the cure would be fatal. It would perhaps let the disease come back as bad as before."

"Nay, but the difficulty lies here," returned the prince, smiling at the boy's eagerness. "This good old man is at present engaged as guide to an army, and dare not leave his post. A foolish girl named Branwen fled some time ago from my father's house, intending, it is supposed, to go to some friends living not far from the Hot Swamp. They have been searching for her in all directions, and at last her father, with a host at his heels, has been led to within a few miles of this place, but the girl has not yet been discovered; so the search will doubtless be continued."

"Is that so?" asked Cormac of the Hebrew, pointedly.

"It is so."

"What is the name of the chief whose daughter has been so foolish as to run away from her friends?"

"Gadarn," answered Beniah.

"Oh! I know him!" exclaimed Cormac in some excitement, "and I know many of his people. I lived with them once, long, long ago. How far off is the camp, did you say?"

"An hour's walk or so."

"In that direction?" asked Cormac, pointing.

"Yes, in that direction."

"Then I will go and see them," said the lad, picking up his bow and arrows. "You can wait here till I come back, Beniah, and keep Bladud company—for he is accustomed to company now! Who knows but I may pick up this foolish girl on my way to the camp!"

The lad hurried into the woods without waiting a reply; but he had not gone a hundred yards when he turned and shouted, "Hi, Beniah!" at the same time beckoning with his hand.

The Hebrew hurried towards him.

"Beniah," said the lad impressively, as he drew near, "go back and examine Bladud's arm, and let me know when we meet again what you think of it."

"But how—why—wherefore came you—?" exclaimed the Hebrew, pausing in perplexity.

"Ask no questions, old man," returned the youth with a laugh. "There is no time to explain—. He will suspect—robbers—old mother—bad son— escape—boy's dress—fill up that story if you can! More hereafter. But—observe, if you say one word about me to anybody, Gadarn's sword is sharp and his arm strong! You promise?"

"I promise."

"Solemnly—on your word as a Hebrew?"

"Solemnly—on my word as a Hebrew. But—?"

With another laugh the boy interrupted him, turned, and disappeared in the woods.

"A strange, though a good and affectionate boy," remarked Bladud when the Hebrew returned. "What said he?"

"He bade me examine your arm, and tell him what I think of it on his return."

"That is of a piece with all the dear boy's conduct," returned the prince. "You have no idea what a kind nurse he has been to me, at a time when I was helpless with fever. Indeed, if I had not been helpless and delirious, I would not have allowed him to come near me. You have known him before, it seems?"

"Yes; I have known him for some time."

From this point the prince pushed the Hebrew with questions, which the latter—bearing in remembrance the sharpness of Gadarn's sword, and the solemnity of his promise—did his best to evade, and eventually succeeded in turning the conversation by questioning Bladud as to his intercourse with the hunter of the Swamp, and his mode of life since his arrival in that region. Then he proceeded to examine the arm critically.

"It is a wonderful cure," he said, after a minute inspection. "Almost miraculous."

"Cure!" exclaimed the prince. "Do you, then, think me cured?"

"Indeed I do—at least, very nearly so. I have had some experience of your complaint in the East, and it seems to me that a perfect cure is at most certain—if it has not been already effected."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

DESCRIBES AN ARDENT SEARCH.

While the prince and the Hebrew were thus conversing, Cormac was speeding towards the camp of Gadarn. He quickly arrived, and was immediately arrested by one of the sentinels. Taken before one of the chief officers, he was asked who he was, and where he came from.

"That I will tell only to your chief," said the lad.

"I am a chief," replied the officer proudly.

"That may be so; but I want to speak with your chief, and I must see him alone."

"Assuredly thou art a saucy knave, and might be improved by a switching."

"Possibly; but instead of wasting our time in useless talk, it would be well to convey my message to Gadarn, for my news is urgent; and I would not give much for your head if you delay."

The officer laughed; but there was that in the boy's tone and manner that induced him to obey.

Gadarn, the chief, was seated on a tree-stump inside of a booth of boughs, leaves, and birch-bark, that had been hastily constructed for his accommodation. He was a great, rugged, north-country man, of immense physical power—as most chiefs were in those days. He seemed to be brooding over his sorrows at the time his officer entered.

"A prisoner waits without," said the officer. "He is a stripling; and says he has urgent business to communicate to you alone."

"Send him hither, and let every one get out of ear-shot!" said Gadarn gruffly.

A minute later Cormac appeared, and looked wistfully at the chief, who looked up with a frown.

"Are you the pris—"

He stopped suddenly, and, springing to his feet, advanced a step with glaring eyes and fast-coming breath, as he held out both hands.

With a cry of joy, Cormac sprang forward and threw his arms round Gadarn's neck, exclaiming—

"Father!—dear father!"

For a few moments there was silence, and a sight was seen which had not been witnessed for many a day—two or three gigantic tears rolled down the warrior's rugged cheeks, one of them trickling to the end of his weather-beaten nose and dropping on his iron-grey beard.

"My child," he said at length, "where—how came you—why, this—"

"Yes, yes, father," interrupted the lad, with a tearful laugh. "I'll tell you all about it in good time; but I've got other things to speak of which are more interesting to both of us. Sit down and let me sit on your knee, as I used to do long ago."

Gadarn meekly obeyed.

"Now listen," said Cormac, putting his mouth to his father's ear and whispering.

The chief listened, and the first effect of the whispering was to produce a frown. This gradually and slowly faded, and gave place to an expression of doubt.

"Are you sure, child?—sure that you—"

"Quite—quite sure," interrupted Cormac with emphasis. "But that is not all—listen!"

Gadarn listened again; and, as the whispering continued, there came the wrinkles of humour over his rugged face; then a snort that caused Cormac to laugh ere he resumed his whispering.

"And he knows it?" cried Gadarn, interrupting and suppressing a laugh.

"Yes; knows all about it."

"And the other doesn't?"

"Has not the remotest idea!"

"Thinks that you're a—"

Here the chief broke off, got up, placed his hands on both his sides and roared with laughter, until the anxious sentinels outside believed that he had gone mad.

With the energy of a strong nature he checked himself and became suddenly grave.

"Listen!" he said; "you have made me listen a good deal to you. It is my turn now. Before the sun stands there (pointing), you will be on your way to the court of King Hudibras, while I remain, and make this Hebrew lead me all over the country in search of—ha! ha!—my daughter. We must search and search every hole and corner of the land; for we must—we must find her—or perish!"

Again the chief exploded, but subdued himself immediately; and, going to the entrance of the booth, summoned his lieutenant, who started forward with the promptitude of an apparition, and with an expression of some curiosity on his countenance, for he also had heard the laughter.

"Get ready forty men," said the chief; "to convey this lad in safety to the court of King Hudibras. He is well known there. Say not that I sent you, but that, in ranging the country, you found him lost in the woods, and, understanding him to belong to the household of the king, you brought him in."

Without a word the lieutenant withdrew, and the plotters looked at each other with that peculiarly significant expression which has been the characteristic of intriguers in all ages.

"Thou wilt know how to act, my little one," said the chief.

