"and when he felt the arrow pricke,

which in his tender heart did sticke,

he looketh as he would dye."

it is not to be denied that in the course of a few weeks kophetua began to find the hermits' marriage ceremony not a little irksome. it was not that the idea was any the less attractive to his imagination. their notion of the real meaning of the period of affiance commended itself entirely to his lofty sentiments. he felt it was a reproach to civilisation that a few prayers and ritualistic forms should have been suffered to supplant the long vigil of the betrothal. the matrimonial state of his ideal was one long sacrament of transcendent sanctity, and he had come to believe that only by months of mutual worship and sacrifice could two lives be consecrated together. he grappled the situation with all the fanatical ardour of which a poet alone is capable; but from penelophon he could get no response.

for hours he talked melodious mysticism[pg 302] to her in the homeliest phrases he could find, but she only looked at him in ever-increasing wonder, till her face grew so troubled that he was compelled to cease and take her soothingly in his arms to pet her like a child. then she could understand; and, when his lips gently touched her cheek, she crept close to him, and often began to cry quite quietly, to think how far they were apart, though they sat so close. the old stained dress she wore was always tearing on the rocks and brakes, and hung in rags about her. each new rent seemed to widen the gap; and, though she nestled never so near when his arms closed about her, she felt him growing each day more godlike, and herself sinking deeper back to beggardom.

he strove to make her set him tasks to do for her, and she never could think of anything but a flower for him to fetch or a deer to kill, and always she cried when he was gone, for very shame that such a man should do such work for her.

one day, when he had tried his hardest to make her see with his eyes, and she seemed still more troubled than ever, she had asked for a flower that grew on the cliffs above, knowing it was the best way to please him. so he hastened away with studied devotion, and quickly reached the summit. there he picked the blossom, and hurried down again, keeping steadfastly in his mind the while the wan, ragged figure, with the unkempt hair,[pg 303] that was awaiting him below. leaping from rock to rock, he soon reached the zigzag path by which he himself had at first descended. as he sprang down into it out of the bushes, he was startled by a little cry, and the sound of a horse's feet.

he looked up to see a vision that made his brain reel. for there before him, upon a splendid arab, whose alarm she was controlling with matchless grace and skill, sat, more lovely in his eyes than ever, mlle de tricotrin. she was dressed in a riding costume of bewitching fashion, and her face was flushed and her eyes glittering in her efforts to quiet the startled horse. everything about her was in perfect taste, and of the latest mode, and the air seemed redolent with the freshest breath of modern grace and refinement. he was painfully conscious of the impression this sudden meeting had made on him. he felt ashamed to be so caught, then angry at the intrusion, and turned on his heel to go. but another little cry, and a plunge of the horse, arrested him. his new movement had alarmed the frightened animal again. it was backing to the edge of the narrow path, where the precipice sank away to a depth of a hundred feet or more. setting her lips, mlle de tricotrin was courageously trying to check the perilous movement, but in vain. already her feet overhung the precipice. it was impossible for her to dismount, and kophetua saw that[pg 304] any attempt to grasp the bridle could only be fatal. in a moment he was at her side. seizing her by the waist, he dragged her from the saddle, and then, with one frantic plunge, the arab crashed into the abyss below.

for a little while he was obliged to support her as they stood, fearing she would faint. but she quickly recovered her strength. then she quietly disengaged herself from his arm, and stood a little aloof.

"your majesty has saved my life," she said simply, and then stopped, as though too moved to say more; but her words seemed to mean a thousand things.

"and how can i serve you further?" he asked, unable to take his eyes from her matchless beauty, as she stood before him trembling and agitated, with downcast eyes.

"i only ask," she answered gently, "that you should pardon this intrusion and hear my errand." he bent his head in royal assent, and she continued. "i came not idly," she said; "i came to save your people from the terrible calamity my wickedness has brought upon them. i come, king," she burst out, looking full in his face, with a little tragic air that well became the situation, "to summon you back to the duty you have deserted, to call you to the throne you have abandoned, to bid you turn your flight and face the fight once more. i come to charge you remember the name you bear, and the memory of your ancestors. full of[pg 305] the spirit of the old knight i come, and with the voice of the mighty dead i charge you rise from your enchantment. traitors are creeping to your royal hearth. rise up and strangle them. it was never so shamed before."

then, with glowing words, and form transfigured, as it were, by inspiration, she told him of the plot which was on foot to wrest the sceptre from him. as the rich voice rang in his ears, he began to catch her enthusiasm, till anger filled his heart, and his eyes were open.

