"You can guide us in the dark, I suppose," said Gunrig, turning to Beniah.

"Ay, as well almost as in the light," replied the Hebrew.

"Let the men feed, then, and be ready for the signal to start," said the chief to his officers, "and see that no louder noise be heard than the crunching of their jaws."

The night was favourable to their enterprise. The moon was indeed risen, but clouds entirely hid it, yet allowed a soft light to pass through which rendered objects close at hand quite visible. Before midnight they started on the march in profound silence, and, led by Beniah, made a wide detour which brought them to the encampment of Gadarn. As may easily be understood, that chief was well pleased at the turn events had taken, for, to say truth, his little joke of trotting Beniah about the land and keeping him in perplexity, had begun to pall, and he had for some days past been hunting about for a plausible excuse for abandoning the search and going to visit King Hudibras.

His difficulty in this matter was increased by his unwillingness to reveal the true state of matters to Bladud, yet he knew that unless he did so the prince would utterly refuse to abandon the search for Cormac. Another thing that perplexed the chief greatly was—how the Hebrew, knowing Branwen as he did, had failed to recognise her in the lad Cormac, for of course he knew nothing of the promise that held the Hebrew's lips tied; his daughter—who was as fond of a joke as himself— having taken care not to reveal all the complications that had arisen in regard to herself.

The sudden appearance, therefore, of foes with whom he could fight proved to be a sort of fortunate safety-valve, and, besides, he had the comfort of thinking that he would fight in a good cause, for the region of the Hot Swamp belonged to his friend Hudibras, and this robber Addedomar was a notorious rascal who required extirpating, while the chiefs who had joined him were little better.

The council of war that was hastily called included Bladud, who was sent for, being asleep in his own booth when the party arrived. The council chamber was under an old oak tree.

When Bladud came forward he was suddenly struck motionless and glared as if he had seen a ghost. For the first time in his life he felt an emotion of supernatural fear—for there, in the flesh apparently, stood his friend Dromas.

A smile from the latter reassured him. Leaping forward he seized his friend's hand, but the impulsive Greek was not to be put off thus. He threw an arm round the prince's neck and kissed his cheek.

"Dromas!" cried Bladud, "can it be? Am I dreaming?"

"This is all very well," interrupted the impatient Gadarn, "and I have no doubt you are excellent friends though somewhat demonstrative, but we are holding a council of war—not of affection—and as the enemy may be close at hand it behoves us to be smart. Shake hands, Gunrig; you and I must be friends when we fight on the same side. Now, let us to work. Who is to have the chief command?"

By universal desire the council appointed Gadarn.

"Well, then," said the commander-in-chief, "this is my view: Addedomar will come expecting to find us all asleep. He will find us all very wide awake. There is a slope in front of this camp leading down to the Swamp. At the bottom is a nice level piece of flat land, bordering on the Swamp, that seems just made for a battlefield. We will drive him and his men down the slope on to that flat, from which, after giving them the toothache, we will drive them into the Swamp, and as close up to the spring-head as we can, so that they may be half boiled alive, if possible. Those who escape the Swamp will find men ambushed on the other side who will drive them into the river. Those who escape the river may go home and take my blessing along with them."

"Then do you intend to divide our troops into two bodies?" asked Bladud.

"Of course I do. We can't have an ambush without dividing, can we?"

"Division means weakness," observed Gunrig.

"You were ever obstinate, Gunrig," said Gadarn, sharply.

"Division sometimes means strength," said Dromas in a conciliatory tone, for he was anxious at least to prevent division in the council. "As Addedomar is ignorant of the strength of our force, his being attacked unexpectedly, and in the dark, by two or three bands at once, from different quarters, will do much to demoralise his men and throw them into confusion."

"Right, my young friend," rejoined Gadarn; "though you do speak in the tones of one who has been born under other stars, there is sense in your head. That is the very thing I mean to do. We will divide into four bands. I will keep the biggest at the camp to drive them down the slope and begin the fight. Prince Bladud will take one detachment round through the woods to the river and fall upon them from that side. Gunrig, who I know loves the post of danger, will go down between the two mounds and meet the enemy right in the teeth when they are being driven out upon the flat land, and Dromas, as he seems to be a knowing man, might take the ambush on the other side of the Swamp."

"Nay, if I may choose, I would rather fight under my friend Bladud."

"Be it so. Settle that among yourselves. Only I must have Konar with me, for he knows the Swamp well and can roar splendidly. All the enemy below a certain point of courage will turn and split off when they hear his yell. I'm going to make him keep it for them as a little treat at the last. The Hebrew will also keep by me. Now marshal your men and take them off at once. We shan't have to wait long, for Addedomar is an active villain."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE BATTLE OF THE SPRINGS.

Gadarn was right. The robber chief was very early astir that morning, and marched with his host so silently through the forest, that the very birds on the boughs gave them, as they passed underneath, but a sleepy wink of one eye and thrust their beaks again under their wings.

Not knowing the country thoroughly, however, Addedomar met some slight obstructions, which, necessitating occasional detours from the straight path, delayed him a little, so that it was very near dawn when he reached the neighbourhood of Gadarn's camp. Hesitation in the circumstances he knew would be ruinous; he therefore neglected the precaution of feeling his way by sending scouts in advance, and made straight for the enemy's camp. Scouts previously sent out had ascertained its exact position, so that he had no doubt of effecting a complete surprise.

Many noted battles have been fought and described in this world, but few, if any, we should think, will compare with the famous battle of the Springs in the completeness of the victory.

Coming out upon the flat which Gadarn had determined should be the battle-field, and to the left of which the hot springs that caused the swamp were flowing, Addedomar marshalled his men for the final assault. Before reaching the flat they had passed almost within bow-shot of the spot where Gunrig and his men lay in ambush, and that chief might easily have fallen upon and killed many of them, had he not been restrained by the strict orders of Gadarn to let them pass on to the camp unmolested. It is true Gunrig found it very hard to hold his hand, but as Gadarn had been constituted commander-in-chief without a dissentient voice, in virtue of his superior intelligence and indomitable resolution, he felt bound to obey.

Bladud and his friend Dromas, with their contingent, being at the lower end of the flat and far out of bow-shot, were not thus tempted to disobey orders. The ambuscade on the other side of the Swamp had been put under the command of Captain Arkal, with Maikar for his lieutenant. Being entirely ignorant of what was going on, the men of this contingent lay close, abiding their time.

Inaction, during the development of some critical manoeuvre, while awaiting the signal to be up and doing, is hard to bear. Arkal and his men whiled away the time in whispered conversations, which related more or less to the part they were expected to play.

"If any of the robbers reach this side of the swamp alive," remarked Arkal, "there will be no need to kill them."

"What then? would you let them escape?" asked Maikar in surprise.

"Not on this side of the river," returned the captain. "But we might drive them into it, and as it is in roaring flood just now, most of them will probably be drowned. The few who escape will do us service by telling the tale of their defeat to their friends."

He ceased to whisper, for just then the dawning light showed them the dusky forms of the enemy stealing noiselessly but swiftly over the flat.

At their head strode Addedomar and a few of his stoutest men. Reaching the slope that led to the camp the four hundred men rushed up, still, however, in perfect silence, expecting to take their victims by surprise. But before they gained the summit a body of men burst out from the woods on either side of the track, and leaped upon them with a prolonged roar that must have been the rudimentary form of a British cheer.

The effect on the robbers was tremendous. On beholding the huge forms of Gadarn, Konar, and Beniah coming on in front they turned and fled like autumn leaves before a gale, without waiting even to discharge a single arrow. The courageous Addedomar was overwhelmed by the panic and carried away in the rush. Gadarn, supposing that the attack would have been made earlier and in the dark, had left the bows of his force behind, intending to depend entirely on swords and clubs. But he found that the robbers were swift of foot and that terror lent wings, for they did not overtake them at once. Down the slope went the robbers, and down went the roaring northmen, until both parties swept out upon the flat below.

They did not scatter, however. Addedomar's men had been trained to keep together even in flight, and they now made for the gully between the mounds, their chief intending to face about there and show fight on the slopes of the pass. But the flying host had barely entered it, when they were assaulted and driven back by the forces under Gunrig, who went at them with a shout that told of previous severe restraint. The fugitives could not stand it. The arrows, which even during flight were being got ready for Gadarn's host, were suddenly discharged at the men in the gully; but the aim was wild, and the only shaft which took serious effect found its billet in the breast of Gunrig himself. He plucked it savagely out and continued the charge at the head of his men.

Turning sharp to the left, the robbers then made for the lower end of the flat, still followed closely by Gadarn's band, now swelled by that of Gunrig. As had been anticipated, they almost ran into the arms of Bladud's contingent, which met them with a yell of rage, and the yell was answered by a shriek of terror.

Their retreat being thus cut off in nearly all directions, the panic-stricken crew doubled to the left again, and sprang into the swamp, closely followed by their ever-increasing foes. At first and at some distance from the fountain-head the water felt warm and grateful to the lower limbs of the fugitives, but as they plunged in deeper and nearer to the springs, it became uncomfortably hot, and they began to scatter all over the place, in the hope of finding cool water. Some who knew the locality were successful. Others, who did not know it, rushed from hot to hotter, while some, who were blindly struggling toward the source of the evil, at last began to yell with pain, and no wonder, for the temperature of the springs then—as it has been ever since, and is at the present day—was 120 degrees of Fahrenheit—a degree of heat, in water, which man is not fitted to bear with equanimity.

"Now, Konar, give them a tune from your pipe," said Gadarn, whose eyes were blazing with excitement.

The hunter of the Swamp obeyed, and it seemed as though a mammoth bull of Bashan had been suddenly let loose on the fugitives.