"Yes, better even than you imagine, my big one," replied Cormac.

"What! is there something beyond my ken simmering in thy noddle, thou pert squirrel?"

"Perchance there is, father dear."

A sound at the root of Gadarn's nose betrayed suppressed laughter, as he turned away.

Quarter of an hour later a band of foot-soldiers defiled out of the camp, with Cormac in their midst, mounted on a small pony, and Gadarn, calling another of his lieutenants, told him to let it be known throughout the camp, that if any officer or man should allow his tongue to wag with reference to the lad who had just left the camp, his tongue would be silenced for all future time, and an oak limb be decorated with an acorn that never grew on it.

"You know, and they know, that I'm a man of my word—away!" said the chief, returning to the privacy of his booth.

While these events were happening at the camp, Bladud and Beniah were discussing many subjects—religion among others, for they were both philosophical as well as seriously-minded. But neither their philosophy nor their religion were profound enough at that time to remove anxiety about the youth who had just left them.

"I wish that I were clear of the whole business," remarked the Hebrew uneasily, almost petulantly.

"Why, do you fear that any evil can happen to the boy?" asked Bladud anxiously.

"Oh! I fear not for him. It is not that. He will be among friends at the camp—but—but I know not how Gadarn may take it."

"Take what?" demanded the prince in surprise.

"Take—take my failure to find his daughter."

"Ha! to be sure; he may be ill-pleased at that. But if I thought there was any chance of evil befalling Cormac in the camp, by all the gods of the east, west, north, and south," cried the prince, carried away by the strength of his feelings into improper and even boastful language, "I would go and demand his liberation, or fight the whole tribe single-handed."

"A pretty boast for a man in present safety," remarked the Hebrew, with a remonstrative shake of the head.

"Most true," returned the prince, flushing; "I spoke in haste, yet it was not altogether a boast, for I could challenge Gadarn to single combat, and no right-minded chief could well refuse to let the issue of the matter rest on that."

"Verily he would not refuse, for although not so tall as you are, he is quite as stout, and it is a saying among his people that he fears not the face of any man—something like his daughter in that."

"Is she so bold, then?"

"Nay, not bold, but—courageous."

"Humph! that is a distinction, no doubt, but the soft and gentle qualities in women commend themselves more to me than those which ought chiefly to characterise man. However, be this as it may, if Cormac does not return soon after daybreak to-morrow, I will hie me to the camp to see how it fares with him."

As next morning brought no Cormac, or any news of him, Bladud started for the camp, accompanied by the anxious Hebrew.

They found the chief at a late breakfast. He looked up without rising when they were announced.

"Ha! my worthy Hebrew—is it thou? What news of my child? Have you heard of her whereabouts?"

"Not yet, sir," answered Beniah with a look of intense perplexity. "But I had thought that—that is, by this time—"

"What! no news?" cried the chief, springing up in fierce ire, and dropping the chop with which he had been engaged. "Did you not say that you felt sure you would hear of her from your friend? Is this the friend that you spoke of?"

He turned a keen look of inquiry, with not a little admiration in it, on Bladud.

"This is indeed he," answered Beniah, "and I have—but, but did not a lad—a fair youth—visit your camp yesterday?"

"No—no lad came near the camp yesterday," answered the chief gruffly.

Here was cause for wonder, both for the Hebrew and the prince.

"Forgive me, sir," said the latter, with a deferential air that greatly pleased the warrior, "forgive me if I venture to intrude my own troubles on one whose anxiety must needs be greater, but this youth left my hut yesterday to visit you, saying that he knew you well, and if he has not arrived some evil must have befallen him, for the distance he had to traverse was very short."

"That is sad," returned the chief in a tone of sympathy, "for he must either have been caught by robbers, or come by an accident on the way. Did you not follow his footsteps as you came along?"

"We never thought of following them—the distance being so short," returned the prince with increasing anxiety.

"Are you, then, so fond of this lad?" asked the chief.

"Ay, that am I, and with good reason, for he has tended me with self-denying care during illness, and in circumstances which few men would have faced. In truth, I feel indebted to him for my life."

"Say you so?" cried the chief with sudden energy; "then shall we search for him as well as for my daughter. And you, Hebrew, shall help us. Doubtless, young man, you will aid us by your knowledge of the district. I have secured the services of the hunter of the Swamp, so we can divide into three bands, and scour the whole country round. We cannot fail to find them, for neither of them can have got far away, whether they be lost or stolen. Ho! there. Assemble the force, instantly. Divide it into three bands. My lieutenant shall head one. You, Bladud, shall lead another, and I myself will head the third, guided by Beniah. Away!"

With a wave of both hands Gadarn dismissed those around him, and retired to his booth to arm himself, and prepare for the pending search.

The Hebrew was sorely tempted just then to speak out, but his solemn promise to Branwen sealed his lips. The fact also that the girl seemed really to have disappeared, filled him with alarm as well as surprise, and made him anxious to participate in the search. In a perplexed state of mind, and unenviable temper, he went away with Bladud to the place where the force was being marshalled.

"Strange that fate should send us on a double search of this kind," remarked the prince as they hurried along.

"Whether fate sent us, or some mischievous sprite, I know not," growled the Hebrew, "but there is no need for more than one search."

"How!" exclaimed Bladud sternly. "Think you that my poor lad's fate is not of as much interest to me as that of Gadarn's daughter is to him?"

"Nay, verily, I presume not to gauge the interest of princes and chiefs," returned Beniah, with an exasperated air. "All I know is, that if we find the lad, we are full sure to find the lass not far off."

"How? You speak in riddles to-day."

"Ay, and there are like to be more riddles tomorrow, for what the upshot of it will be is more than I can tell. See you not that, as the two were lost about the same time, and near the same place, they will probably be found together?"

"Your wits seem to be shaken to-day, old man," rejoined Bladud, smiling, "for these two were not lost about the same place or time."

Fortunately for the Hebrew's peace of mind, an officer accosted them at that moment, and, directing the one to head a band just ready to march, led the other to the force which was to be commanded by the chief in person.

In a few minutes the three bands were in motion, the main bodies marching north, south, and east, while strong parties were sent out from each to skirmish in all directions.

"Think you we shall find them, Hebrew?" asked the chief, who seemed to be in a curiously impulsive state of mind.

"I trust we may. It seems to me almost certain."

"I hope so, for your sake as well as my own, old man; for, if we do not, I will surely cut your head off for bringing me here for nothing."

"Does it not seem unjust to punish a man for doing his best?" asked Beniah.

"It may seem so to you men of the east, but to the men of the west justice is not held of much account."

Proceeding round by the Hot Springs, the party led by Gadarn made a careful inspection of every cavern, defile, glade, and thicket, returning at evening towards the camp from which they set out, it having been arranged that they were all to meet there and start again to renew the search, in a wider circle, on the following morning.

"No success," remarked Gadarn sternly, unbuckling his sword and flinging it violently on the ground.

"Not yet, but we may have better fortune tomorrow," said Beniah.

"Don't you think the small footprints we saw near the Springs were those of the boy?"

"They may have been."

"And those that we saw further on, but lost sight of in the rocky ground—did they not look like those of a girl?"