"by the splendour of god!" he cried, "they shall know a kophetua is yet alive and reigns. i will return and crush them. if i leave the throne, it shall be of my own free will, and in favour of whom i will. i will return and teach them what it is to rouse the soul of the knight. come! i will return, i say; i—and my queen."

his voice fell nervously as he uttered the last words, and she dropped her eyes and bowed her head in touching resignation that was almost more than he could bear.

"you must descend with me," he said, with an embarrassed air, "to eat and rest before we start."

so they went down together, he helping her past the difficult places; and each time he touched her hand he felt a thrill pass through him, as though some subtle poison was passing upon his life.

[pg 306]

"it is difficult to know how to thank you, mademoiselle," he said, after a long silence.

"it is not thanks i desire," she answered. "it is forgiveness."

"but how did you find my retreat," he asked quickly, to change the key.

"devotion to your majesty is a cunning guide," she replied. "it was that which showed me the way."

"may i not know who were your allies?" he asked.

"your majesty may know anything that i have to tell. you have only to command."

"then i command; for, thanks to you, mademoiselle, i am still a king."

"it was captain pertinax," she said, looking up with a bright, happy glance at his words. "he consented to bring me hither, when i told him what my errand was. he followed your trail the day after you fled, but never opened his lips till i begged him for your sake. he is waiting above till i return."

"he shall not wait long," said the king, not a little touched by his new follower's fidelity, and feeling there was much in the world he had never known before. but he said no more; for now they emerged from the bushes, and came suddenly upon a beggar-girl standing in the meadow, a homely figure in shabby rags, with fingers stained with berry juice, and hair matted and unkempt, and a wan, vacant face. what had [pg 307]happened? was this indeed the idol he had been gilding so long? was she so suddenly changed, or were his eyes dazzled by the vision on which he had been gazing too long?

penelophon it was, indeed, and quite unchanged. mlle de tricotrin knew her at once; and, while kophetua stood stricken with a sickening sense of disillusionment, she went towards the wondering girl. on her finger was the king's signet ring, and héloise recognised it immediately. so, with the air of resigned humility that was so telling in that queen of women, she knelt upon the grass and loyally kissed the beggar-maid's hand.

"i crave your majesty's pardon," she said, as she bent over the berry-stained fingers.

kophetua could endure no more. "she is not my wife!" he cried hastily. "we are not married yet. rise, and reserve your homage till our wedding day."

mlle de tricotrin rose as he spoke. their eyes met; the same thought flashed across them both, bringing a flush on the face of each. as it were in lines of fire, he saw the mistake he had made. he saw there was nothing about his idol but the mystic robes in which he had clothed it. it was his own dreaming he had been trying to love. bright and resistless as the morning héloise had burst upon him, and he knew the day from the night. bitter indeed was the awakening; for, come what would, he could never[pg 308] betray the woman to whom his troth was plighted.

"here is your flower, penelophon," he said, and kissed her as he gave it. but the beggar-maid had no eyes but for her mistress, and she blushed like a guilty thing to see the look of anguish that came over the face she loved so well. then suddenly she sprang from kophetua's embrace, and, flinging herself at héloise's feet, she sobbed and sobbed again.

it was long before penelophon's agitation could be calmed; but mlle de tricotrin coaxed away her tears at last, and then they sat beside the stream maturing their plan of action. long kophetua and héloise talked. she was full of expedients, and he hung on her lips while she eagerly poured out to him her schemes for saving the throne. and penelophon sat listening, but not to what their words were saying. forgotten and unnoticed, she sat gazing upon them with unspeakable sadness. their voices said things to her that were more than she could bear. they told her plainly that in the pursuit of her own happiness no lasting joy was to be found. how could she ever delight in her own poor ballad if it stood in the way of so full a poem being sung. and, as she listened to the harmony of the souls she loved, there came to her fragile face a weary smile, sadder than all her tears. still, unperceived, she quietly rose and wandered[pg 309] away across the meadow. from time to time she looked back to where they sat absorbed in each other. she marked héloise's animated talk, and she saw the noble look of resolution that illumined her hero's face. still smiling, as might some martyr as rude hands bound her to the stake, she wandered on, nor ever stopped, except where she could get a glimpse of the lessening figures beside the stream. at last she came to where the gendarme's horse was cropping the turf, and captain pertinax was snoring loudly on the sward. she looked at the handsome, soldierly figure for a while with a strange expression, and then awoke him.