To add to the turmoil a large herd of Bladud's pigs, disturbed from their lair, were driven into the hot water, where they swam about in a frantic state, filling the whole region with horrid yells, which, mingling with those of the human sufferers, and the incessant barking of Brownie, rendered confusion worse confounded, and caused the wild animals far and near to flee from the region as if it had become Pandemonium!

The pigs, however, unlike the men, knew how to find the cooler parts of the swamp.

Perceiving his error when he stood knee-deep in the swamp, Gadarn now sought to rectify it by sending a detachment of swift runners back for his bows and arrows. But this manoeuvre took time, and before it could be carried out the half-boiled host had gained the other side of the Swamp, and were massing themselves together preparatory to a retreat into the thick woods.

"Now is our time," said Arkal, rising up and drawing his sword. Then, with a nautical shout, and almost in the words of a late warrior of note, he cried, "Up, men, and at them!"

And the men obeyed with such alacrity and such inconceivable violence, that the stricken enemy did not await the onset. They incontinently sloped at an angle of forty-five degrees with mother earth, and scooted towards the river, into which they all plunged without a moment's consideration.

Arkal and his men paused on the brink to watch the result; but the seaman was wrong about the probable fate of the vanquished, for every man of the robber band could swim like an otter, besides being in a fit condition to enjoy the cooler stream. They all reached the opposite bank in safety. Scrambling out, they took to the woods without once looking back, and finally disappeared.

During the remainder of that day Gadarn could do little else than chuckle or laugh.

Bladud's comment was that it had been "most successful."

"A bloodless victory!" remarked Beniah.

"And didn't they yell?" said Arkal.

"And splutter?" added Maikar.

"And the pigs! oh! the pigs!" cried Gadarn, going off into another explosion which brought the tears to his eyes, "it would have been nothing without the pigs!"

The gentle reader must make allowance for the feelings of men fresh from the excitement of such a scene, existing as they did in times so very remote. But, after all, when we take into consideration the circumstances; the nature of the weapons used; the cause of the war, and the objects gained, and compare it all with the circumstances, weapons, causes, and objects of modern warfare, we are constrained to admit that it was a "most glorious victory"—this Battle of the Springs.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

SMALL BEGINNINGS OF FUTURE GREAT THINGS.

There was one thing, however, which threw a cloud over the rejoicing with which the conquerors hailed this memorable victory.

Gunrig's wound turned out to be a very severe one—much more so than had been at first supposed—for the arrow had penetrated one of his lungs, and, breaking off, had left the head in it.

As Bladud was the only one of the host who possessed any knowledge of how to treat complicated wounds, he was "called in," much against the wish of the wounded man; but when the prince had seen and spoken to him, in his peculiarly soft voice, and with his gentle manner, besides affording him considerable relief, the chief became reconciled to his new doctor.

"I thought you a savage monster," said the invalid, on the occasion of the amateur doctor's third visit; "but I find you to be almost as tender as a woman. Yet your hand was heavy enough when it felled me at the games!"

"Let not your mind dwell on that, Gunrig; and, truth to tell, if it had not been for that lucky—or, if you choose, unlucky—blow, I might have found you more than my match."

The chief held out his hand, which the doctor grasped.

"I thought to kill you, Bladud; but when I get well, we shall be friends."

Poor Gunrig, however, did not from that day show much evidence of getting well. His case was far beyond the skill of his amateur doctor. It was, therefore, resolved, a day or two later, to send him home under an escort led by Beniah.

"I will follow you ere long," said Gadarn, as he grasped the hand of the invalid at parting, "for I have business at the court of King Hudibras."

Gunrig raised himself in the litter in which he was borne by four men, and looked the northern chief earnestly in the face.

"You have not yet found your daughter?" he asked.

"Well—no. At least not exactly."

"Not exactly!" repeated Gunrig in surprise.

"No; not exactly. That's all I can say at present. All ready in front there? Move on! My greetings to the king, and say I shall see him soon. What, ho! Konar, come hither! Know you where I can find Prince Bladud?"

"In his booth," replied the hunter.

"Send him to me. I would have speech with him."

When the prince entered the booth of the commander-in-chief, he found that worthy with his hands on his sides, a tear or two in his eyes, and very red in the face. He frowned suddenly, however, and became very grave on observing Bladud.

"I sent for you," he said, "to let you know my intended movements, and to ask what you mean to do. To-morrow I shall start for your father's town with all my men."

"What! and leave your daughter undiscovered?"

"Ay. Of what use is it to search any longer? There is not a hole or corner of the land that we have not ransacked. I am certain that she is not here, wherever she may be; so I must go and seek elsewhere. Wilt go with me?"

"That will not I," returned Bladud decisively.

"Wherefore? The Hebrew tells me you are cured; and your father will be glad to have you back."

"It matters not. I leave not this region until I have made a more thorough search for and found the lad Cormac, or at least ascertained his fate."

"Why so anxious about the boy? is he of kin to you?" said Gadarn in a tone that seemed to convey the slightest possible evidence of contempt.

"Ay, he is of kin," returned Bladud, warmly; "for it seems to me sometimes that friendship is a closer tie than blood. At all events, I owe my life to him. Moreover, if he has been captured by robbers, I feel assured that he will escape before long and return to me."

"Indeed! Are you, then, so sure of his affection? Has he ever dared to say that he—he is fond of you?"

"Truly, he never has; for we men of the southern parts of Albion are not prone to speak of our feelings, whatever you of the north may be. But surely you must know, chief, that the eyes, the tones, and the actions, have a language of their own which one can well understand though the tongue be silent. Besides, I do not see it to be a very daring act for one man to tell another that he is fond of him. And you would not wonder at my regard, if you only knew what a pure-minded, noble fellow this Cormac is,—so thoughtful, so self-sacrificing, for, you know, it must have cost him—it would cost any one—a terrible effort of self-denial to dwell in such a solitude as this for the sole purpose of nursing a stranger, and that stranger a doomed leper, as I thought at first, though God has seen fit to restore me."

"Nevertheless, I counsel you to come with me, prince, for I have no intention of giving up the search for my child, though I mean to carry it on in a more likely region; and who knows but we may find Cormac— ha!" (here there was a peculiar catch in Gadarn's throat which he sought to conceal with a violent sneeze)—"ha! find Cormac in the same region!"

"That is not likely. I see no reason why two people who were lost at different times, and not, as far as we know, in exactly the same place, should be found"—(here the chief had another fit of sneezing)—"be found together. At any rate, I remain here, for a time at least. My old friend Dromas will remain with me, and some of my father's men."

As Gadarn could not induce the prince to alter his decision, and, for reasons of his own, did not choose to enlighten him, they parted there— the chief setting off with his troops in the direction of Hudibras' town, and the prince returning to his booth, accompanied by Captain Arkal, little Maikar, the hunter of the Hot Swamp, and about thirty of his father's men, who had elected to stay with him.

"As I am now cured, good Konar," said Bladud to the hunter, while returning to the booth, "and as I have enough to do in searching for my lost friend, I fear that I must end my service with you, and make over the pigs to some other herd."

"As you please, prince," returned the eccentric hunter with the utmost coolness, "the pigs were well able to look after themselves before you came, and, doubtless, they will be not less able after you go."

Bladud laughed, and, putting his hand kindly on the man's shoulder, assured him that he would find for him a good successor to herd his pigs. He also asked him if he would agree to act as hunter to his party, as he intended to remain in that region and build a small town beside the springs, so that people afflicted with the disease from which he had suffered, or any similar disease, might come and be cured.

Konar agreed at once, for a new light burst upon him, and the idea of living to serve other people, and not merely to feed himself, seemed to put new life into him.

"Do you really mean to build a town here?" asked Dromas, when he heard his friend giving orders to his men to erect a large booth to shelter them all for some time to come.

"Indeed, I do. So thankful am I, Dromas, for this cure, that I feel impelled to induce others to come and share the blessing. I only wish I could hope that you would stay in Albion and aid me. But I suppose there is some fair one in Hellas who might object to that."

"No fair one that I know of," returned Dromas, with a laugh, "and as I have left neither kith nor kin at home, there is nothing to prevent my taking the proposal into consideration."

"That is good news indeed. So, then, I will ask you to come along with me just now, and mayhap you will make up your mind while we walk. I go to fix on a site for the new town, and to set the men to work."

That day the voices of toilers, and the sound of hatchets and the crash of falling trees, were heard in the neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp, while the prince and his friend examined the localities around in the immediate vicinity of the fountain-head.

On coming to the fountain itself, the young men paused to look at it, as it welled up from the earth. So hot was it that they could not endure to hold their hands in it, and in such volumes did it rise, that it overflowed its large natural basin continually, and converted a large tract of ground into a morass, while finding its way, by many rills and channels, into the adjacent river.

"What a singular work of Nature!" remarked Dromas.

"Why not say—a wonderful work of God?" replied the prince.

"Come now, my friend, let us not begin again our old discussions. What was suitable for the groves of Hellas is not appropriate to the swamps of Albion!"

"I agree not with that, Dromas."

"You were ever ready to disagree, Bladud."

"Nay, not exactly to disagree, but to argue. However, I will fall in with your humour just now, and wait for what you may deem a more fitting time. But what, think you, can be the cause of this extraordinary hot spring?"

"Fire!" returned the Greek promptly.

"Truly that must be so," returned the prince, with a laugh. "You are unusually sharp this morning, my friend. But what originates the fire, and where is it, and why does it not set the whole world on fire, seeing that it must needs be under the earth?"