"They certainly did."

"And yet strangely like to each other," said the chief.

"Marvellously," returned Beniah.

A slight sound in Gadarn's nose caused the Hebrew to look up quickly, but the chief was gazing with stern gravity out at the opening of his booth, where the men of his force could be seen busily at work felling trees, kindling fires, and otherwise preparing for the evening meal.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

MORE SECRETS AND SURPRISES.

All went well with the party that conducted Branwen to King Hudibras' town until they reached the hut of Beniah the Hebrew, when the lad suggested to the leader of the escort that they should put up there, as it was too late to think of intruding on the king that night.

As the lieutenant had been told to pay particular regard to the wishes of his charge, he at once agreed. Indeed, during the journey, Cormac (as we may here continue to call the girl) had expressed his wishes with such a quiet, matter-of-course air of authority that the officer in charge had come to the conclusion that the youth must be the son of some person of importance—perhaps even of King Hudibras himself. He therefore accorded him implicit obedience and deference.

"The hut is too small for all of us," said Cormac; "the greater number of your men must sleep outside; but that does not matter on so fine a night."

"True, it matters nothing," replied the officer. "We will all of us sup and sleep round the campfires."

"Nay, you and your lieutenant will sup with me. Afterwards you can join the men. By-the-by, there is an old woman here, who takes charge—or ought to take charge—of the Hebrew's dwelling during his absence."

"I have not seen her," said the officer.

"True—but she will no doubt make her appearance soon. Let her come and go as she pleases without hindrance. It is not safe to thwart her, for her temper is none of the sweetest, and she is apt to scratch."

Supper was soon over, for the party had travelled all day, and were weary. When it was finished Cormac again cautioned the officers not to interfere with the old woman, for she was dangerous.

"I will have a care," said the officer, laughing, as he and his subaltern rose, bade their charge good-night, and took their leave.

The instant they were gone Branwen pushed the plank-bridge across the chasm, and disappeared in the secret cave.

Half an hour later the two officers were seated with some of the men at the camp-fire nearest the hut, making preparations for going to rest, when they were startled by the creaking of the hut door. To their intense surprise it opened wide enough to let a little old woman step out. She was much bent, wore an old grey shawl over her head, and leaned on a staff. For some moments she looked from side to side as if in search of something.

"See! the old woman!" murmured the officer in a low whisper.

"True, but we did not see her enter the hut," replied the sub with a solemn look.

In those days witchcraft was implicitly believed in, so, when they saw the old creature hobble towards them, they experienced feelings of alarm that had never yet affected their manly bosoms in danger or in war. Their faces paled a little, but their courage stood the test, for they sat still till she came close enough to let her piercing dark eyes be seen peering at them like those of a basilisk from out the folds of the shawl that enveloped her.

"Y-you are the—the old woman, I suppose?" said the officer in a deferential tone.

"Yes, I am the old woman, young man, and you will be an old woman too when you reach my time of life," she replied, in a deep metallic voice.

"I hope not," returned the officer, sincerely.

"At all events you'll be a dead man before long if you don't attend to what I say," continued the woman. "Your young master in the hut there told me to tell you that he is tired and wants a good long rest, so you are not to disturb him in the morning till he calls you. D'you hear?"

"I hear, and will obey."

"Eh? What? Speak out. I'm deaf."

"I hear, and will attend to your wishes."

"Humph! it will be worse for you if you don't," muttered the old hag, as she turned away, hobbled into the woods, and slowly disappeared.

It need scarcely be said that the lieutenant and his sub did not sleep much that night. They discussed the subject of witches, their powers and propensities, and the bad luck likely to attend those who actually had the misfortune to see them, until the hair on their heads betrayed a tendency to rise, and the grey dawn began to appear. Then they lay down and indulged in some fitful slumber. But the discomforts of the night were as nothing to the anxieties of the morning, for the lazy Cormac seemed to have gone in for an extent of slumber that was out of all reason, considering his circumstances. The ordinary breakfast hour arrived, but there was no intimation of his having awoke. Hours passed, but there was no call from the hut, and the officer, with ever-increasing anxiety, bade his men to kick up a row—or words to that effect. No command they ever received was more easy of fulfilment. They laughed and talked; they cut down trees and cleaned their breakfast utensils with overwhelming demonstration; they shouted, they even sang and roared in chorus, but without effect. Noon arrived and passed, still Cormac slept on. It was worse than perplexing—it was becoming desperate!

The officer commanding the party was a brave man; so was the sub. Their native courage overcame their superstitious fears.

"I'll be battle-axed!" exclaimed the first, using a very objectionable old British oath, "if I don't rouse him, though all the witches in Albion should withstand me."

"And I'll back you up," said the sub with a frown that spoke volumes— perhaps, considering the times, we should have written—rolls of papyrus.

Accordingly the two went towards the hut, with pluck and misgiving contending for the mastery.

"Perchance the witch may have returned while we slept," said the sub in a low voice.

"Or she may have re-entered the hut invisibly—as she did at first," replied the other.

The door was found to be on the latch. The lieutenant opened it a little and peeped in.

"Ho! Cormac!" he shouted; "hi! ho! hooroo hooh!" but he shouted in vain.

Becoming accustomed to the dim light, he perceived that there was no one within to answer to the call, so he suddenly sprang in, followed by the sub and a few of the more daring spirits among the men.

A hasty search revealed the fact that the lad was not to be seen. A more minute and thorough inspection showed clearly that no one was there. They did not, of course, discover the cave, for the plank had been removed, but they gazed solemnly into the depths of the dark chasm and wondered if poor Cormac had committed suicide there, or if the witch had murdered him and thrown him in. Having neither rope nor ladder, and the chasm appearing to be bottomless, they had no means of settling the question.

But now a point of far greater moment pressed on their consideration. What was to be said to King Hudibras about the disappearance of the lad? Would he believe them? It was not likely. And, on the other hand, what would Gadarn say? Would he believe them? He might, indeed, for he knew them to be faithful, but that would not mitigate his wrath, and when he was roused by neglected duty they knew too well that their lives would hang on a thread. What was to be done? To go forward or backward seemed to involve death! One only resource was left, namely, for the whole band to go off on its own account and take to the woods as independent robbers—or hunters—or both combined.

In an unenviable frame of mind the lieutenant and his sub sat down to the discussion of these knotty points and their mid-day meal.

Meanwhile the witch, who had been the occasion of all this distress, having got out of sight in the woods, assumed a very upright gait and stepped out with a degree of bounding elasticity that would have done credit to a girl of nineteen.

The sun was just rising in a flood of glorious light when she entered the suburbs of King Hudibras' town—having previously resumed her stoop and hobbling gait.

The king was lazy. He was still a-bed snoring. But the household was up and at breakfast, when the witch—passing the guards who looked upon her as too contemptible to question—knocked at the palace door. It was the back-door, for even at that time palaces had such convenient apertures, for purposes, no doubt, of undignified retreat. A menial answered the knock—after wearisome delay.

"Is the Princess Hafrydda within?"

