Yellow-Cap

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Title:     Yellow-Cap
Author: Julian Hawthorne [More Titles by Hawthorne]

CHAPTER I.

AN APPANAGE OF ROYALTY.

A good many years ago--before Julius Caesar landed at Dover, in fact, and while the architect's plans for Stonehenge were still under consideration--England was inhabited by a civilised and prosperous people, who did not care about travelling, and who were renowned for their affability to strangers. The climate was warm and equable; there were no fogs, no smoke, no railways, and no politics. The Government was an absolute monarchy; one king, who was by birth and descent an Englishman, lived in London all the year round; and as for London, it was the cleanest, airiest, and most beautiful city in the whole world.

A few miles outside of the city walls lay a small village called Honeymead. It had some fifteen or twenty thatched cottages, each with its vegetable garden and its beehives, its hencoop and its cowshed. Around this village fertile meadows spread down to the river banks, bringing forth plenteous crops for the support of the honest and thrifty husbandmen who tilled them. There was only one public-house in the place, and the only drink to be had there was milk. A case of drunkenness was, consequently, seldom heard of; though, on the other hand, women, girls, and even small children might be seen lingering about the place as well as men.

This public-house was called the Brindled Cow, and it was kept by a young woman whose name was Rosamund. She was the prettiest maiden in the village, as well as the most good-natured and the thriftiest; though she had a keen tongue of her own when occasion demanded. As might be supposed, all the young men in the neighbourhood were anxious to marry her; but she gave them little or no encouragement. She used to tell them that she was well able to take care of herself, so what good would a husband be to her? She didn't want to support him, and she didn't need his support. It was better as it was. As for falling in love, that was a thing she couldn't pretend to understand; but her maiden aunt had once told her that it was more bother than it was worth, and she thought it very likely. Moreover, if by any accident she should one day happen to fall in love, she would take great care that it should not be suspected, because the man she loved would then become so puffed up with conceit there'd be no bearing him!

Such was Rosamund's declared opinion upon matrimony; and it caused gloom to dwell in the heart of many a love-sick swain. But (what was strange) the more love-sick they grew the fatter and rosier they became. The reason probably was that they were for ever going to the Brindled Cow under pretence of being thirsty--but in reality to feast their eyes on Rosamund's lovely face; and since, thirsty or not, she insisted upon their drinking, as long as they stayed, at the rate of a pint of rich unskimmed milk every ten minutes, you will easily understand that it soon became possible to measure the ardour of their affection in pounds avoirdupois. So that by-and-by, when the elders of the village would see their sons waxing great of girth and blowzy of visage, they would shake their heads and murmur sadly--

'Ah! poor lad, how healthy he's getting! 'Tis plain he's in love with Mistress Rosamund!'

There was one young fellow, however, who was seldom seen among the tipplers at the Brindled Cow. He was a slender youth, rather pale, with straight black eyebrows and large thoughtful eyes, which always seemed to be gazing at something far away. There was a romantic story about him, which you shall hear. When he was a small child, only three years old, his mother (who took in washing, and would be called a laundress nowadays) was up to her elbows one Tuesday afternoon in soapsuds and shirts; and Raymond--that was the child's name--was sitting beside the washing-tub, blowing soap-bubbles. All of a sudden the tramp of a horse was heard in the street without, and the woman, looking up from her scrubbing-board had a glimpse through the window of a magnificent horseman, in silk and velvet, with rosettes on his shoulders, and wearing a gold cap with a tall peacock's feather in it. He got off his horse; and in another moment he had opened the cottage door and walked into the washing-room.

The poor woman was at first vastly frightened, for she thought this must be the King, and that he was going to cut off her head because she used chemicals in her washing--though she had never done such a thing except when she was very much pressed for time, or when the water was so hard that the soap would not make suds. However, like a wise woman as she was, she made up her mind not to ask for mercy until she had heard her accusation; so she dropped half a dozen curtseys, and begged to know what his Gracious Royal Majesty's Highness wanted.

