The Dénouement.  
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, whisper............