"She is," answered the menial, with a supercilious look, "but she is at breakfast, and does not see poor people at such an hour."

"Would she see rich people if they were to call at such an hour?" demanded the witch, sharply.

"Per—perhaps she would," replied the menial with some hesitation.

"Then I'll wait here till she has finished breakfast. Is the king up?"

"N-no. He still slumbers."

"Hah! Like him! He was always lazy in the mornings. Go fetch me a stool."

The manner of the old woman with her magnificent dark eyes and deep metallic voice, and her evident knowledge of the king's habits, were too much for the menial—a chord of superstition had been touched; it vibrated, and he was quelled. Humbly but quickly he fetched a stool.

"Won't you step in?" he said.

"No, I'll stop out!" she replied, and sat herself doggedly down, with the air of one who had resolved never more to go away.

Meanwhile, in the breakfast room of the palace, which was on the ground floor—indeed, all the rooms of the palace were on the ground floor, for there was no upper one—the queen and her fair daughter Hafrydda were entertaining a stranger who had arrived the day before.

He was an exceedingly handsome man of about six-and-twenty; moderately tall and strong, but with an air of graceful activity in all his movements that gave people, somehow, the belief that whatever he chose to attempt he could do. Both his olive complexion and his tongue betokened him a foreigner, for although the language he spoke was Albionic, it was what we now style broken—very much broken indeed. With a small head, short curly black hair, a very young beard, and small pointed moustache, fine intellectual features, and an expression of imperturbable good-humour, he presented an appearance which might have claimed the regard of any woman. At all events the queen had formed a very high opinion of him—and she was a woman of much experience, having seen many men in her day. Hafrydda, though, of course, not so experienced, fully equalled her mother, if she did not excel her, in her estimate of the young stranger.

As we should be unintelligible if we gave the youth's words in the broken dialect, we must render his speech in fair English.

"I cannot tell how deeply I am grieved to hear this dreadful news of my dear friend," he said, with a look of profound sorrow that went home to the mother's heart.

"And did you really come to this land for the sole purpose of seeing my dear boy?" asked the queen.

"I did. You cannot imagine how much we loved each other. We were thrown together daily—almost hourly. We studied together; we competed when I was preparing for the Olympic games; we travelled in Egypt and hunted together. Indeed, if it had not been for my dear old mother, we should have travelled to this land in the same ship."

"Your mother did not wish you to leave her, I suppose?"

"Nay, it was I who would not leave her. Her unselfish nature would have induced her to make any sacrifice to please me. It was only when she died that my heart turned with unusual longing to my old companion Bladud, and I made up my mind to quit home and traverse the great sea in search of him."

A grateful look shot from Hafrydda's blue eyes, but it was lost on the youth, who sat gazing at the floor as if engrossed with his great disappointment.

"I cannot understand," he continued, in an almost reproachful tone, "how you could ever make up your minds to banish him, no matter how deadly the disease that had smitten him."

The princess's fair face flushed deeply, and she shook back her golden curls—her eyes flashing as she replied—

"We did not 'make up our minds to banish him.' The warriors and people would have compelled us to do it whether we liked or not, for they have heard, alas! of the terrible nature of the disease. But the dear boy, knowing this, went off in the night unknown to us, and without even saying farewell. We have sent out parties to search for him several times, but without success."

The youth was evidently affected by this burst of feeling.

"Ah," he returned, with a look of admiration at the princess, "that was like him—like his noble, self-denying nature. But I will find him out, you may depend on it, for I shall search the land in all directions till I discover his retreat. If King Hudibras will grant me a few men to help me—well. If not, I will do it by myself."

"Thank you, good Dromas, for your purpose and your sympathy," said the queen. "The king will be only too glad to help you—but here he comes to speak for himself."

The curtain door was tossed aside at the moment, and Hudibras strode into the room with a beaming smile and a rolling gait that told of redundant health, and showed that the cares of state sat lightly on him.

"Welcome, good Dromas, to our board. I was too sleepy to see much of you after your arrival last night. Mine eyes blinked like those of an owl. Kiss me, wife and daughter," he added, giving the ladies a salute that resounded through the room. "Have they told you yet about our poor son Bladud?"

The visitor had not time to reply, when a domestic appeared and said there was an old woman at the door who would not go away.

"Give her some cakes and send her off!" cried the king with a frown.

"But she will not go till she has had converse with the princess."

"I will go to her," said Hafrydda, rising.

"Ay, go, my girl, and if thy sweet tongue fails to prevail, stuff her mouth with meat and drink till she is too stout to walk. Come, my queen, what have we this morning for breakfast? The very talking of meat makes me hungry."

At this juncture several dogs burst into the room and gambolled with their royal master, as with one who is a familiar friend.

When the princess reached the outer door she found the woman standing, and evidently in a rage.

"Is this the way King Hudibras teaches his varlets to behave to poor people who are better than themselves?"

"Forgive them, granny," said the princess, who was inclined to laugh, but strove to keep her gravity, "they are but stupid rogues at worst."

"Nay, but they are sly rogues at best!" retorted the old woman. "The first that came, took me for a witch, and was moderately civil, but the second took away my stool and threatened to set the dogs at me."

"If this be so, I will have him cow-hided; but tell me—what would you with me? Can I help you? Is it food that you want, or rest?"

"Truly it is both food and rest that I want, at the proper times, but what I want with you now, is to take me to your own room, and let me talk to you."

"That is a curious desire," returned Hafrydda, smiling, "but I will not deny you. Come this way. Have you anything secret to tell me?" she asked, when they were alone.

"Ay, that have I," answered the woman in her natural voice, throwing off her shawl and standing erect.

The princess remained speechless, for her friend Branwen stood before her.

"Before I utter a word of explanation," she said, "let me say that your brother is found, and safe, and well—or nearly so. This is the main thing, but I will not tell you anything more, unless you give me your solemn promise not to tell a word of it all to any one, till I give you leave. Do you promise?"

Hafrydda was so taken aback that she could do nothing for some time but gaze in the girl's face. Then she laughed in an imbecile sort of way. Then she burst into tears of joy, threw her arms round her friend's neck, hugged her tight, and promised anything—everything—that she chose to demand.

When, an hour later, the Princess Hafrydda returned to the breakfast room, she informed the king and queen that the old woman was not a beggar; that she had kept her listening to a long story about lost men and women and robbers; that she was a thorough deceiver; that some of the servants believed her to be a witch, and that she had sent her away.

"With an invitation to come back again, I'll be bound," cried the king, interrupting. "It's always your way, my girl,—any one can impose on you."

"Well, father, she did impose on me, and I did ask her to come back again."

"I knew it," returned the king, with a loud laugh, "and she'll come, for certain."

"She will, you may be quite sure of that," rejoined the princess with a gleeful laugh, as she left the room.

About the same time, the little old woman left the palace and returned to the hut of the Hebrew.

Here, as she expected, she found that her escort had flown, and, a brief inspection of their footprints showed that, instead of proceeding towards the town, they had returned the way they came.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

FURTHER SEARCHINGS AND PERPLEXITIES.

While these events were taking place at court, the bold chief Gadarn was ranging the country far and wide in search of his daughter Branwen.