"rise, captain," she cried; "i bring you orders from the king."

he was on his feet in a moment, rigidly saluting her. "to-morrow at dawn his majesty will set out for the capital to do the work you know of. to you he commits me. you saved me once, and it is to you he trusts me again. mount and away. for you are to go before and see me to a place of safety. see, here is your warrant," and with that she held out to him her hand, on which was the king's signet ring.

"but how are we to travel?" said the captain uneasily, saluting the ring.

"you must take me on the saddle before you," she answered, with a pretty smile, that redoubled the gendarme's uneasiness. "you do not mind that?"

[pg 310]

"mind it, mistress!" said he. "no, but——"

"then, i pray you lose no time," she replied, "but this instant strap your cloak upon the saddle to make a seat for me."

she went to him as she spoke, and laid her hand coaxingly on his arm. poor penelophon! she could be woman enough with this rough soldier, and she did not scruple to turn against him the honourable weapons with which her weakness was armed. where is the true woman who would not do the same, and do it well in a good cause?

never in her life had penelophon so armed herself before. but the skill to wield the gentle weapons is born in every woman that is worth the name, and she knew her part as though she had practised it all her life, and she saw she was gaining ground by strides. men's fullest might may appear when they are struggling for themselves, but a woman is strongest for those she loves. she saw he could not hold out long, and grew more winsome every moment, as the bitter end for which she fought drew near.

while captain pertinax was getting ready her seat, she prattled such gentle nothings, and helped him with such pretty confusion, that the big soldier was almost undone; and, as soon as they were on their way, an ominous silence fell upon them.

[pg 311]

penelophon was holding on by the captain's belt, and he, with a troubled air, sitting far back away from her, as though she were a noxious thing. presently she looked up at him shyly, as though she were about to say something. he was looking resolutely in front of him. still it could not be but that their eyes met. he quickly stared ahead again, and twisted his moustache fiercely. in a few minutes it happened again, and this time he desperately struck his spurs into the horse to relieve his feelings. the animal started forward, penelophon reeled in the saddle, and he had to put his arm about her to prevent her falling.

"thank you," she said, looking up at him again with pretty diffidence; "i feel much safer now. there is no one takes care of me like you."

then once more her prattle flowed; and, beating down the shame she felt as his arm closed more and more fondly about her, she stabbed him with tongue and eye and dimpled smiles till flesh and blood could endure no more.

the pretty little form was now nestling close to him in frank confidence. once more he struggled to be loyal to his master's charge, and then he bent down and kissed the delicate face. she winced just a little—he could feel that—and the blood rushed to her face; and somehow he felt, in a moment, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

[pg 312]

"do you love me then so much?" she asked, looking up at him frankly once more.

"'sblood! lass," he burst out, "could iron and stone help loving such a little flower? i love you more than my sword, and more than my horse—ay, and more than the king himself."

"ah! then," she said, "i can give you all the king's orders. i did not like to before."

he could feel her trembling in his embrace, and his voice was very gentle as he answered, "why, pretty one," he said, "what were they?"

"he said," she answered, bravely meeting his passionate gaze, "that i should never be safe from my persecutors till i was some brave fellow's wife."

"and he said that i was to be the man?" cried pertinax eagerly.

"but i could not give you his order," she answered shyly.

"heaven bless him! heaven bless you!" he said, with feeling, and kissed her again, and pressed her to him so fondly that she began to feel very peaceful and reconciled. she continued to beguile him with such pretty talk as she never could find for the king, and the big soldier was beside himself with love and tenderness. he begged her to tell him when she would marry him. once more he thought she shuddered in his embrace, but it might have been fancy; for[pg 313] directly afterwards she put her hand in his, and looked up at him tenderly as she answered. "when we reach the castle," she said. "there is no need to wait. the priest shall do it in the little chapel at the foot of the hills. it is better so; for then all will be safe, and we can wait till the king comes, and journey onward all in one company."

vainly kophetua and héloise sought for penelophon when the time came to set out. not a trace of her could they find, and the titanic walls of the ca?on flung back their cries unanswered. they looked one at the other guiltily, and made their search far apart and in different directions. at last the abbot told them he had seen her climbing the bridle-path that led out of the ca?on. there was no time to lose. the journey could not be delayed. so the king lifted héloise on to his horse, and himself going on foot, led it up the ravine in pursuit.

not a word he spoke, but looked resolutely onward, trying to catch a glimpse of the grey rags. nor did she seek to break the silence or attract his attention. she saw well his agitation at being thus alone with her, and she sat upon the horse with downcast eyes, as though she too were ashamed. she was resolved to do no treason to the girl she had wronged. the self-respect for which she longed told her it was best, and love told her that resignation was the only means to turn to her the heart for which she pined.