"It would be better to put such questions to the wise men of Egypt, next time you have the chance, than to me," returned Dromas, "for I am not deep enough in philosophy to answer you. Nevertheless, it does not seem presumptuous to make a guess. That there is abundance of fire beneath the ground on which we tread is clear from the burning mountains which you and I have seen on our way from Hellas. Probably there are many such mountains elsewhere, for if the fire did not find an escape in many places, it would assuredly burst our world asunder. What set the inside of the world on fire at the beginning is, of course, a puzzle; and why everything does not catch fire and blaze up is another puzzle—for it is plain that if you were to set fire to the inside of your booth, the outside would be shrivelled up immediately. Then," continued Dromas, knitting his brows and warming with his subject, "there must be a big lake under the earth somewhere, and quite close to the fire, which sets it a-boiling and makes it boil over—thus."

He pointed to the fountain as he spoke.

"There may be truth in what you say, Dromas. At all events your theory is plausible, and this, I know, that ever since I came here, there has not been the slightest diminution in the volume of hot water that has poured forth; from which I would conclude that it has been flowing thus from the beginning of time, and that it will go on flowing thus to the end."

We know not whether the reader will be inclined to class Bladud among the prophets, but there are some prophets who have less claim to the title, for it is a fact that in this year of grace, 1892, the output of hot water from the same fountain, in the town of Bath, is one million tons every year, while the quantity and the temperature never vary in any appreciable degree, summer or winter, from year to year!

Having discussed the philosophical aspect of the fountain, the two friends proceeded with the work then in hand.

Of course, as they gazed around at the richly wooded hills and attractive eminences, which were not only charming sites for the little town, but also well suited for fortresses to resist invasions they were naturally tempted to sacrifice the useful to the safe and beautiful. Fortunately wisdom prevailed, and it was that day decided that the site for Swamptown should be on a slope that rose gently from the river bank, passed close by the Hot Swamp, and was finally lost in the lovely wood-clad terraces beyond.

"We must, of course, confine the hot stream within banks, train it to the river, and drain the Swamp," observed Bladud, as he sat brooding over his plans that night at supper.

"Ay, and make a pond for sick folk to dip in," said Dromas.

"And another pond for the healthy folk," suggested Captain Arkal; "we like to give ourselves a wash now and then, and it would never do for the healthy to go spluttering about with the sick—would it?"

"Certainly not," interposed little Maikar, "but what about the women? They would need a pond for themselves, would they not? Assuredly they would keep us all in hot water if they didn't have one."

"I see," said Bladud, still in a meditative mood. "There would have to be a succession of ponds alongside of the hot stream, with leads to let the water in—"

"And other leads to let the overflow out," suggested the practical Arkal.

"Just so. And booths around the ponds for people to dry themselves and dress in. Ha!" exclaimed the prince, smiting his knee with his hand. "I see a great thing in this—a thing that will benefit mankind as long as disease shall afflict them—as long as the hot waters flow!"

He looked round on his friends with an air of combined solemnity and triumph. The solemnity without the triumph marked the faces of his friends as they returned the look in profound silence, for they all seemed to feel that the prince was in a state of exaltation, and that something approaching to the nature of a prophecy had been uttered.

For a few moments they continued to gaze at each other—then there was a general sigh, as if a matter of great importance had been finally settled, and the silence was at last broken by little Maikar solemnly demanding another rib of roast-beef.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

MORE PLOTS AND PLANS.

Having laid the foundations of the new town, drawn out his plans and set his men to work, Bladud appointed Captain Arkal superintendent, and set out on his quest after his lost friend Cormac, taking Dromas and Maikar along with him and four of the men—one of them being Konar the hunter. Brownie was also an important member of the party, for his master hoped much from his power of scent.

Meanwhile Cormac—alias Branwen, alias the little old woman—forsook the refuge of the Hebrew's house, and, in her antique capacity, paid a visit one afternoon to the palace of Hudibras.

"Here comes that deaf old witch again," said the domestic who had formerly threatened to set the dogs at her.

"Yes," remarked the old woman when she came up to the door, "and the old witch has got her hearing again, my sweet-faced young man—got it back in a way, too, that, if you only heard how, would make your hair stand on end, your eyes turn round, and the very marrow in your spine shrivel up. Go and tell the princess I want to see her."

"Oh!" replied the domestic with a faint effort at a sneer, for he was a bold man, though slightly superstitious.

"Oh!" echoed the old woman. "Yes, and tell her that if she keeps me waiting I'll bring the black cloud of the Boong-jee-gop over the palace, and that will bring you all to the condition of wishing that your grandmothers had never been born. Young man—go!"

This was too much for that domestic. The unheard-of horrors of the Boong-jee-gop, coupled with the tremendous energy of the final "go!" was more than he could stand. He went—meekly.

"Send her to me directly," said Hafrydda, and the humiliated servitor obeyed.

"Dearest Branwen!" exclaimed the princess, throwing back the old woman's shawl, straightening her up, and hugging her when they were alone, "how long you have been coming! Where have you been? Why have you forsaken me? And I have such quantities of news to tell you—but, what has become of your hair?"

"I cut it short after I fell into the hands of robbers—"

"Robbers!" exclaimed the princess.

"Yes—I shall tell you all about my adventures presently—and you have no idea what difficulty I had in cutting it, for the knife was so blunt that I had to cut and pull at it a whole afternoon. But it had to be done, for I meant to personate a boy—having stolen a boy's hunting dress for that purpose. Wasn't it fun to rob the robbers? And then— and then—I found your brother—"

"You found Bladud?"

"Yes, and—and—but I'll tell you all about that too presently. It is enough to say that he is alive and well—sickness almost, if not quite, gone. I was so sorry for him."

"Dear Branwen!" said the princess, with an emphatic oral demonstration.

Hafrydda was so loving and tender and effusive, and, withal, so very fair, that her friend could not help gazing at her in admiration.

"No wonder I love him," said Branwen.

"Why?" asked the princess, much amused at the straightforward gravity with which this was said.

"Because he is as like you as your own image in a brazen shield—only far better-looking."

"Indeed, your manners don't seem to have been improved by a life in the woods, my Branwen."

"Perhaps not. I never heard of the woods being useful for that end. Ah, if you had gone through all that I have suffered—the—the—but what news have you got to tell me?"

"Well, first of all," replied the princess, with that comfortable, interested manner which some delightful people assume when about to make revelations, "sit down beside me and listen—and don't open your eyes too wide at first else there will be no room for further expansion at last."

Hereupon the princess entered on a minute account of various doings at the court, which, however interesting they were to Branwen, are not worthy of being recorded here. Among other things, she told her of a rumour that was going about to the effect that an old witch had been seen occasionally in the neighbourhood of Beniah's residence, and that all the people in the town were more or less afraid of going near the place either by day or night on that account.

Of course the girls had a hearty laugh over this. "Did they say what the witch was like?" asked Branwen.

"O yes. People have given various accounts of her—one being that she is inhumanly ugly, that fire comes out of her coal-black eyes, and that she has a long tail. But now I come to my most interesting piece of news—that will surprise you most, I think—your father Gadarn is here!"

Branwen received this piece of news with such quiet indifference that her friend was not only disappointed but amazed.

"My dear," she asked, "why do you not gasp, 'My father!' and lift your eyebrows to the roots of your hair?"

"Because I know that he is here."

"Know it!"

"Yes—know it. I have seen him, as well as your brother, and father knows that I am here."

"Oh! you deceiver! That accounts, then, for the mystery of his manner and the strange way he has got of going about chuckling when there is nothing funny being said or done—at least nothing that I can see!"

"He's an old goose," remarked her friend.

"Branwen," said the princess in a remonstrative tone, "is that the way to speak of your own father?"

"He's a dear old goose, then, if that will please you better—the very nicest old goose that I ever had to do with. Did he mention Bladud to you?"

"Yes, he said he had seen him, and been helped by him in a fight they seemed to have had at the Hot Swamp, but we could not gather much from him as to the dear boy's state of health, or where he lived, or what he meant to do. He told us, however, of a mysterious boy who had nursed him in sickness, and who had somehow been lost or captured, and that poor Bladud was so fond of the boy that he had remained behind to search for him. I now know," added the princess with a laugh, "who this dear boy is, but I am greatly puzzled still about some of his doings and intentions."

"Listen, then, Hafrydda, and I will tell you all." As we have already told the reader all, we will not tell it over again, but leap at once to that point where the princess asked, at the close of the narrative, what her friend intended to do.

"That," said Branwen with a perplexed look and a sigh, "is really more than I can tell you at present. You see, there are some things that I am sure of and some things that I am not quite so sure of, but that I must find out somehow. For instance, I am quite sure that I love your brother more than any man in the world. I am also quite sure that he is the bravest, handsomest, strongest, best, and most unselfish man that ever lived—much about the same as my father, except that, being younger, he is handsomer, though I have no doubt my father was as good-looking as he when he was as young. Then I am also quite sure that Bladud is very fond of the boy Cormac, but—I am not at all sure that he will love the girl Branwen when he sees her."

"But I am sure of it—quite sure," said the princess, demonstrating orally again.

At this there was a slight sound near the door of the apartment in which this confidential talk was held, which induced Branwen to spring up and fling it wide open, thus disclosing the lately humiliated servitor with the blush of guilt upon his brow.

"Enter!" cried the princess, in an imperious tone, looking up at the man, who was unusually tall and limp.

The servitor obeyed.

"Sit down," said the princess, with a view to get the tall man's head on a level with her blue indignant eyes. "Have you heard much?"

"Not much," answered the man, with intense humility. "I heard only a very little at the end, and that so imperfectly that I don't think I can remember it—I really don't."

"Now, listen," said the princess, with a look that was intended to scorch. "You know my father."

"Indeed I do,—have known him ever since I was a boy."