There was something in his manner which puzzled his followers not a little, for he seemed to have changed his character—at least to have added to it a strange, wild hilarity which suggested the idea that he enjoyed the hunt and was in no hurry that it should come to an end. Those who knew him best began at last to fear that anxiety had unsettled his reason, and Bladud, who liked the man's gay, reckless disposition and hearty good-humour, intermingled with occasional bursts of fierce passion, was not only puzzled but distressed by the wild inconsistency of his proceedings. The Hebrew, knowing to some extent the cause of what he did, and feeling bound by his promise to conceal his knowledge, was reduced to a state of mind that is not describable.

On the one hand there was the mystery of Cormac's total disappearance in a short walk of three miles. On the other hand, there was the utter uselessness of searching for Branwen, yet the urgent need of searching diligently for Cormac. Then there was the fear of consequences when the fiery Gadarn should come to find out how he had been deceived, or rather, what moderns might style humbugged; add to which he was debarred the solace of talking the subject over with Bladud, besides being, in consequence of his candid disposition, in danger of blurting out words that might necessitate a revelation. One consequence was that, for the time at least, the grave and amiable Hebrew became an abrupt, unsociable, taciturn man.

"What ails you just now, Beniah?" asked Bladud, one evening as they walked together to Gadarn's booth, having been invited to supper. "You seem out of condition mentally, if not bodily, as if some one had rubbed you the wrong way."

"Do I?" answered Beniah, with a frown and something between a grin and a laugh. "Well, it is not easy to understand one's mental complaints, much less to explain them."

Fortunately their arrival at the booth put a timely end to the conversation.

"Ha! my long-legged prince and stalwart Hebrew!" cried the jovial chief in a loud voice, "I began to fear that you had got lost—as folk seem prone to do in this region—or had forgotten all about us! Come in and sit ye down. Ho! varlet, set down the victuals. After all, you are just in the nick of time. Well, Beniah, what think you of our search to-day? Has it been close? Is it likely that we have missed any of the caves or cliffs where robbers might be hiding?"

"I think not. It seems to me that we have ransacked every hole and corner in which there is a chance that the lad could be found."

"The lad!" exclaimed Gadarn.

"I—I mean—your daughter," returned the Hebrew, quickly.

"Why don't you say what you mean, then? One expects a man of your years to talk without confusion—or is it that you are really more anxious about finding the boy than my girl?"

"Nay, that be far from me," answered the Hebrew. "To say truth, I am to the full as anxious to find the one as the other, for it matters not which you—"

"Matters not!" repeated Gadarn, fiercely.

"Well, of course, I mean that my friendship for you and Bladud makes me wish to see you each satisfied by finding both the boy and the girl."

"For my part," said Bladud, quietly, "I sincerely hope that we may find them both, for we are equally anxious to do so."

"Equally!" exclaimed Gadarn, with a look of lofty surprise. "Dost mean to compare your regard for your young friend with a father's love for his only child!"

The prince did not easily take offence, but he could not refrain from a flush and a frown as he replied, sharply—

"I make no useless comparisons, chief. It is sufficient that we are both full of anxiety, and are engaged in the same quest."

"Ay, the same quest—undoubtedly," observed the Hebrew in a grumbling, abstracted manner.

"If it were possible," returned Gadarn, sternly, "to give up the search for your boy and confine it entirely to my girl, I would do so. But as they went astray about the same place, we are compelled, however little we like it, to hunt together."

"Not compelled, chief," cried Bladud, with a look and a flash in his blue eye which presaged a sudden rupture of friendly relations. "We can each go our own way and hunt on our own account."

"Scarcely," replied the chief, "for if you found my daughter, you would be bound in honour to deliver her up; and if I found your boy, I should feel myself bound to do the same."

"It matters not a straw which is found," cried the Hebrew, exasperated at the prospect of a quarrel between the two at such an inopportune moment. "Surely, as an old man, I have the right to remonstrate with you for encouraging anything like disagreement when our success in finding the boy,—I—I mean the girl,—depends—"

A burst of laughter from the chief cut him short.

"You don't seem to be quite sure of what you mean," he cried, "or to be able to say it. Come, come, prince, if the Hebrew claims a right to remonstrate because he is twenty years or so older than I am, surely I may claim the same right, for I am full twenty years older than you. Is it seemly to let your hot young blood boil over at every trifle? Here, let me replenish your platter, for it is ill hunting after man, woman, or beast without a stomach full of victuals."

There was no resisting the impulsive chief.

Both his guests cleared their brows and laughed—though there was still a touch of exasperation in the Hebrew's tone.

While the search was being thus diligently though needlessly prosecuted in the neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp by Gadarn, who was dearly fond of a practical joke, another chief, who was in no joking humour, paid a visit one evening to his mother. Perhaps it is unnecessary to say that this chief was Gunrig.

"From all that I see and hear, mother," he said, walking up and down the room, as was his habit, with his hands behind him, "it is clear that if I do not go about it myself, the king will let the matter drop; for he is convinced that the girl has run off with some fellow, and will easily make her way home."

"Don't you think he may be right, my son?"

"No, I don't, my much-too-wise mother. I know the girl better than that. It is enough to look in her face to know that she could not run away with any fellow!"

"H'm!" remarked the woman significantly.

"What say you?" demanded the chief, sharply.

"I scarcely know what to say. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to take a band of our own men and go off in search of the girl yourself."

"That's just what I've made up my mind to do; but I wanted to see if Hudibras would get up a band to join mine, for I dare not take many away from the town when that scoundrel Addedomar is threatening to make a raid upon us."

"My son," said the woman anxiously, "what threatened raid do you speak of?"

"Did you not hear? Since the last time we gave that robber a drubbing at the Hot Swamp, he has taken to the woods and gathered together a large band of rascals like himself. We would not have minded that—for honest men are always numerous enough to keep villains in order—but two chiefs who have long been anxious to take possession of the land round the Swamp have agreed to join with him, so that they form a formidable body of warriors—too large to be treated with contempt."

"This is bad news, Gunrig. How does the king take it?"

"In his usual way. He does not believe in danger or mischief till it has overtaken him, and it is almost too late for action. There is one hope, however, that he will be induced to move in time. A young fellow has come from the far East, who was a great friend of that long-legged fellow Bladud, and he is bent on finding out where his friend has gone. Of course the king is willing to let him have as many men as he wants, though he sternly refuses to let Bladud return home; and I hope to induce this youth—Dromas, they call him—to join me, so that we may search together; for, of course, the search for the man may result in finding the girl. My only objection is that if we do find Bladud, I shall have to fight and kill him—unless the leprosy has happily killed him already. So, now, I will away and see what can be done about this hunt. My object in coming was to get my men, and to warn those left in charge of the town to keep a keen look-out for Addedomar, for he is a dangerous foe. Farewell, mother."

The woman was not addicted to the melting mood. She merely nodded as her son went out.

In pursuance of this plan, a band of about two hundred warriors was raised, armed, and provisioned for a long journey. Gunrig put himself at the head of a hundred and fifty of these, and Dromas, being a skilled warrior, was given command of the remaining fifty, with Captain Arkal, who begged to be allowed to go as his lieutenant, and little Maikar as one of his fighting men.