[pg 314]

in this way they reached the spot where pertinax had waited. he was gone too. again the king searched and shouted, and the echoes seemed to laugh and mock at him, as though they knew he did not hope to find, but only dreaded to begin the journey anew. but it could not be put off for long. time was flying, and if the throne were to be saved they must hasten on their way. he returned nervous and agitated to where the beauty lay, resting amongst the flowers in an attitude of enchanting grace. her loveliness was like a pain to him; but fate had fastened them together, and the ordeal to which he felt his manhood unequal must begin at last.

"mademoiselle," said he abruptly, "it is useless to seek further. we must ride away fast in pursuit."

their eyes met a moment. a flush overspread her face, and kophetua turned away, to throw himself fiercely into the saddle. no sooner was he mounted than she came to his side, with a little air of embarrassment. at his curt request she put her dainty foot on his, and he lifted her up in front of him on to penelophon's cushion. a glade of turf stretched away before them, and it was necessary to make the most of it before the difficult desert was reached, in order to recover the time they had lost. for one moment the king sat irresolute; in another[pg 315] he had desperately put his arm about the bewitching shape, drawn the soft burden to his breast, and with heart aflame, and head in a delirious whirl, was spurring on at a rapid pace between the rustling trees.

so, like pertinax and penelophon, upon one horse, and with hearts that beat as one, kophetua and héloise came to the king's hunting-tower.

the shades of night had closed the day that followed. the moonlight was glimmering in through the narrow windows of the chamber where mlle de tricotrin lay. not a sign of penelophon had been found, nor had captain pertinax returned. oppressed with the silence of the night in the lonely castle, héloise was haunted by a terrible idea. she began to be certain that her handmaid had destroyed herself. the awful stillness seemed to whisper "murderess" to her uneasy conscience, and an appalling sense of guilt tormented her. long she lay in fevered unrest; but at last, wearied with her arduous journey, and exhausted with the sweet excitement of the ride, she fell into a restless slumber.

but still she tossed uneasily upon her couch. the arm of him she had tried to steal from her victim seemed still about her. the last passionate kiss, in which he had said "good night," still tingled on her lips. with a distinctness that terrified her, she[pg 316] felt his hand was once more pressing hers, and she started up wide awake.

still the pressure was there. something was holding the hand which, in her restlessness, she had tossed outside the coverlet. with a low cry of terror she snatched it away; for there, crouching by her bedside in the ghostly moonlight, was the dim grey figure of her whose blood was on her head. in an agony she looked to find some brand upon her flesh where the spectre had touched it. she could see, in the white beams which fell upon it, there was none; but, with even greater terror, she knew her hand was wet with tears, and on it glistened the signet ring of the king.

then into the midst of her terror broke a stifled sob, and the spell began to dissolve.

"child," said héloise, in a hoarse whisper, "is it you?"

no answer came, but another sob, and héloise stretched out her hand to touch what seemed her handmaid's tangled hair. slowly she moved it, with bated breath, in an agony lest she should feel nothing. but it was flesh and blood indeed, and penelophon seized the hand that touched her, and covered it with kisses. in a few broken words she told her tale, and héloise listened and blushed like a culprit who receives the reprimand of some august and stainless court.

[pg 317]

"but where have you been?" was all she could think of to say when the tale was done.

"we hid in the town down there away from you," penelophon answered. "for after we were married he was afraid of the king's anger, and bid me let no one know till he had set trecenito on the throne again, and then he would be forgiven. but i could not wait. so at dusk i stole up to the castle, and lay in the outhouses till all was still; then i crept up here, where i heard them say you were lodged, for i could not bear to think you were mourning for trecenito; so i thought to come and put his ring on your finger that you might know he was yours and you were his at last. i would have done it secretly, and then departed; but you awoke, and i could not but tell you all, and hear your voice. for god knows," she continued, breaking down again, "i want comfort. he is kind and good, but it is a terrible thing i have done. i have given myself to buy the happiness of him we both love—you and i. it is done, and i would not have it undone; but, indeed, it is a terrible thing, and hard to bear when i am not near you or him."

"stay, stay, penelophon!" cried mlle de tricotrin; "i cannot bear to hear you speak like this. you are a saint, an angel, and i am worse than the fiends. you shall[pg 318] always be near me, and make me like yourself. you shall never leave me again. come now to me; come and lie in my arms, and try to make me like yourself."

as she spoke she clasped the slight grey figure to her breast, and soon the two loves of kophetua were sleeping peacefully in each other's arms.