"Well, if you ever breathe a word of what you have seen or heard, or what you think you have seen or heard to-day, to any one, I will set my father at you, and that, as you know, will mean roasting alive over a slow fire at the very least."

"And," said Branwen, advancing and shaking her forefinger within an inch of the man's nose, "I will set my father at you, which will mean slow torture for hours. Moreover, I will set the Boong-jee-gop on your track, and that will mean—no, I won't say what. It is too horrible even to mention!"

"Now—go!" said the princess, pointing to the door.

The servitor went with an air of profound abasement, which changed into a look of complicated amusement when he got out of sight.

"He is quite safe," said the princess, "not that I count much on his fear, for he is as brave as a she-wolf with whelps, and fears nothing, but I know he likes me."

"I think he likes me too," said Branwen, thoughtfully. "Besides, I feel sure that the Boong-jee-gop has some influence over him. Yes, I think we are safe."

"Well, now," she continued, resuming the interrupted conversation, "it seems to me that the only course open to me is to appear to Bladud as a girl some day, and see if he recognises me. Yet I don't quite like it, for, now that it is all past and he is well again, I feel half ashamed of the part I have played—yet how could I help it when I saw the poor fellow going away to die—alone!"

"You could not help it, dear, and you should not wish it were otherwise. Now, never mind what you feel about it, but let us lay our heads together and consider what is to be done. You think, I suppose, that Bladud may go on for a long time searching for this youth Cormac?"

"Yes, for a very long time, and he'll never find him," replied Branwen with a merry laugh.

"Well, then, we must find some means of getting him home without letting him know why we want him," continued the princess.

"Just so, but that won't be easy," returned the other with a significant look, "for he is very fond of Cormac, and won't easily be made to give up looking for him."

"You conceited creature, you are too sure of him."

"Not at all. Only as Cormac. I wish I were sure of him as Branwen!"

"Perchance he might like you best as the little old woman in grey."

"It may be so. I think he liked me even as a witch, for he patted my shoulder once so kindly."

"I'll tell you what—I'll go and consult father," said the princess.

"No, you shan't, my dear, for he is not to know anything about it just yet. But I will go and consult my father. He will give me good advice, I know."

The result of Branwen's consultation with her father was that the Hebrew was summoned to his presence. An explanation took place, during which Gadarn attempted to look grave, and dignified, as became a noted northern chief, but frequently turned very red in the face and vented certain nasal sounds, which betrayed internal commotion.

"You will therefore start for the Hot Swamp to-morrow, Beniah," he finally remarked, "and let Bladud know that the king desires his return to court immediately. I have been told by the king to send him this message. But keep your own counsel, Hebrew, and be careful not to let the prince know what you know, else it will go ill with you! Tell him, from myself, that I have at last fallen on the tracks of the lad Cormac, and that we are almost sure to find him in this neighbourhood. Away, and let not thy feet take root on the road."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

BRANWEN VISITS GUNRIG.

Before going off on his mission the Hebrew paid a visit to his own residence, where he found Branwen busy with culinary operations. Sitting down on a stool, he looked at her with an expression of mingled amusement and perplexity.

"Come hither, my girl," he said, "and sit beside me while I reveal the straits to which you have brought me. Verily, a short time ago I had deemed it impossible for any one to thrust me so near to the verge of falsehood as you have done!"

"I, Beniah?" exclaimed the maiden, with a look of surprise on her pretty face so ineffably innocent that it was obviously hypocritical—insomuch that Beniah laughed, and Branwen was constrained to join him.

"Yes—you and your father together, for the puzzling man has commissioned me to set out for the Hot Swamp, to tell Bladud that he is urgently wanted at home. And he would not even allow me to open my lips, when I was about to broach the subject of your disguises, although he almost certainly knows all about them—"

"What! my father knows?" interrupted Branwen, with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, and you know that he knows, and he knows that I know, and we all know that each other knows, and why there should be any objection that every one should know is more than I can—"

"Never mind, Beniah," interrupted the girl, with the slightest possible smile. "You are a dear, good old creature, and I know you won't betray me. Remember your solemn promise."

"Truly I shall not forget it soon," replied the Hebrew, "for the trouble it has cost me already to compose answers that should not be lies is beyond your light-hearted nature to understand."

"Ah! yes, indeed," rejoined Branwen, with a sigh of mock humility, "I was always very lighthearted by nature. The queen used frequently to tell me so—though she never said it was by 'nature,' and the king agreed with her—though by the way he used to laugh, I don't think he thought light-heartedness to be very naughty. But come, Beniah, I am longing to hear what my father commissioned you to say or do."

"Well, he was very particular in cautioning me not to tell what I know—"

"Ah! that knowledge, what a dreadful thing it is to have too much of it! Well, what more?"

"He told me what I have already told you, and bid me add from himself that he has fallen on the tracks of the lad Cormac, and that he is sure to be found in this neighbourhood."

"That, at least, will be no lie," suggested the maid.

"I'm not so sure of that, for the lad Cormac will never be found here or anywhere else, having no existence at all."

Branwen laughed at this and expressed surprise. "It seems to me," she said, "that age or recent worries must have touched your brain, Beniah, for if the lad Cormac has no existence at all, how is it possible that you could meet with him at the Hot Swamp, and even make a solemn promise to him."

Beniah did not reply to this question, but rose to make preparation for his journey. Then, as if suddenly recollecting something that had escaped him, he returned to his seat.

"My child," he said, "I have that to tell you which will make you sad— unless I greatly misunderstand your nature. Gunrig, your enemy, is dying."

That the Hebrew had not misunderstood Branwen's nature was evident, from the genuine look of sorrow and sympathy which instantly overspread her countenance.

"Call him not my enemy!" she exclaimed. "An enemy cannot love! But, tell me about him. I had heard the report that he was recovering."

"It was the report of a sanguine mother who will not believe that his end is so near; but she is mistaken. I saw him two days ago. The arrow-head is still rankling in his chest, and he knows himself to be dying."

"Is he much changed in appearance?" asked Branwen.

"Indeed he is. His great strength is gone, and he submits to be treated as a child—yet he is by no means childish. The manliness of his strong nature is left, but the boastfulness has departed, and he looks death in the face like a true warrior; though I cannot help thinking that if choice had been given him he would have preferred to fall by the sword of Bladud, or some doughty foe who could have given him a more summary dismissal from this earthly scene."

"Beniah, I will visit him," said Branwen, suddenly brushing back her hair with both hands, and looking earnestly into the Hebrew's face.

"That will be hard for you to do and still keep yourself concealed."

"Nothing will be easier," replied the girl, with some impatience; "you forget the old woman's dress. I will accompany you as far as his dwelling. It is only an easy day's journey on foot from here."

"But, my child, I go on horseback; and I am to be supplied with only one horse."

"Well, my father, that is no difficulty; for I will ride and you shall walk. You will bring the horse here instead of starting straight from the palace. Then we will set off together, and I will gallop on in advance. When you reach Gunrig's house in the evening, you will find the horse fed and rested, and ready for you to go on."

"But how will you return, child?"

"By using my legs, man! As an old witch I can travel anywhere at night in perfect safety."

According to this arrangement—to which the Hebrew was fain to agree— the pair started off a little after daybreak the following morning. Branwen galloped, as she had said, in advance, leaving her protector to make his slower way through the forest.

The sun was high when the domestics of Gunrig's establishment were thrown into a state of great surprise and no little alarm at sight of a little old woman in grey bestriding a goodly horse and galloping towards the house. Dashing into the courtyard at full speed, and scattering the onlookers right and left, she pulled up with some difficulty, just in time to prevent the steed going through the parchment window of the kitchen.

"Help me down!" she cried, looking full in the face of a lumpish lad, who stood gazing at her with open eyes and mouth. "Don't you see I am old and my joints are stiff? Be quick!"

There was a commanding tone in her shrill voice that brooked no delay. The lumpish lad shut his mouth, reduced his eyes, and, going shyly forward, held out his hand. The old woman seized it, and, almost before he had time to wink, stood beside him.

"Where is Gunrig's room?" she demanded.

All the observers pointed to a door at the end of a passage.

"Take good care of my horse! Rub him well down; feed him. I shall know if you don't!" she cried, as she entered the passage and knocked gently at the door.

It was opened by Gunrig's mother, whose swollen eyes and subdued voice told their own tale.

"May I come in and see him, mother?" said Branwen, in her own soft voice.

"You are a strange visitor," said the poor woman, in some surprise. "Do you want much to see him? He is but a poor sight now."

"Yes—O yes!—I want very much to see him."

"Your voice is kindly, old woman. You may come in."

The sight that Branwen saw on entering was, indeed, one fitted to arouse the most sorrowful emotions of the heart; for there, on a rude couch of branches, lay the mere shadow of the once stalwart chief, the great bones of his shoulders showing their form through the garments which he had declined to take off; while his sunken cheeks, large glittering eyes, and labouring breath, told all too plainly that disease had almost completed the ruin of the body, and that death was standing by to liberate the soul.

"Who comes to disturb me at such a time, mother?" said the dying man, with a distressed look.

Branwen did not give her time to answer, but, hurrying forward, knelt beside the couch and whispered in his ear. As she did so there was a sudden rush of blood to the wan cheeks, and something like a blaze of the wonted fire in the sunken eyes.

"Mother," he said, with something of his old strength of voice, "leave us for a short while. This woman has somewhat to tell me."

"May I not stay to hear it, my son?"

"No. You shall hear all in a very short time. Just now—leave us!"

"Now, Branwen," said the chief, taking her hand in his, "what blessed chance has sent you here?"

