"but when they knew she was good as she was fair,

then homage to the maid they paid."

kophetua was naturally of a much too chivalrous disposition to suffer himself to be guided far by the impulse to which his sudden meeting with penelophon had given rise. indeed, before he had ridden half a mile he began to find his conduct inexcusable. he fully believed the story of the beggar-maid's light behaviour which had been so carefully prepared for his ears; but to see so sudden and shocking a confirmation of her wantonness had thrown him off his balance.

now he was recovering himself, and he felt how unworthily of his philosophy he was acting. he was foolishly resenting as a crime an action which was the natural and almost inevitable outcome of a woman's contemptible nature. this girl had made a ridiculous fool of him, to be sure; but that was no reason why he should forget his self-respect. she was in trouble. no matter[pg 263] who or what she was, he must see her out of it. it was a rule of life with him, and, as a philosopher, he must observe his rules. they are not things to be broken with impunity.

such was the reason he gave himself for reining in his horse and calling captain pertinax to his side. yet it was hardly the real cause of his change of purpose. kophetua had lost faith in himself and all the world. the lofty ideals of his romantic youth were withered and trodden under foot. he thought, like other men, that because they grew no longer green and vigorous in the ruined garden of his soul, that all such things for him had perished. he knew not how the flowers which once we valued highest, and whose savour seemed our very life, will fall and wither and be lost a while, only that forms of a beauty and fragrance beyond all we knew before may blossom out of their decay. so the king's good purpose sprang up and bore its flowers, but he knew not why. he remembered not how he himself had enriched with noble aspirations the soil in which it grew, nor ever guessed from what dead ideals its roots drew nourishment, deep down within his heart, in the grave where his boyhood lay buried.

"i wish you to ride back to the village," said kophetua, in a constrained manner, as captain pertinax came up.

"and how can i serve your majesty there?" asked the gendarme.

[pg 264]

"did you recognise the girl in the stocks?" said the king.

"i did, sire," answered pertinax indifferently, as though he wished to imply it was an affair of his majesty's about which he had no curiosity, though, if the truth were told, his interest in the girl had certainly not diminished since the night he rescued her.

"then you are aware," continued the king, "that she is the person whom you allowed to escape from your custody?"

"i am painfully aware of my neglect," answered the officer, with humility.

"very well," said the king shortly; "go and repair it. you know your duty." and with that he gathered his reins to ride on, thinking how neatly he had got over his difficult task. but his instructions were still incomplete, and pertinax did not go.

"your majesty," began the officer, with hesitation.

"well, sir?" cried the king sharply.

"your majesty," continued pertinax, "has omitted to indicate the destination of the prisoner when re-arrested."

"bring her," said the king desperately,—"bring her up to the castle. where else could you lodge her? here is my warrant to the town bailiff." he handed his signet ring to captain pertinax; and the gendarme, with great alacrity, rode rapidly back to the village, where he carried out kophetua's orders with the business-like[pg 265] despatch which characterised all his professional movements.

as for the king, he went on to his solitude in the castle; for solitude indeed it was. it had always been his custom, when he periodically retired there, to live as far as possible the simple life of a hunter, with but one companion. it was only, he used to say, by lying in the bowers which your own axe had hewn, and living on the food which your own hand had won, that you could dip in the well-spring of life, and be made whole of all the diseases that were engendered in a civil state of existence.

formerly this companion had always been turbo, but that was impossible now. so when kophetua determined to cut the bonds that were being so artfully twined round him, and boldly free himself by escape, he could think of none better to accompany him than the smart, jovial soldier with whom he had recently come in contact. he was a high-spirited, pleasant fellow enough, with a fund of stories and a rattling laugh. he was handsome, too, and good to have to look at, and, as for sport and camp-life, his fertility of resource in all the shifts and expedients of the hunter was quite phenomenal. when, added to all this, the king found that his comrade's activity and endurance were only surpassed by the sparkle and persistence of his good humour, he was delighted with his choice.