Meanwhile, the little boy, from his seat beside the wash-tub, stared and stared at the magnificent stranger, and was sure he never could stare at him enough. The stranger was tall, thin, and as straight as a hop-pole; had a huge aquiline nose, with a pair of long moustachios jutting out beneath it and curling up to his eyes; and on his chin was a sharp-pointed beard. The steam from the wash-tub filled the little room and swam in misty clouds round this singular figure; while the last soap-bubble which the little boy had blown from his pipe rose in the air and circled round and round the yellow cap like a planet round the sun. Altogether he looked like an Eastern genie in an English court-dress--an uncommon sight in the times I write of.

This personage now made two profound obeisances, one to the washerwoman and one to the little boy. This done, he threw back his silk-lined cloak, and taking from the pocket of his doublet a bundle of something done up in gold paper, he opened his mouth and said--

'O yez! O yez! O yez! Whereas his Transparent Majesty King Ormund, Emperor of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and so forth, and so forth, did, while riding through this village called Honeymead, splash with mud his left Transparent stocking: now, therefore, O washerwoman, it is his gracious will and pleasure that you do hereby wash the same, with all due and proper diligence and despatch, and with the smallest possible amount of unnecessary procrastination. Long live his Transparency King Ormund!'

In fact, the gold paper contained a fine pink silk stocking, with embroidered clocks, a hole in the toe, and seven spots of mud spattered over it. The washerwoman had understood very little of the speech, but she could see that the stocking needed washing; so without more ado she plunged it into the soapsuds, and in five minutes it was as clean as the day it came out of the shop, and was dried before the fire. All this time the stranger had stood bolt upright in the centre of the little room, swathed in the steam, and with the soap-bubble still revolving round his head like a planet; and the little boy still stared up at him, as if he never could stare enough.

When the stocking was quite dry the washerwoman rolled it up again in the gold paper and gave it to the stranger, who put it back in the pocket of his doublet. Then he took from the purse that hung at his belt a new spade guinea, gave it a fillip into the air, and down it fell in the little boy's lap. Then, with a third profound obeisance, he made a long step back towards the door.

Up jumped the little boy in a great hurry and excitement.

'If you please, sir,' he cried out, 'who are you?'

The stranger stopped; and as the steam from the wash-tub wound around him more and more, and the soap-bubble burst on the bridge of his aquiline nose, he replied--

'Little boy, I am an Appanage of Royalty!'

'Please will you give me your yellow cap?' asked Raymond again.

'Not to-day,' said the Appanage of Royalty, with a queer smile.

'To-morrow, then?' demanded Raymond.

'Some day--perhaps!' the other replied, still with that queer smile. And then he disappeared; but whether he dissolved into steam, or exploded like a soap-bubble, or went out by the door in the regular way, the little boy could never be quite sure. It was enough for him that an Appanage of Royalty had said that some day, perhaps, he would give him his gold cap. And Raymond never forgot this adventure; and as a kind of pledge of its reality he ever afterwards wore the spade guinea round his neck by a silken string. He believed that sooner or later it would be the means of bringing him fame and greatness.

CHAPTER II.

THE GOLDEN PLEDGE.

One fine May morning, while Rosamund was churning in the dairy-room of the Brindled Cow, she heard some one walk into the bar. The step was not that of any one of her familiar suitors. It was neither short plump Armand, nor tall bulky Osmund, nor red-haired broad-cheeked Phillimund, nor short-legged thick-necked Sigismund, who drank six quarts of milk last Saturday; nor short-breathed apoplectic Dorimund, who sang sentimental songs with a voice like a year-old heifer's. No, none of these had a step like this step--sauntering, light, and meditative. Nevertheless, it was a step which Rosamund loved to hear.