The poor girl did not speak, for when she looked at the great, thin, transparent hand which held hers, and thought of the day when it swayed the heavy sword so deftly, she could not control herself, and burst into tears.

"Oh! poor, poor Gunrig! I'm so sorry to see you like this!—so very, very sorry!"

She could say no more, but covered her face with both hands and wept.

"Nay, take not your hand from me," said the dying man, again grasping the hand which she had withdrawn; "its soft grip sends a rush of joy to my sinking soul."

"Say not that you are sinking, Gunrig," returned the girl in pitying tones; "for it is in the power of the All-seeing One to restore you to health if it be His will."

"If He is All-seeing, then there is no chance of His restoring me to health; for He has seen that I have lived a wicked life. Ah! Branwen, you do not know what I have been. If there is a place of rewards and punishment, as some tell us there is, assuredly my place will be that of punishment, for my life has been one of wrong-doing. And there is something within me that I have felt before, but never so strong as now, which tells me that there is such a place, and that I am condemned to it."

"But I have heard from the Hebrew—who reads strange things marked on a roll of white cloth—that the All-seeing One's nature is love, and that He has resolved Himself to come and save men from wrong-doing."

"That would be good news indeed, Branwen, if it were true."

"The Hebrew says it is true. He says he believes it, and the All-seeing One is a Redeemer who will save all men from wrong-doing."

"Would that I could find Him, Branwen, for that is what I wish. I know not whether there shall be a hereafter or not, but if there is I shall hope for deliverance from wrong-doing. A place of punishment I care not much about, for I never shrank from pain or feared death. What I do fear is a hereafter, in which I shall live over again the old bad life— and I am glad it is drawing to a close with your sweet voice sounding in my ears. I believe it was that voice which first shot into my heart the desire to do right, and the hatred of wrong."

"I am glad to hear that, Gunrig, though it never entered into my head, I confess, to do you such a good turn. And surely it must have been the All-seeing One who enabled me to influence you thus, and who now recalls to my mind what the Hebrew read to me—one of those sayings of the good men of his nation which are marked in the white roll I spoke of. It is this—'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.'"

"That is a good word, if it be a true one," returned the chief, "and I hope it is. Now, my end is not far off. I am so glad and thankful that you have forgiven me before the end. Another thing that comforts me is that Bladud and I have been reconciled."

"Bladud!" exclaimed the girl.

"Ay, the prince with whom I fought at the games, you remember."

"Remember! ay, right well do I remember. It was a notable fight."

"It was," returned the chief, with a faint smile, "and from that day I hated him and resolved to kill him, till I met him at the Hot Swamp, where I got this fatal wound. He nursed me there, and did his best to save my life, but it was not to be. Yet I think that his tenderness, as well as your sweet voice, had something to do with turning my angry spirit round. I would see my mother now. The world is darkening, and the time is getting short."

The deathly pallor of the man's cheeks bore witness to the truth of his words. Yet he had strength to call his mother into the room.

On entering and beholding a beautiful girl kneeling, and in tears, where she had left a feeble old woman, she almost fell down with superstitious fear, deeming that an angel had been sent to comfort her son—and so indeed one had been sent, in a sense, though not such an one as superstition suggested.

A few minutes' talk with Gunrig, however, cleared up the mystery. But the unwonted excitement and exertion had caused the sands of life to run more rapidly than might otherwise have been the case. The chief's voice became suddenly much more feeble, and frequently he gasped for breath.

"Mother," he said, "Branwen wants to get home without any one knowing that she has been here. You will send our stoutest man with her to-night, to guard her through the woods as far as the Hebrew's cave. Let him not talk to her by the way, and bid him do whatever she commands."

"Yes, my dear, dear son, what else can I do to comfort you?"

"Come and sit beside me, mother, and let me lay my head on your knee. You were the first to comfort me in this life, and I want you to be the last. Speak with Branwen, mother, after I am gone. She will comfort you as no one else can. Give me your hand, mother; I would sleep now as in the days gone by."

The bronzed warrior laid his shaggy head on the lap where he had been so often fondled when he was a little child, and gently fell into that slumber from which he never more awoke.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE HEBREW'S MISSION.

We turn now to Beniah the Hebrew. On arriving at the Hot Swamp he was amazed to find the change that had been made in the appearance of the locality in so short a time.

"United action, you see," said Captain Arkal, who did the honours of the new settlement in the absence of Bladud and his friends, these being still absent on their vain search for the lad Cormac, "united action, perseveringly continued, leads to amazing results."

He repeated this to himself, in a low tone, as if he were rather proud of having hit on a neat way of expressing a great truth which he believed was an original discovery of his own. "Yes," he continued, "I have got my men, you see, into splendid working order. They act from morning to night in concert—one consequence of which is that all is Harmony, and there is but one man at the helm, the consequence of which is, that all is Power. Harmony and Power! I have no faith, Beniah, in a divided command. My men work together and feed together and play together and sleep together, united in the one object of carrying out the grand designs of Prince Bladud, while I, as the superintendent of the work, see to it that the work is properly done. Nothing could be more simple or satisfactory."

"Or more amazing," added Beniah, as they walked by the margin of a hot rivulet. "I could scarcely have known the Swamp had I not recognised its beautiful surroundings."

"Just so; it is all, as I have said, the result of union, which I hold to be the very foundation of human power, for united action is strong," said the captain, with enthusiasm, as he originated the idea which, years afterwards, became the familiar proverb, "Union is Strength."

"Most true, O mariner," returned Beniah, "your wisdom reminds me of one of our kings who wrote many of our wisest sayings."

"Ah, wise sayings have their value, undoubtedly," returned Arkal, "but commend me to wise doings. Look here, now, at the clever way in which Bladud has utilised this bush-covered knoll. It is made to divide this rivulet in two, so that one branch, as you see, fills this pond, which is intended for the male population of the place, while the other branch fills another pond—not in sight at present—intended for the women. Then, you see that large pond away to the left, a considerable distance from the fountain-head—that is supplied by a very small stream of the hot water, so that it soon becomes quite cold, and branch rivulets from the cold pond to the hot ponds cool them down till they are bearable. It took six days to fill up the cold pond."

"We have not yet got the booths made for the women to dress in," continued the captain, "for we have no women yet in our settlement; but you see what convenient ones we have set up for the men."

"But surely," said the Hebrew, looking round with interest, "you have far more hot water than you require."

"Yes, much more."

"What, then, do you do with the surplus?"

"We just let it run into the swamp at present, as it has always done, but we are digging a big drain to carry it off into the river. Then, when the swamp is dry, we will plant eatable things in it, and perhaps set up more booths and huts and dig more baths. Thus, in course of time—who knows?—we may have a big town here, and King Hudibras himself may condescend to lave his royal limbs in our waters."

"That may well be," returned the Hebrew thoughtfully. "The Hot Spring is a good gift from the All-seeing One, and if it cures others as it has cured Prince Bladud, I should not wonder to see the people of the whole land streaming to the place before long. But have you given up all thought of returning to your native land, Arkal? Do you mean to settle here?"

"Nay, verily—that be far from me! Have I not a fair wife in Hellas, who is as the light of mine eyes; and a little son who is as the plague of my life? No, I shall return home once more to fetch my wife and child here—then I shall have done with salt water for ever, and devote myself to hot water in time to come."

"A wise resolve, no doubt," said Beniah, "and in keeping with all your other doings."

"See," interrupted Arkal, "there is the river and the women's bath, and the big drain that I spoke of."

He pointed to a wide ditch extending from the swamp towards the river. It had been cut to within a few yards of the latter, and all the men of the place were busily engaged with primitive picks, spades, and shovels, in that harmonious unity of action of which the captain had expressed such a high opinion.

A few more yards of cutting, and the ditch, or drain, would be completed, when the waters of the swamp would be turned into it. Those waters had been banked up at the head of the drain and formed a lake of considerable size, which, when the neck of land separating it from the drain should be cut, would rush down the artificial channel and disappear in the river.

Engineering in those days, however, had not been studied—at least in Albion—to the extent which now prevails in England. The neck of land was not equal to the pressure brought to bear on it, and while the captain and his friend were looking at it, there appeared symptoms which caused the former some anxiety.

At that moment Konar the hunter came up. Although attached to the settlement as hunter, he had agreed to take his turn with the diggers, for the water accumulated in the lake so fast that the work had to be done rapidly, and every available man at the place was pressed into the service. The overseer himself, even, lent a hand occasionally.

"I don't like the look of the lower part of that neck," he remarked to the hunter.

Konar was a man of few words. By way of reply he laid aside his bow and descended the bank to examine the weak point. He was still engaged in the investigation and bending over a moist spot, when the entire mass of earth gave way and the waters burst into the drain with a gush and a roar quite indescribable. Konar was swept away instantly as if he had been a feather. Arkal and Beniah sprang down the bank to his assistance, and were themselves nearly swept into the flood which had swallowed up the hunter, but Konar was not quite gone. Another moment and his legs appeared above the flood, then his head turned up, and then the raging waters tossed him as if contemptuously on a projecting spit of bank, where he lay half in and half out of the torrent.

In a moment both Arkal and the Hebrew were at the spot, seized the hunter by an arm, the neck of his coat, and the hair of his head, and drew him out of danger; but no sign of life did the poor man exhibit as he lay there on the grass.

Meanwhile the energetic labourers at the lower end of the drain heard the turmoil and stood motionless with surprise, but were unable to see what caused it, owing to a thick bush which intervened. Another moment and they stood aghast, for, round the corner of the only bend in the drain, there appeared a raging head of foam, with mud, grass, sticks, stones, and rubbish on its crest, bearing down on them like a race-horse.