[pg 266]

in a few days, however, kophetua found out the difference between an attendant and a companion. as the former captain pertinax was complete; as the latter, entirely without value. it was well enough while they were out on the mountains, and could talk of sport or jest together over their rude meals; but when the night spread its pall of sadness and gloom over the world, kophetua's mind was full of other things, of which he longed to speak. once or twice he even attempted such conversation with captain pertinax, but the poor fellow stared at him with such a look of worried wonder that kophetua soon desisted from his efforts.

this evening they were dining in a commonplace way in the castle, and captain pertinax was more than ever unsatisfactory. kophetua's meeting with penelophon had seriously unsettled the comparative equanimity at which he had arrived, and he found it quite impossible to be interested in the soldier's conversation. so, as soon as the meal was over, he dismissed him, and sat looking out from his window over the fertile valley below. far away it stretched, a broad, checkered expanse of cultivation, till it reached to the fantastic shapes of the mountain wall which shielded it from the sahara. he watched the sunset glowing on its tanks and water-courses, and thought how often he had sat there with turbo, talking over schemes for improving its [pg 267]irrigation. the past glowed in pleasant radiance through the veil of years, and made the present the more glaring and hideous. do what he would, he could not keep from his mind the bright little sparks which, in the last few months, had seemed to be kindling his life. untimely the glow had been smothered; and now it seemed as though, instead of the living fire, a smouldering smoke were rising up and spreading a black and stifling vapour over his gloomy life. as one that is suffocating, he strained unconsciously after a purer air. again and again, in sighs that grew ever sweeter, the balmy fragrance he desired was wafted to his poisoned senses, and whence it was he could not choose but know.

down from the turret-chamber overhead it came—down from the room where lay the beggar-maid locked up all alone. it was useless to try and forget her. in the corner of the room was the little door which opened on to the turret stair; at his elbow hung the key which made her his. his solitude grew insupportable, and he began to cheat himself with reasons why he should visit his prisoner. he fell to wondering what was to be done with her. he told himself it was only half doing his work to bring her there and not try to find out how she got into trouble. unless he knew that, there was little chance of getting her out of it. at any rate, it would only be kind to go and ask[pg 268] her what she would like him to do with her, and learn how he could get her back to her friends, the players.

he was playing with the key now as he sat and thought. a cynical smile was over his handsome face, as he held it up in his hand, and talked to it as though it were a little devil that was stronger than he. "why, what a stubborn little rogue it is!" he said. "here am i, thy king and master, changing to a thousand purposes like a summer wind, whilst thou wilt not flinch or waver a hair's-breadth for all i can say. curse thee for a stubborn rogue that will have his way at last!"

in truth, it was a stunted, sturdy-looking thing, as he held it up to the light. it seemed to kophetua everything that he was not. "why, lad," he cried again, "'tis thou shouldst wear the crown. thou wouldst make a better king than i. yes, thou shalt be king—a sturdy little stubborn king—and i'll be slave."

in bitter contempt of what he called his weakness, he laughed unsteadily as he rose and went to the door. lightly he mounted the winding stairs, jesting wildly in a low, excited voice to the key as he went. "hey! little rogue," he muttered, as he reached the room he sought. "hey! little rogue. in with thee now, and have thy way." he thrust it into the lock, and turned it sharply with another "hey! little rogue!" then in[pg 269] a moment his whole aspect was changed, and he stopped listening outside the closed door.

it was a sob he had heard. just a woman's sob, low and tender, and heartrending beyond all that words can tell. what sound has power like that? the voice that tells of a gentle soul that is bruised and rent; of a tender spirit that can battle no more with its grief; of a staunch little heart that is stricken down at last, and is lying helpless in its anguish, while the woes it has so bravely fought trample it in triumph under foot.

then another—and another—like voices that called to him out of heaven, and bade him imperiously be a man. quietly he opened the door and looked in. she was lying on a rough pallet, still in her paint and shameless dress, sobbing herself to sleep like a child. the soft red light of the dying day shed a false glow of reality over the picture. her little sylph-like figure glistened with an unearthly radiance as she sobbed, and the spangles on her elfish costume caught and lost the light. the colour on her cheeks glowed rich and warm, and her white breast and arms shone from out her littered hair with a fairy light of their own. she seemed an elf that was imprisoned and enchanted there; and kophetua, moved with the beautiful sight, advanced into the room and closed the door with beating heart.

at the snap of the lock she looked up, and[pg 270] for a moment stared at him vacantly, as though her reason were unhinged. then she started up on the bed with the wild, helpless look of a fawn, when its captor visits it for the first time.