She stopped churning, and moved softly to where a brightly-polished tin pan was set up on the shelf. It was Rosamund's looking-glass. Before this she smoothed her rumpled hair, straightened the pink bow at her throat, and snatched off her dirty apron. She was provoked to see how red the churning had made her cheeks, and she wished she were paler; but the wish only seemed to make her rosier than before. She told herself that she was a coarse-looking ugly girl; and yet when, only that morning, Dorimund had told her that she was as beautiful as a fairy, she had taken it quite as a matter of course. It was tiresome--the way people could grow ugly all in a moment--and in the wrong moment too!

All this happened during the two or three minutes after the light-stepping visitor had come into the bar; and now this person tapped twice or thrice on the counter. Rosamund, on hearing the tap, began to hum a little song, in an unconcerned sort of way, and walked up and down the dairy a few times, as if she were putting things in order; and when, at last, she came out to the bar, it was with the air of a very busy young woman, who does not like to be disturbed at her churning.

'Oh, is it you?' she said to the person who was leaning on the counter. 'How do you do? I hope you're thirsty?'

The person smiled. He was a handsome young fellow, with dark hair and a pale face, and he looked at Rosamund with a pair of thoughtful eyes. His dress was plain and rather the worse for wear; but round his neck a bright spade guinea was hung by a silken string. It did not seem different from any other spade guinea, yet there must have been something peculiar about it. For it gave a kind of dignity to the young man's aspect, so that if you fixed your eyes upon the coin you forgot the wearer's shabbiness, and almost fancied him to be a noble and opulent personage. Whether the owner were aware of this or not is another question; but, as a general thing, young people seldom know what it is about them that makes them attractive.

'I hope you are thirsty?' Rosamund repeated, in a business-like tone, as she leaned against the other side of the counter, and looked up at the young man with her lovely blue eyes.

'I am not thirsty, Rosamund,' he replied, 'but I am tired.'

'I've always heard that doing nothing was tiresome. Perhaps you'd like to take a chair and sit down? I really must go on with my churning.'

'It isn't that kind of tired that I mean,' said he; 'but if you'll let me sit down in the dairy I don't mind.' Rosamund made no objection, so he vaulted over the counter and they went into the dairy together. 'I'm so tired waiting!' he added, with a sigh.

'And what are you waiting for, may I ask?'

'For something great to happen!'

'Oh! Then why don't you make it happen?'

'I wish I could!' sighed the young man.

Rosamund tied her apron on again, and laid hold of the churn-handle.

'What do you call great?' she asked, beginning to work it up and down.

The young man took his gold coin meditatively between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it on its silken string.

'Greatness is everything that I have not, and want to have,' he said.

'Such as what?'

'Oh, power and wealth, and to be above other men, and to have them look up to me and obey me. That is greatness.'

'Pooh!' exclaimed Rosamund, working her churn vigorously. 'I shouldn't care about such greatness as that.'

'Not care about it, Rosamund?'

'Not so much as a pat of butter, Raymond. What do you want of wealth? Are you hungry, pray, or thirsty? I will give you as much of the best milk, fresh from the cow, as you can drink; and all the wealth in the world couldn't help you to drink more. As for power--however high it brought you, it couldn't make you yourself higher by so much as a single inch: you would still be the same Raymond you are now, even if you were an emperor--yes, or that Appanage of Royalty you've been thinking and talking about all these dozen years or more. Why do you want people to look up to you and obey you, I should like to know? Can't you see that it's not you they would look up to, but your ermine robe and silk stockings----'

'Ah! my mother once washed one of the King's silk stockings--the left one,' murmured Raymond; 'and the Appanage of Royalty said that some day, perhaps, he would give me his yellow cap----'

'And golden crown,' continued Rosamund, not noticing the interruption. 'You silly boy! they would obey the crown, not you, though you might happen to be wearing it. If you think it would be yourself they cared for, just go to London as you are now and order them about! But if I were you I'd rather be truly loved by one--person than be obeyed by one hundred thousand.'

'But if you were I, Rosamund, you'd be a man; and men are different.'

'So it seems.'

'What a noise that churn makes! Rosamund, I've felt all my life long that I was destined to be great. Why else did my mother wash the King's stocking; or the Appanage of Royalty promise me the cap?'