With a yell that was as fully united as their method of work, the men scrambled out of the drain and rushed up the bank, exhibiting a unity of purpose that must have gladdened the heart of Captain Arkal. And they were not a moment too soon, for the last man was caught by the flood, and would have been swept away but for the promptitude of his fellows.

"H'm! it has saved you some work, lads," observed the captain, with a touch of grave irony as he pointed to the portion of the bank on which they had been engaged. He was right. The flood had not only overleaped this, but had hollowed it out and swept it clean away into the river— thus accomplishing effectively in ten minutes what would have probably required the labour of several hours.

On carrying Konar up to the village of the Swamp—afterwards Swamptown, later Aquae Sulis, ultimately Bath—which had already begun to grow on the nearest height, they found that Bladud and his party had just arrived from the last of the searching expeditions.

"What! Beniah?" exclaimed the prince, when the Hebrew met him. "You have soon returned to us. Is all well at home?"

"All is well. I am sent on a mission to you, but that is not so urgent as the case of Konar."

As he spoke the young men laid the senseless form on the ground. Bladud, at once dismissing all other subjects from his mind, examined him carefully, while Brownie snuffed at him with sympathetic interest.

"He lives, and no bones are broken," said the prince, looking up after a few minutes; "here, some of you, go fetch hot water and pour it on him; then rub him dry; cover him up and let him rest. He has only been stunned. And let us have something to eat, Arkal. We are ravenous as wolves, having had scarce a bite since morning."

"You come in good time," replied the captain. "Our evening meal is just ready."

"Come along, then, let us to work. You will join us, Beniah, and tell me the object of your mission while we eat."

The men of old may not have been epicures, but there can be no question that they were tremendous eaters. No doubt, living as they did, constantly in fresh air, having no house drains or gas, and being blessed with superabundant exercise, their appetites were keen and their capacities great. For at least ten minutes after the evening meal began, Bladud, Arkal, Dromas, little Maikar, and the Hebrew, were as dumb and as busy as Brownie. They spake not a single word—except that once the prince took a turkey drumstick from between his teeth to look up and repeat, "All well at home, you say?" To which Beniah, checking the course of a great wooden spoon to his lips, replied, "All well."

There was roast venison at that feast, and roast turkey and roast hare, and plover and ducks of various kinds, all roasted, and nothing whatever boiled, except some sorts of green vegetables, the names of which have, unfortunately, not been handed down to us, though we have the strongest ground for believing that they were boiled in earthenware pots—for, in recent excavations in Bath, vessels of that description have been found among the traces of the most ancient civilisation.

"Now," said the prince, wiping his mouth with a bunch of grass when he came to the first pause, "what may be the nature of your mission, Beniah?"

"Let me ask, first," replied the Hebrew, also wiping his mouth with a similar pocket handkerchief, "have you found the lad Cormac yet?"

"No," answered the prince, gloomily, and with a slightly surprised look, for the expression of Beniah's countenance puzzled him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because that bears somewhat on my mission. I have to deliver a message from your father, the king. He bids me say that you are to return home immediately."

"Never!" cried Bladud, with that Medo-Persic decision of tone and manner, which implies highly probable and early surrender, "never! until I find the boy—dead or alive."

"For," continued the Hebrew, slowly, "he has important matters to consider with you—matters that will not brook delay. Moreover, Gadarn bid me say that he has fallen on the tracks of the lad Cormac, and that we are almost sure to find him in the neighbourhood of your father's town."

"What say you?" exclaimed Bladud, dropping his drumstick—not the same one, but another which he had just begun—"repeat that."

Beniah repeated it.

"Arkal," said the prince, turning to the captain, "I will leave you in charge here, and start off by the first light to-morrow morning. See that poor Konar is well cared for. Maikar, you will accompany me, and I suppose, Dromas, that you also will go."

"Of course," said Dromas, with a meaning smile—so full of meaning, indeed, as to be quite beyond interpretation.

"By the way," continued Bladud,—who had resumed the drumstick,—"has that fellow Gadarn found his daughter Branwen?"

Beniah choked on a bone, or something, at that moment, and, looking at the prince with the strangest expression of face, and tears in his eyes, explained that he had not—at least not to his, Beniah's, absolutely certain knowledge.

"That is to say," he continued in some confusion, "if—if—he has found her—which seems to me highly probable—there must be some—some mystery about her, for—it is impossible that—"

Here the Hebrew choked again with some violence.

"Have a care, man!" cried the prince in some alarm. "However hungry a man may be, he should take time to swallow. You seem to be contradicting yourself, but I don't wonder, in the circumstances."

"Verily, I wonder at nothing, in the circumstances, for they are perplexing—even distressing," returned the Hebrew with a sigh, as he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

"Better not speak with your mouth full, then. Ah! poor Gadarn," said Bladud, in an obviously indifferent tone of voice. "I'm sorry for him. Girls like his daughter, who are self-willed, and given to running away, are a heavy affliction to parents. And, truly, I ought to feel sympathy with him, for, although I am seeking for a youth of very different character, we are both so far engaged in similar work—search for the lost. And what of my father, mother, and sister?"

"All hale and hearty!" replied Beniah, with a sigh of relief, "and all anxious for your return, especially Hafrydda."

At this point Dromas looked at the speaker with deepened interest.

"She is a good girl, your sister," continued Beniah, "and greatly taken up just now with that old woman you met in my cave. Hafrydda has strange fancies."

"She might have worse fancies than being taken up with poor old women," returned the prince. "I'm rather fond of them myself, and was particularly attracted by the old woman referred to. She was—what! choking again, Beniah? Come, I think you have had enough for one meal. And so have we all, friends, therefore we had better away to roost if we are to be up betimes in the morning."

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

BLADUD'S RETURN AND TRIALS.

We need scarcely say that there was joy at the court of King Hudibras when Bladud returned home, cured of his terrible disease.

The first person whom the prince hurried off to visit, after seeing his father, and embracing his mother and sister, was the northern chief Gadarn. That jovial character was enjoying a siesta after the mid-day meal at the time, but willingly arose on the prince being announced.

"Glad to see you, Gadarn," said Bladud, entering the room that had been apportioned to the chief, and sitting down on a bench for visitors, which, according to custom, stood against the inner wall of the apartment. "I hope your head is clear and your arm strong."

"Both are as they should be," answered Gadarn, returning the salutation.

"I thank you," replied the prince, "my arm is indeed strong, but my head is not quite as clear as it might be."

"Love got anything to do with it?" asked Gadarn, with a knowing look.

"Not the love of woman, if that is what you mean."

"Truly that is what I do mean—though, of course, I admit that one's horses and dogs have also a claim on our affections. What is it that troubles you, my son?"

The affectionate conclusion of this reply, and the chief's manner, drew the prince towards him, so that he became confidential.

"The truth is, Gadarn, that I am very anxious to know what news you have of Cormac—for the fate of that poor boy hangs heavy on my mind. Indeed, I should have refused to quit the Swamp, in spite of the king's commands and my mother's entreaties, if you had not sent that message by the Hebrew."

"Ah, Bladud, my young friend, that is an undutiful speech for a son to make about his parents," said the chief, holding up a remonstrative forefinger. "If that is the way you treat your natural parents, how can I expect that—that—I mean—"

Here the chief was seized with a fit of sneezing, so violent, that it made the prince quite concerned about the safety of his nose.

"Ha!" exclaimed Gadarn, as a final wind up to the last sneeze, "the air of that Swamp seems to have been too strong for me. I'm growing old, you see. Well—what was I saying?—never mind. You were referring to that poor lad Cormac. Yes, I have news of him."

"Good news, I hope?" said the prince, anxiously. "O yes—very good— excellent! That is to say—rather—somewhat indefinite news, for—for the person who saw him told me—in fact, it is difficult to explain, because people are often untrustworthy, and exaggerate reports, so that it is not easy to make out what is true and what is false, or whether both accounts may be true, or the whole thing false altogether. You see, Bladud, our poor brains," continued the chief, in an argumentative tone, "are so—so—queerly mixed up that one cannot tell—tell—why, there was once a fellow in my army, whose manner of reporting any event, no matter how simple, was so incomprehensible that it was impossible to—to—but let me tell you an anecdote about him. His name was—"

"Forgive my interrupting you, chief, but I am so anxious to hear something about my lost friend that—"

"Ha! Bladud, I fear that you are a selfish man, for you have not yet asked about my lost daughter."

"Indeed I am not by any means indifferent about her; but—but, you know, I have never seen her, and, to tell the plain truth, my anxiety about the boy drove her out of my mind for the moment. Have you found her?"

"Ay, that I have; as well and hearty as ever she was, though somewhat more beautiful and a trifle more mischievous. But I will introduce her to you to-morrow. There is to be a grand feast, is there not, at the palace?"

"Yes; something of the sort, I believe, in honour of my return," answered the prince, a good deal annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Well, then, you shall see her then; for she has only just arrived, and is too tired to see any one," continued Gadarn, with a suppressed yawn; "and you'll be sure to fall in love with her; but you had better not, for her affections are already engaged. I give you fair warning, so be on your guard."

The prince laughed, and assured his friend that there was no fear, as he had seen thousands of fair girls both in East and West, but his heart had never yet been touched by one of them.

At this the chief laughed loudly, and assured Bladud that his case had now reached a critical stage: for when young men made statements of that kind, they were always on the point of being conquered.

"But leave me now, Bladud," he continued, with a yawn so vast that the regions around the uvula were clearly visible; "I'm frightfully sleepy, and you know you have shortened my nap this afternoon."

The prince rose at once.

"At all events," he said, "I am to understand, before I go, that Cormac has been seen?"

"O yes! Certainly; no doubt about that!"

"And is well?"

"Quite well."