The orders were, that they should start off in the direction of the Hot Swamp, searching the country as they went, making diligent inquiries at the few villages they might pass, and questioning all travellers whom they might chance to meet with by the way. If Branwen should be found, she was to be sent back escorted by a detachment of a hundred men. If the retreat of Bladud should be discovered, news of the fact was to be sent to the king, and the prince was to be left there in peace with any of the men who might volunteer to live with him. But on no account were they or Bladud to return to Hudibras' town as long as there was the least danger of infection.

"Is he never to return?" asked the queen, whimpering, when she heard these orders given.

"No, never!" answered the king in that awful tone which the poor queen knew too well meant something like a decree of Fate.

"Oh, father!" remonstrated Hafrydda—and Dromas loved her for the remonstrance—"not even if he is cured?"

"Well, of course, if he is cured, my child, that alters the case. But how am I to know that he is cured?—who is to judge? Our court doctor knows as much about it as a sucking pig—perhaps less!"

"Perhaps the Hebrew knows," suggested Hafrydda—and Dromas loved her for the suggestion!

"Ah, to be sure! I forgot the Hebrew. You may call at his hut in passing and take him with you, if he has come home yet. He's an amiable old man, and may consent to go. If not—make him. Away! and cease to worry me. That's the way to get rid of business, my queen; isn't it?"

"Certainly—it is one way," answered the queen, turning to the two commanders. "Go, and my blessing go with you!"

"Success attend you!" murmured the princess, glancing timidly at Dromas—and as Dromas gazed upon her fair face, and golden curls, and modest mien, he felt that he loved her for herself!

Success did not, however, attend them at first, for on reaching the Hebrew's hut they found it empty, and no amount of shouting availed to call Beniah from the "vasty deep" of the chasm, or the dark recesses of the secret chamber.

Pursuing their way, therefore, the small army was soon lost to view in the forest.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

CROSS PURPOSES AND COMPLICATIONS.

We turn now to another scene in the wild-woods, not far distant from the Hot Swamp.

It is a thickly-wooded hollow on the eastern slopes of the high ridge that bounds one side of the valley of the Springs. Sturdy oaks, tall poplars, lordly elms and beeches, cast a deep shade over the spot which was rendered almost impenetrable by dense underwood. Even in brightest sunshine light entered it with difficulty, and in gloomy weather a sort of twilight constantly prevailed, while at night the place became the very abode of thick darkness.

In this retreat was assembled, one gloomy afternoon, a large body of armed men, not connected with the searching parties which had been ransacking the region in the vain duplex search which we have tried to describe. It was a war-party under the command of Addedomar the outlaw—if we may thus characterise a man in a land where there was little or no law of any kind, save that of might.

It was a strong band, numbering nearly four hundred warriors, all of whom were animated with the supposed-to-be noble desire to commit theft on a very large scale. It is true, they called it "conquest," which word in those days, as in modern times even among civilised people, meant killing many of the natives of a place and taking possession of their lands. Then—as now—this was sometimes styled "right of conquest," and many people thought then, as some think even now, that by putting this word "right" before "conquest" they made it all right! and had somehow succeeded in abrogating the laws, "Thou shalt not steal," and "Do to others as thou wouldest have others do to thee," laws which were written by God in the human understanding long before Moses descended with the decalogue from Sinai.

However, as we have said, there was little or no law in the land of old Albion at the time of which we write, so that we can scarcely wonder at the aspirations of the band under Addedomar—aspirations which were to the full as strong—perhaps even as noble—as those of Alexander the Great or the first Napoleon.

It had been ascertained by some stray hunter of Addedomar's party that considerable bands of men were ranging the valley of the Springs and its neighbourhood in search of something or some one, and that they went about usually in small detached parties. The stray hunter, with an eye, doubtless, to his personal interest, conveyed the news to the robber chief, who, having made secret and extensive preparations, happened at the time to be on his way to raid the territories of King Hudibras, intending to take the town of Gunrig as a piece of by-play in passing.

Here, however, was an opportunity of striking a splendid blow without travelling so far. By keeping his force united, and sending a number of scouts in advance, he could attack and overwhelm the scattered detachments in succession. He, therefore, in the meantime, abandoned his original plan, and turned aside to the neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp. There he remained in the sequestered hollow, which has been described, awaiting the return of his scouts. There was no difficulty in feeding an army in those days, for the forests of Albion abounded with game, and the silent bow, unlike the noisy fire-arm, could be used effectively without betraying the presence of the hunter.

The eyes of Addedomar opened wider and wider as his scouts dropped in one by one, and his heart beat high with glee and hope at the news they brought, for it opened up a speedy conquest in detail of more foes than he had counted on meeting with, and left the prospect of his afterwards carrying into execution his original plan.

The first scout brought the intelligence that it was not the men of King Hudibras who were in the neighbourhood, but those of Gadarn, the great chief of the far north, who had come there with an armed force in search of his daughter—she having gone lost, stolen, or strayed in the wilderness.

"Is the band a large one?" demanded Addedomar.

"It is; but not so large as ours, and it is weakened every day by being sent into the woods in different directions and in three detachments."

"Excellent! Ha! we will join Gadarn in this search, not only for his daughter, but for himself, and we will double the number of his detachments when we meet them, by slicing each man in two."

A loud laugh greeted this pleasantry, for robbers were easily tickled in those days.

"I also discovered," continued the scout, "that there is search being made at the same time for some boy or lad, who seems to have disappeared, or run away, or been caught by robbers."

Again there was a laugh at the idea that there were other robbers about besides themselves, but the chief checked them.

"Did you find out anything else about this lad?" he asked.

"Only that he seemed from his dress to be a hunter."

Addedomar frowned and looked at the ground for some moments in meditation.

"I'm convinced," he said at last, "that this lad is none other than the girl who escaped in the hunting dress of my young brother, just the day before I returned to camp. Mother was not as careful as she might have been at that time, and lost me a pretty wife. Good! Things are turning out well to-day. We will rout Gadarn, find his daughter and this so-called lad, and then I shall have two wives instead of one."

The robber chief had just come to this satisfactory conclusion, when another scout arrived.

"How now, varlet? Do you bring good news?"

"That depends on what you consider good," answered the scout, panting. "I have just learned that a large body of King Hudibras' men—about two hundred, I believe—is on its way to the Swamp to search for his son Bladud—"

"What! the giant whom we have heard tell of—who gave Gunrig such a drubbing?"

"The same. It seems that he has been smitten with leprosy, has been banished from court, and has taken up his abode somewhere near the Swamp."

"But if he has been banished, why do they send out to search for him, I wonder?" said the robber chief.

"It is said," returned the scout, "that a friend of Bladud from the far East wants to find him."

"Good! This is rare good luck. We, too, will search for Bladud and slay him. It is not every day that a man has the chance to kill a giant with leprosy, and a king's son into the bargain."

"I also learned," continued the scout, "that some lady of the court has fled, and the army is to search of her too."