"what!" she cried, "not you too! surely you have not come to mock me like the rest? go, go! for the love of heaven! you must not see me thus. my shame will never end if you look on it once. go, for the love of heaven, and come not near me! it is more than i can bear that you, too, should look at me!"

she was sitting up on the bed, resting on one arm, with her feet curled under her. the other was stretched out against him, as though to keep his presence away. still he came near, not knowing what he did. her beauty drew him like a charm. in the anguish of her shame penelophon made one more effort, and, springing from her pallet, she fell on her knees before him. in wild entreaty she was gazing up out of her dark eyes, which still shone with all the added radiance of frampa's art, and she held the hem of his coat convulsively in her little white hands as she poured forth her passionate prayer.

"leave me, leave me!" she cried, "for the love of god! do not be angry that i ask this thing. i have not forgotten; but you cannot understand the anguish you bring. indeed, it is more than i can bear.[pg 271] you cannot tell what it is to crouch here, befouled as i am, for a man to see. if you were a woman, you would guess. i know your greatness and nobleness and spotless honour. i have not forgotten; indeed, i have not, though you see me so changed. i know you cannot think an evil thought or do an evil thing, yet even you i cannot endure to see me thus. you have come in kindness, i know, to help and comfort me, as you always did. i have not forgotten. but oh! my angel, for you to see my shame is greater pain than even you can heal! so leave me—leave me, as you are great and godlike, before the anguish kills me. you have power above all to take away sorrow and drive out sin. it is you who bring down heaven to me on earth; but not even for heaven can i be seen like this. to be near you was like paradise. i have not forgotten; i cannot forget. you are all the world to me; but not as i am—not as i am!"

"but why are you thus," he said, irresolute and unable to comprehend whether it was play or earnest, "if it was not your desire? was it not for this you ran away to the players? what else did you expect? you should be glad, they have made you so pretty."

"don't! don't!" she said in anguish, as she hid her painted face in her hands; "i cannot bear it. i never dreamed they would[pg 272] be so wicked when your good mother took me to them. she would punish them if she knew."

"what!" exclaimed the astonished king, "my mother took you to them? what do you mean? tell me quickly."

and penelophon, in a low, hurried voice, told him the story of her betrayal. overwhelmed with shame she could hardly speak. her distress was so acute and genuine that kophetua's heart bled for her as she told, in simple words, of the ordeal through which she had passed unscathed. a sort of fierce, defiant joy sprang up in his heart as she ceased, to think that his own mother, with all her saintliness, the last friend who had not proved untrue, should now be found out as false and wicked and worldly as the rest. he rejoiced, for at last he was sure that he and the poor crouching thing at his feet were alone in the world together.

he had seen her in her filth and rags, he had seen her in the chaste simplicity of her handmaid's dress, he had seen her as one over whom the cleansing hand of death had passed; yet never had she shone so pure and holy in his eyes as now, all wantonly bedizened and painted as she was. the frame of dishonour in which her angel beauty was set seemed but to make her more divine. humbled and ashamed, kophetua devoutly laid his hand upon her head, and turned her face up to him. he saw no more the rouge[pg 273] and the paint. he marked not the wanton garb in which her beauty was displayed. there was nothing there but the image of perfect womanhood which his dreams had made. he had one wild impulse to take her up in his arms and kiss away her shame, but the holiness which shone in her pleading eyes still held her sacred.

"i will go, child," he said, very gently. "i ask your pardon that i ever came. i will go and see that ere an hour is passed your suffering is ended."

she kissed the lace on the skirts of his coat, as though she would have stayed him for her thanks; but he hurried away, feeling it were guilt to look again.

presently the women of the castle came to her with water in which she might wash, and a bundle of old clothes, too worn and stained for them to wear. so it was they obeyed the king's behest to see her fitly clad. still they were such as she would have chosen for herself; and the night closed in upon her as she slept in peace, happy at last in her mean attire.

in the morning they came again to bring her food; but, in wonder, they saw the chamber was empty. in great trepidation they ran to captain pertinax for advice. with his usual determination he said the king must be awakened. the morning was well advanced, and he feared no evil consequences, especially as the news was [pg 274]important and pressing. he took the responsibility on himself, and entered the king's bedchamber.

presently he came out, looking very serious. they scanned his face narrowly, fearing some ill news.

"his majesty is indisposed," was all he said. "he will not come forth to-day, and will need no attendance but mine."

but the trusty captain lied for his master. the king was gone too.