Fain to be content with this in the meantime, Bladud hurried to the apartment of his sister.

"Hafrydda!" he exclaimed, "has Gadarn gone out of his mind?"

"I believe not," she replied, sitting down beside her brother and taking his hand. "Why do you ask?"

"Because he talks—I say it with all respect—like an idiot."

Hafrydda laughed; and her brother thereupon gave her a full account of the recent interview.

"Now, my sister, you were always straightforward and wise. Give me a clear answer. Has Cormac been found?"

"No, he has not been found; but—"

"Then," interrupted Bladud, in a savage tone that was very foreign to his nature, "Gadarn is a liar!"

"Oh, brother! say not so."

"How can I help it? He gave me to understand that Cormac has been found—at least, well, no, not exactly found, but seen and heard of. I'm no better than the rest of you," continued Bladud, with a sarcastic laugh. "It seems as if there were something in the air just now which prevents us all from expressing ourselves plainly."

"Well, then, brother," said Hafrydda, with a smile, "if he told you that Cormac has been seen and heard of, and is well, surely that may relieve your mind till to-morrow, when I know that some one who knows all about the boy is to be at our festival. We begin it with games, as usual. Shall you be there?"

"I'd rather not," replied the prince almost testily; "but, of course, it would be ungracious not to appear. This, however, I do know, that I shall take no part in the sports."

"As you please, brother. We are only too glad to have you home again, to care much about that. But, now, I have something of importance to tell you about myself."

Bladud was interested immediately; and for the moment forgot his own troubles as he gazed inquiringly into the fair countenance of the princess.

"I am going to wed, brother."

"Indeed! You do not surprise me, though you alarm me—I know not why. Who is the man?—not Gunrig, I hope."

"Alas! no. Poor Gunrig is dead."

"Dead! Ah, poor man! I am glad we met at the Swamp."

Bladud looked sad for a moment, but did not seem unduly oppressed by the news.

"The man who has asked me to wed is your friend Dromas."

"What!" exclaimed the prince, in blazing surprise, not unmingled with delight. "The man has been here only a few hours! He must have been very prompt!"

"It does not take many hours to ask a girl to wed; and I like a prompt man," returned the princess, looking pensively at the floor.

"But tell me, how came it all about? How did he manage it in so short a time?"

"Well, brother dear—but you'll never tell any one, will you?"

"Never—never!"

"Well, you must know, when we first met, we—we—"

"Fell in love. Poor helpless things!"

"Just so, brother; we fell, somehow in—whatever it was; and he told me with his eyes—and—and—I told him with mine. Then he went off to find you; and came back, having found you—for which I was very grateful. Then he went to father and asked leave to speak to me. Then he went to mother. What they said I do not know; but he came straight to me, took my hand, fixed his piercing black eyes on me, and said, 'Hafrydda, I love you.'"

"Was that all?" asked Bladud.

"Yes; that was all he said; but—but that was not the end of the interview! It would probably have lasted till now, if you had not interrupted us."

"I'm so very sorry, sister, but of course I did not know that—"

They were interrupted at that moment by the servitor, to whom the reader has already been introduced. He entered with a brightly intelligent grin on his expressive face, but, on beholding Bladud, suddenly elongated his countenance into blank stupidity.

"The old woman waits outside, princess."

"Oh, send her here at once." (Then, when the servitor had left.) "This is the person I mentioned who knows about Cormac."

Another moment and the little old woman in the grey shawl was ushered in. She started visibly on beholding Bladud.

"Come in, granny. I did not expect you till to-morrow."

"I thought I was to see you alone," said the old woman, testily, in her hard, metallic voice.

"That is true, granny, but I thought you might like to see my brother Bladud, who has just returned home safe and well."

"No, I don't want to see your brother. What do I care for people's brothers? I want to see yourself, alone."

"Let me congratulate you, at all events," interposed the prince, kindly, "on your having recovered your hearing, grannie. This is not the first time we have met, Hafrydda, but I grieve to see that my old friend's nerves are not so strong as they used to be. You tremble a good deal."

"Yes, I tremble more than I like," returned the old woman peevishly, "and, perhaps, when you come to my age, young man, and have got the palsy, you'll tremble more than I do."

"Nay, be not angry with me. I meant not to hurt your feelings; and since you wish to be alone with my sister, I will leave you."

When he was gone Branwen threw back the grey shawl and stood up with flashing, tearful eyes.

"Was it kind—was it wise, Hafrydda, to cause me to run so great a risk of being discovered?"

"Forgive me, dear Branwen, I did not mean to do it, but you arrived unexpectedly, and I let you come in without thinking. Besides, I knew you could easily deceive him. Nobody could guess it was you—not even your own mother."

"There must be some truth in that," returned the maiden, quickly changing her mood, and laughing, "for I deceived my own father yesterday. At the Swamp he found me out at once as Cormac, for I had to speak in my natural voice, and my full face was exposed; but the grey shawl and the metallic voice were too much for him. Dear, good, patient, old man, you have no notion what a fearful amount of abuse he took from me, without losing temper—and I gave him some awful home-thrusts too! I felt almost tempted to kiss him and beg his pardon. But now, Hafrydda, I am beginning to be afraid of what all this deceiving and playing the double-face will come to. And I'm ashamed of it too—I really am. What will Bladud think of me when he finds out? Won't he despise and hate me?"

"Indeed he will not. I know his nature well," returned the princess, kissing, and trying to reassure her friend, whose timid look and tearful eyes seemed to indicate that all her self-confidence and courage were vanishing. "He loves you already, and love is a preventive of hate as well as a sovereign remedy for it."

"Ay, he is fond of Cormac, I know, but that is a very different thing from loving Branwen! However, to-morrow will tell. If he cares only for the boy and does not love the girl, I shall return with my father to the far north, and you will never see Branwen more."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE PLOT THICKENS.

During the residence of Gadarn at the court of King Hudibras, that wily northern chief had led the king to understand that one of his lieutenants had at last discovered his daughter Branwen in the hands of a band of robbers, from whom he had rescued her, and that he expected her arrival daily.

"But what made the poor child run away?" asked the king at one of his interviews with his friend. "We were all very fond of her, and she of us, I have good reason to believe."

"I have been told," replied the chief, "that it was the fear of Gunrig."

"Gunrig! Why, the man was to wed my daughter. She had no need to fear him."

"That may be so, but I know—though it is not easy to remember how I came to know it—that Gunrig had been insolent enough to make up to her, after he was defeated by Bladud, and she was so afraid of him that she ran away, and thus fell into the hands of robbers."

While the chief was speaking, Hudibras clenched his hands and glared fiercely.

"Dared he to think of another girl when he was engaged to my daughter!" he said between his teeth. "It is well that Gunrig is dead, for assuredly I would have killed him."

"It is well indeed," returned Gadarn, "for if your killing had not been sufficient, I would have made it more effectual. But he is out of the way now, so we may dismiss him."

"True—and when may we expect Branwen back again, poor child?" asked the king.

"In a day or two at latest. From what was told me by the runner who was sent on in advance, it is possible that she may be here to-morrow, in time for the sports."

The wily chief had settled it in his own mind that Branwen should arrive exactly at the time when there was to be a presentation of chiefs; which ceremony was to take place just before the commencement of the sports. This arrangement he had come to in concert with a little old woman in a grey shawl, who paid him a private visit daily.

"Do you know, Gadarn, who this youth Cormac is, whom Bladud raves so much about?"

The northern chief was seized at that moment with one of those violent fits of sneezing to which of late he had become unpleasantly subject.

"Oh! ye—ye—y-ha! yes;—excuse me, king, but since I went to that Hot Swamp, something seems to have gone wrong wi'—wi'—ha! my nose."

"Something will go worse wrong with it, chief, if you go on like that. I thought the last one must have split it. Well, what know you about Cormac?"

"That he appears to be a very good fellow. I can say nothing more about him than that, except that your son seems to think he owes his life to his good nursing at a critical point in his illness."

"I know that well enough," returned the king, "for Bladud has impressed it on me at least a dozen times. He seems to be very grateful. Indeed so am I, and it would please me much if I had an opportunity of showing my gratitude to the lad. Think you that there is any chance of finding out where he has disappeared to?"

"Not the least chance in the world."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the king in surprise. "That is strange, for Bladud, who has just left me, says that he has the best of reasons for believing that we shall have certain news of him tomorrow. But go, Gadarn, and consult my doctor about this complaint of yours, which interrupts conversation so awkwardly. We can resume our talk at some other time."

Gadarn obediently went, holding his sides as if in agony, and sneezing in a manner that caused the roof-tree of the palace to vibrate.

Returning to his own room he found the little old woman in grey awaiting him.

"You've been laughing again, father," she said. "I see by the purpleness of your face. You'll burst yourself at last if you go on so."

"Oh! you little old hag—oh! Cormac—oh! Branwen, I hope you won't be the death of me," cried the chief, flinging his huge limbs on a couch and giving way to unrestrained laughter, till the tears ran down his cheeks. "If they did not all look so grave when speaking about you, it wouldn't be so hard to bear. It's the gravity that kills me. But come, Branwen," he added, as he suddenly checked himself and took her hand, "what makes you look so anxious, my child?"

"Because I feel frightened, and ashamed, and miserable," she answered, with no symptom of her sire's hilarity. "I doubt if I should have followed Bladud—but if I had not he would have died—and I don't like to think of all the deceptions I have been practising—though I couldn't very well help it—could I? Then I fear that Bladud will forget Cormac when he learns to despise Branwen—"

"Despise Branwen!" shouted Gadarn, fiercely, as his hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword. "If he did, I would cleave him from his skull to his waist—"

"Quiet you, my sweet father," said Branwen, with a little smile, "you know that two can play at that game, and that you have a skull and a waist as well as Bladud—though your waist is a good deal thicker than his. I'm not so sure about the skull!"

