"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 y............