"What! more women? Why, it seems as if these woods here must be swarming with them. I should not wonder, too, if it was Hudibras' own daughter that has run away. Not unlikely, for the king is well known to be a tyrannical old fellow. H'm! we will search for her also. If we find them all, I shall have more than enough of wives—the king's daughter, and Gadarn's daughter, and this run-away-lad, whoever she may be! Learned you anything more?"

"Nothing more, except that Gadarn intends to make an early start to-morrow morning."

"It is well. We, also, will make an early—an even earlier—start to-morrow morning. To your food, now, my men, and then—to rest!"

While the robber chief was thus conversing with his scouts, two men were advancing through the forest, one of whom was destined to interfere with the plans which were so well conceived by Addedomar. These were our friends Arkal and Maikar.

Filled with a sort of wild romance, which neither the waves of the sea nor the dangers of the land could abate, these two shipmates marched through the woods all unconscious, of course, of the important part they were destined to play in that era of the world's history. The two sailors were alone, having obtained leave to range right and left in advance of the column to which they were attached, for the purpose of hunting.

"We are not much to boast of in the way of shooting," remarked Arkal; "but the troops don't know that, and good luck may prevent them finding it out."

"Just so," returned Maikar, "good luck may also bring us within arrow-shot of a wolf. I have set my heart on taking home a wolf-skin to that little woman with the black eyes that I've spoken to you about sometimes."

"Quite right, young man," said the captain, in an approving tone. "Nothing pleases folk so much as to find that they have been remembered by you when far away. Moreover, I think you stand a good chance, for I saw two wolves the other day when I was rambling about, but they were out of range."

Chance or luck—whichever it was—did not bring a wolf within range that day, but it brought what was more important and dangerous—namely, a large brown bear. The animal was seated under a willow tree, with its head on one side as if in meditation, when the men came upon it. An intervening cliff had prevented the bear from hearing the footsteps of the men, and both parties, being taken by surprise, stared at each other for a moment in silence.

No word was spoken, but next instant the bear ran at them, and stood up on its hind legs, according to bear-nature, to attack. At the same moment both men discharged arrows at it with all their force. One arrow stuck in the animal's throat, the other in his chest. But bears are proverbially hard to kill, and no vital part had been reached. Dropping their bows, the men turned and made for the nearest trees. They separated in doing so, and the bear lost a moment or two in making up its mind which to follow. Fortunately it decided in favour of Maikar. Had it followed Arkal, it would have caught him, for the captain, not being as agile as might be wished, missed his first spring up his tree, and slid back to the bottom.

Maikar, on the other hand, went up like a squirrel. Now, the little seaman had been told that some kinds of bears can climb while others cannot. Remembering the fact, he glanced anxiously down, as he went up. To his horror he saw that this bear could climb! and that his only chance would be to climb so high, that the branches which would bear his weight would not support the bear. It was a forlorn hope, but he resolved to try it.

Arkal, in the meantime, had recovered breath and self-possession. Seeing the danger of his comrade, he boldly dropped to the ground, picked up his bow, ran under the other tree, and sent an arrow deep into the bear's flank. With a savage growl, the animal looked round, saw the captain getting ready a second arrow, and immediately began to descend. This rather disconcerted Arkal, who discharged his arrow hastily and missed.

Dropping his bow a second time he ran for dear life to his own tree and scrambled up. But he need not have been in such haste, for although some bears can ascend trees easily, they are clumsy and slow in descending. Consequently the captain was high up before his enemy began to climb. That was of little advantage, however, for in a few moments the bear would have been up with him, had not Maikar, moved by the consideration no doubt, that one good turn deserves another, dropped quickly to the ground, picked up his bow and repeated the captain's operation, with even more telling effect, for his arrow made the bear so furious, that he turned round to bite it. In doing so he lost his hold, and fell to the ground with such a thud, that he drove the arrow further into him, and a vicious squeal out of him.

At this point little Maikar resolved to vary the plan of action. He stood his ground manfully, and, when the bear arose with a somewhat confused expression, he planted another arrow up to the feathers in its chest. Still the creature was unsubdued. It made a rush, but the sailor sprang lightly behind a tree, getting ready an arrow as he did so. When the animal rushed at him again, it received the shaft deep in the left shoulder, so that, with blood pouring from its many wounds, it stumbled and fell at its next rush.

Seeing how things were going, you may be sure that Arkal did not remain an idle spectator. He dropped again from the outer end of the bough he had reached, and when the bear rose once more to its feet, it found a foe on either side of it.

"Don't shoot together," panted Maikar, for all this violent action was beginning to tell on him. "Do you shoot first."

This was said while the bear was in a state of indecision.

The captain obeyed and put another arrow in its neck. The bear turned savagely on him, thus exposing its side to Maikar, who took swift advantage of the chance, and, sending an arrow straight to its heart, turned it over dead!

It must be remarked here, that all this shooting was done at such close range that, although the two seamen were, as we have said, rather poor shots, they had little difficulty in hitting so large an object.

"Now, then, out with your knife and off with the claws for the little woman at home with the black eyes," said Arkal, wiping the perspiration from his brow, "and be quick about it, so as to have it done before the troops come up."

The little man was not long in accomplishing the job, and he had just put the claws in his pouch, and was standing up to wipe his knife, when the captain suddenly grasped his arm and drew him behind the trunk of a tree, from which point of vantage he cautiously gazed with an anxious expression and a dark frown.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

ENEMIES, FRIENDS, SCOUTS, SKIRMISHES, AND COUNCILS OF WAR.

Arkal's attention had been arrested by the figure of a man who suddenly appeared from behind a cliff not four hundred yards distant from the scene of their recent exploit. The stealthy manner in which the man moved among the bushes, and the earnest gaze which he directed from time to time in one particular direction, showed clearly that he was watching the movements of something—it might be a deer or an enemy.

"Evidently he has not seen us," whispered Maikar.

"Clear enough that, for he is not looking this way," returned Arkal. "He presents his back to us in a careless way, which he would hardly do if he knew that two crack bowmen were a hundred yards astern of him."

"Shall I shoot him?" whispered Maikar, preparing his weapons.

"He may be a friend," returned the captain. "But, see! yonder comes what interests him so much. Look!"

He pointed to a distant ridge, over the brow of which the head of Gunrig's column of men was just appearing.

"He is a scout!" exclaimed Maikar.

"Ay, and you may be sure that an enemy is not far off ahead of our column—unless, perchance, he may be the scout of some tribe friendly to the king. Hold your hand, Maikar. You are ever too ready to fight. Listen, now; yonder is a convenient hollow where I may get into the thick wood unseen by this scout, and run back to warn our friends. Ahead, yonder, is a narrow pass which leads, no doubt, into the next valley. Run you, as fast as your legs can wag, get through that pass, and see what you can see. In the nature of things the scout is almost sure to return through it, if he intends to carry the news of our approach to his people, who are probably there. You must hide and do the best you can to prevent him from doing this—either by killing him or knocking him down. Be off, we have no time to lose."

"But how if he should be a friend?" asked Maikar with a smile. "How am I to find out?"

Arkal paused and was perplexed.