"I accept your reproof, child, for boastfulness is hateful in a warrior. But get up, my love. What would happen if some one came into the room and found a little old hag sitting on my knee with her arm around my neck?"

"Ah, true, father. I did not think of that. I'm rather given to not thinking of some things. Perhaps that inquisitive servitor may be—no, he's not there this time," said Branwen, reclosing the door and sitting down on a stool beside the chief. "Now come, father, and learn your lesson."

Gadarn folded his hands and looked at his child with an air of meek humility.

"Well?"

"Well, first of all, you must tell the king tomorrow, at the right time, that I have just come back, and am very tired and shall not appear till you take me to him while the other people are being presented. Then you will lead me forward and announce me with a loud voice, so that no one shall fail to hear that I am Branwen, your daughter, you understand? Now, mind you speak well out."

"I understand—with a shout, something like my battle-cry!"

"Not exactly so loud as that, but so as Bladud shall be sure to hear you; and he will probably be near to his father at the time."

"Just so. What next?"

"Oh, that's all you will have to do. Just retire among the other courtiers then, and leave the rest to me."

"That's a very short lesson, my little one; would you not like to be introduced to Bladud too? He does not know you, you know."

"Certainly not; that would ruin all—you dear old goose. Just do exactly what I tell you, and you will be sure to go right."

"How like your dear mother you are, my little one, in your modest requirements!"

Having finished the lesson, the little old woman retired to a remote part of the palace which, through Hafrydda's influence, had been assigned to her, and the great northern chief, unbuckling his sword-belt, called lustily for his mid-day meal.

Customs at that date, you see, were more free-and-easy than they are now, and less ceremonious. The visitors at the palace of King Hudibras were expected only to appear at the royal board at the evening meal after all the business or pleasure of each day was over. At all other times they were supposed to do as they pleased and shout for food as they happened to require it.

It is perhaps unnecessary to comment on the exceeding convenience of this custom, leaving, as it did, every one to follow the bent of inclination, from earliest morn till dewy eve, with the prospect of an enjoyable reunion after dark—during which, of course, the adventures of each were narrated, exaggerated, underrated, or commented on, as the case might be, and the social enjoyments were enhanced by warlike and sentimental song as well as by more or less—usually more than less— thrilling story.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE DENOUEMENT.

It was a sunny, frosty, glorious forenoon when King Hudibras awoke to the consciousness of the important day that was before him, and the importunate vacuum that was within him.

Springing out of bed with a right royal disregard of appearances he summoned his servitor-in-waiting and ordered breakfast.

In the breakfast-room he met the queen, Hafrydda, Bladud, and Dromas— the latter being now considered one of the family—and these five proceeded to discuss and arrange the proceedings of the day during the progress of the meal.

"You will join in the sports, of course, son Dromas," said the king, "and show us how the Olympic victors carry themselves. Ha! I should not wonder if a few of our lads will give you some trouble to beat them."

"You may be right, father," returned the young man, modestly, "for one of your lads has already beaten me at most things."

"You mean Bladud?" returned the king.

"Dromas is only so far right," interposed the prince. "It is true that where mere brute force is required I usually have the advantage, but where grace and speed come into play I am lost."

Of course Dromas would not admit this, and of course Hafrydda's fair cheeks were crimsoned when the youth, accidentally looking up, caught the princess accidentally gazing at him; and, still more of course, the king, who was sharp as a needle in such matters, observed their confusion and went into a loud laugh, which he declared was only the result of merry thoughts that were simmering in his brain.

The reception was to be held in the large hall of the palace. No ladies were to be presented, for it must be remembered that these were barbarous times, and woman had not yet attained to her true position! Indeed, there was to be no ceremony whatever—no throne, no crown, no gold-sticks in waiting or other sticks of any kind. It was to be a sort of free-and-easy conversazione in the presence of the royal family, where, just before the sports began, any one who was moved by that ambition might hold personal intercourse with the king, and converse with him either on the affairs of State, or on private matters, or subjects of a more light and social kind—such as the weather.

At the appointed hour—which was indicated by that rough and ready but most natural of sun-dials, the shadow of a tree falling on a certain spot—the royal family adjourned to the large hall, and the unceremonious ceremony began.

First of all, on the doors being thrown open a crowd of nobles—or warriors—entered, and while one of them went to the king, and began an earnest entreaty that war might be declared without delay against a certain chief who was particularly obnoxious to him, another sauntered up to the princess and began a mild flirtation in the primitive manner, which was characteristic of the sons of Mars in that day—to the unutterable jealousy of Dromas, who instantly marked him down as a fit subject for overwhelming defeat at the approaching games. At the same time the family doctor paid his respects to the queen and began to entertain her with graphic accounts of recent cases—for doctors had no objection to talking "shop" in those days.

We have said that no ladies were admitted to places of public importance, such as grand-stands or large halls, but we have also pointed out that the ladies of the royal family and their female friends formed an exception to the rule. It was, as it were, the dawn of women's freedom—the insertion of the small end of that wedge which Christianity and civilisation were destined to drive home—sometimes too far home!

Gradually the hall began to fill, and the hum of conversation became loud, when there was a slight bustle at the door which caused a modification though not a cessation of the noise.

It was caused by the entrance of Gadarn leading Branwen by the hand. The girl was now dressed in the costume that befitted her age and sex, and it is best described by the word simplicity. Her rich auburn hair fell in short natural curls on her neck—the luxuriant volume of it having, as the reader is aware, been sacrificed some time before. She wore no ornament of any kind save, on one side of her beautiful head, a small bunch of wild-flowers that had survived the frost.

At the time of their entrance, Bladud was stooping to talk with Hafrydda and did not observe them, but when he heard Gadarn's sonorous voice he turned with interest to listen.

"King Hudibras," said the northern chief, in a tone that produced instant silence, "I have found the lost one—my daughter Branwen."

As they moved through the crowd of tall warriors Bladud could not at first catch sight of the girl.

"Ha! Hafrydda," he said, with a pleasant smile, "your young friend and companion found at last. I congratulate you. I'm so glad that—"

He stopped, the colour fled from his cheeks, his chest heaved. He almost gasped for breath. Could he believe his eyes, for there stood a girl with the features, the hair, the eyes of Cormac, but infinitely more beautiful!

For some time the poor prince stood utterly bereft of speech. Fortunately no one observed him, as all were too much taken up with what was going on. The king clasped the girl's hands and kissed her on both cheeks. Then the queen followed, and asked her how she could have been so cruel as to remain so long away. And Branwen said a few words in reply.

It seemed as if an electric shock passed through Bladud, for the voice also was the voice of Cormac!

At this point the prince turned to look at his sister. She was gazing earnestly into his face.

"Hafrydda—is—is that really Branwen?"

"Yes, brother, that is Branwen. I must go to her."

As she spoke, she started off at a run and threw her arms round her friend's neck.

"I cannot—cannot believe it is you," she exclaimed aloud—and then, whispering in Branwen's ear, "oh! you wicked creature, to make such a hypocrite of me. But come," she added aloud, "come to my room. I must have you all to myself alone."

For one moment, as they passed, Branwen raised her eyes, and, as they met those of the prince, a deep blush overspread her face. Another moment and the two friends had left the hall together.

We need not weary the reader by describing the games and festivities that followed. Such matters have probably been much the same, in all important respects, since the beginning of time. There was a vast amount of enthusiasm, and willingness to be contented with little, on the part of the people, and an incredible desire to talk and delay matters, and waste time, on the part of judges, umpires, and starters, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy, except that Bladud consented to run one race with his friend Dromas, and was signally beaten by him, to the secret satisfaction of Hafrydda, and the open amusement of the king.

But Branwen did not appear at the games, nor did she appear again during the remainder of that day, and poor Bladud was obliged to restrain his anxiety, for he felt constrained to remain beside his father, and, somehow, he failed in his various attempts to have a few words of conversation with his mother.

At last, like all sublunary things, the games came to an end, and the prince hastened to his sister's room.

"May I come in?" he asked, knocking.

"Yes, brother."

There was a peculiar tone in her voice, and a curious expression in her eyes, that the prince did not fail to note.

"Hafrydda," he exclaimed, eagerly, "there is no Cormac?"

"True, brother, there is no Cormac—there never was. Branwen and Cormac are one!"

"And you knew it—and she knew it, all along. Oh, why did you agree to deceive me?"

"Nay, brother, I did not mean to deceive you—at least not at first. Neither did Branwen. I knew nothing about it till she came home, after being with you at the Swamp, and told me that she was impelled by sheer pity to follow you, intending to nurse you; thinking at first that we had let you go to die alone. Then she was caught in the woods by robbers, and she only escaped from them by putting on a boy's dress and running away. They gave chase, however, caught her up, and, had it not been for you, would have recaptured her. The rest you know. But now, brother, I am jealous for my dear friend. She has expressed fear that, in her great pity for you, she may be thought to have acted an unwomanly part, and that you will perhaps despise her."

"Unwomanly! despise!" exclaimed Bladud in amazement. "Hafrydda, do you regard me as a monster of ingratitude?"

"Nay, brother, that do I not. I think that you could never despise one who has felt such genuine pity for you as to risk and endure so much."

"Hafrydda, do you think there is no stronger feeling than pity for me in the heart of Branwen?" asked Bladud in a subdued, earnest voice.

"That you must find out for yourself, brother," answered the princess. "Yet after all, if you are only fond of Cormac, what matters the feeling that may be in the heart of Branwen? Are you in love with her already, Bladud, after so short an acquaintance?"