"You must just exercise your wisdom," he replied. "If the fellow has an ill-looking countenance, kill him. If he looks a sensible sort of man, stretch him out somehow. I would offer to go instead of you, being more of a match for him, but I could not match his legs or yours, so it might well chance that he would reach the pass before me."

"Pooh, captain," retorted Maikar, with a look of scorn. "Ye think too much of yourself, and are unwarrantably puffed up about the advantage of size."

Without a reply—save a grin—Arkal turned, and, jumping into the bushes, was immediately out of sight. His comrade, before starting off to carry out his part of the programme, took a good look at the scout whom he was bound to circumvent.

He was evidently a tall, powerful man, armed with a bow, a short sword, and a stout staff somewhat longer than himself. That he was also a brave and cool man seemed probable, from the fact that, instead of hurrying off hastily to warn his friends that troops were in sight, he stood calmly leaning on his staff as if for the purpose of ascertaining the exact number of the strangers before reporting them.

He was still engaged in this inspection when Maikar started off and fled on the wings of hope and excitement toward the pass. Arrived there, his first glance revealed to him the troops of Addedomar busy with their evening meal in the valley below.

"The question is, are they friends or foes?" thought the little seaman. "H'm! it's an awkward thing for a poor fellow not to be quite sure whether to prepare for calms or squalls. Such a misfortune never could befall one at sea. Well, I must just take them to be foes till they prove themselves to be friends. And this scout, what in the world am I to do about him? I have no heart to hide in the bushes and shoot him dead as he passes."

The little man had probably forgotten his readiness to shoot the scout in the back only a few minutes before—but is not mankind at large prone to inconsistency at times?

"I know what I'll do," he muttered, pursuing his thoughts, and nodding his head, as he stepped aside into the shrubbery that clothed the slopes of the pass.

Cutting down a suitable branch from a tree, he quickly stripped off the smaller branches and reduced it to a staff about six feet in length. Then, hiding himself behind a part of the cliff which abutted close on the footpath that had been worn through the pass by men and wild animals, he laid his bow and quiver at his feet and awaited the coming of the scout.

He had not to wait long, for that worthy, having ascertained the size of the invading band, came down the pass at a swinging trot. Just as he passed the jutting rock his practised eye caught sight of Maikar in time to avoid the blow of the pole or staff, which was aimed at his head, but not to escape the dig in the ribs with which the little man followed it up.

Instantly the scout's right hand flew to his quiver, but before he could fix an arrow another blow from the staff broke the bow in his left hand.

Blazing with astonishment and wrath at such rough treatment from so small a man, he stepped back, drew his sword and glared at his opponent.

Maikar also stepped back a pace or two and held up his hand as if for a truce.

"I too have a sword," he said, pointing to the weapon, "and can use it, but I have no desire to slay you till I know whether you are friend or foe."

"Slay me! thou insignificant rat!" cried the scout in savage fury. "Even if we were friends I would have to pay thee for that dig in the ribs and the broken bow. But I scorn to take advantage of such a squirrel. Have at thee with my staff!"

Running at him as he spoke, the scout delivered a blow that would have acted like the hammer of Thor had it taken effect, but the seaman deftly dipped his head and the blow fell on a neighbouring birch, and a foot or so of the staff snapped off. What remained, however, was still a formidable weapon, but before the scout could use it he received another dig in the ribs which called forth a yell of indignation rather than of pain.

The appropriateness of the name squirrel now became apparent, for Maikar even excelled that agile creature in the rapidity with which he waltzed round the sturdy scout and delivered his stinging little blows. To do the scout justice, he played his part like a brave and active warrior, so that it seemed to rain blows and digs in all directions, and, once or twice, as by a miracle, Maikar escaped what threatened to be little, if at all, short of extermination. As in running, so in fighting, it is the pace that kills. After five minutes or so both combatants were winded. They separated, as if by mutual consent, and, leaning on their staves, panted vehemently.

Then at it they went again.

"Thou little scrap of a pig's snout, come on," shouted the scout in huge disdain.

"Thou big skinful of pride! look out!" cried Maikar, rendering the adoption of his own advice impossible by thrusting the butt of his staff against the scout's nose, and thereby filling his eyes with water. At the next moment he rendered him still more helpless by bestowing a whack on his crown which laid him flat on the footpath.

A cheer behind him at that moment caused the little man to look round, when he found that the head of Gunrig's column, led by Arkal, had come up just in time to witness the final blow.

They were still crowding round the fallen man, and asking hurried questions about him, when a voice from the heights above hailed them. Instantly a score or two of arrows were pointed in that direction.

"Hold your hands, men!" shouted Gunrig. "I know that voice—ay, and the face too. Is it not the white beard of our friend the Hebrew that I see?"

A few minutes more proved that he was right, for the well-known figure of Beniah descended the sides of the pass.

The news he brought proved to be both surprising and perplexing, for up to that moment Gunrig had been utterly ignorant of the recent arrival of Gadarn from the far north in search of his lost daughter, though of course he was well aware of the various unsuccessful efforts that had been made by King Hudibras in that direction. Moreover, he chanced to be not on the best of terms with Gadarn just at that time. Then the fact that Bladud had recovered his health and was actively engaged in the search—not, indeed, so much for Branwen as for a youth named Cormac—was also surprising as well as disagreeable news to Gunrig.

"And who is this Cormac in whom the prince seems to be so interested?" he asked.

Here poor Beniah, held fast by his solemn promise, was compelled to give an evasive answer.

"All that I can tell about him," he replied, "is that he is a kind young fellow to whose attention and nursing the prince thinks himself indebted for his life. But had we not better question this young man?" he added, turning to the scout. "I have heard rumours about robbers lurking somewhere hereabouts—hence my coming out alone to scout the country round, little dreaming that I should find the men of King Hudibras so near."

"If robbers are said to be hereabouts," broke in Maikar at this point, "I can tell you where to find them, I think, for I saw a band of men in the hollow just beyond this pass."

"Say you so?" exclaimed Gunrig; "fetch the prisoner here."

The scout, who had recovered his senses by that time, was led forward, but doggedly refused to give any information.

"Kindle a fire, men; we will roast him alive, and perhaps that will teach him to speak."

It was by no means unusual for men in those days to use torture for the purpose of extracting information from obstinate prisoners. At first the man maintained his resolution, but when he saw that his captors were in earnest, and about to light the fire, his courage failed him. He confessed that he was a scout, and that Addedomar was there with several other well-known chiefs and a body of four hundred men.

Thereupon the man was bound and put in the safe keeping of several men, whose lives were to be forfeited if he should escape. Then Gunrig, Dromas, Beniah, Arkal, Maikar, and several other chief men retired under a tree to hold a council of war. Their deliberations resulted in the following conclusions.

First, that the number of warriors at their disposal, counting those of King Hudibras and those under Gadarn, amounted to a sufficient force wherewith to meet the invaders in open fight; second, that a junction between their forces must be effected that night, for, according to usual custom in such circumstances, the enemy would be pretty sure to attack before daybreak in the morning; and, third, that what was to be done must be set about as soon as darkness favoured their operations.