'You've been dreaming, you silly boy!'

'But can a dream that I've been dreaming all my life fail to come true? I don't say that to sit on a throne and rule a kingdom would be the happiest lot in the world; but, just as an experience, it would be good fun; and if one is predestined to it, you know----Besides----'

'Well, your majesty--besides what?'

'Well, for instance, how would you like to be a queen?'

Rosamund stopped churning, wiped her hands on her apron, and tossed up her pretty chin with a saucy air.

'A queen, indeed! I beg to inform you, Master Raymond, that I am a queen already, and I have reigned longer and more despotically than ever you will, I fancy. Pray, has the Queen of England any subjects more devoted to her than my Osmund and Dorimund and Phillimund and Sigismund and Armand, and twenty others, are to me? Honeymead is my kingdom, and I do really reign, because my power is in myself; and fifty giants to march before me, and a hundred dwarfs to carry my train, wouldn't make me a bit more of a queen than I am now. So--thank you for nothing, Master Raymond!'

Raymond sat erect, with a great deal more animation in his look than he had yet shown.

'Listen to me, Rosamund,' he cried. 'It is true you are Queen of Honeymead. But what is Honeymead compared with London? And why should not you be as much a queen in London as you are here? You would be none the worse for a crown, and dwarfs and giants, though you might not need them: because no man could look at you and not be your faithful subject ever afterwards. And--Rosamund----'

He hesitated, and his cheeks were quite red. Rosamund glanced up at him and thought, 'How handsome he is!'

'Rosamund, I ask you this: if I become king will you sit beside me on the throne, and rule over Great Britain, France, and Ireland?'

Rosamund looked very grave.

'Do you mean to ask me to be your wife, Raymond?' she asked.

'I would have asked you long before, dearest Rosamund, but I waited hoping to be able to offer you a kingdom along with my love.'

'Well, it is a very kind offer,' said she, with a little smile and a sigh, 'and I thank you. But I must say no.'

'Rosamund!'

'If I were your wife I should have no time to attend to the duties of the Court; and if I were your queen I should have no time to attend to you. And I am so jealous that I could not let you neglect me for your kingdom; and yet I'm so ambitious that I couldn't let you neglect your kingdom for me. So it would not do either way; and, if you please, we won't talk any more about it.'

But as she said this her voice trembled, and tears were in her eyes. Then Raymond's heart overflowed with tenderness, and he went to her and took her hand.

'I could not be happy on a throne without you, Rosamund,' said he; 'but I could be happy, if you would marry me, without a throne.'

And because it cost him a good deal to make this sacrifice (even of something he had not got) his voice trembled a little too.

When Rosamund heard that she could resist no longer. She smiled such a smile as Dorimund and the rest would have given their farms to win from her; and said she--

'Oh, Raymond! I am a greater queen in having your love than----'

And then Raymond kissed her just on the place that the next word was coming out of, so the rest of the sentence was lost.

'But are you quite sure, dear Raymond, that you will be content to live here always?' she asked, when they had had a little more conversation of this kind.

Raymond smiled down on her, but he said nothing. Perhaps, in his secret heart, he was thinking that Destiny (which had appeared to him in the shape of the Appanage of Royalty so long ago) might still have some splendid gift in store for him and Rosamund, whereof the yellow cap would be but the symbol. And, if so, it would be foolish in them to bind themselves beforehand not to take advantage of it. So Raymond smiled at Rosamund in a way to show that, at all events, he loved her. And he did love her, no doubt.

'Poor boy!' said Rosamund, after another pause, smiling back rather mischievously, 'to think that you have been wearing this spade guinea all these years, and it has brought you nothing better than me at last!'

'If guineas could buy girls like you, my dear,' replied Raymond, 'the Mint would be kept working day and night. But I'll tell you what use we will make of this--we'll chop it in two, and each of us will wear a half, in token that we belong to one another. And then, no matter how long we may be separated, or what changes come over us, we should always recognise each other by these bits of gold.'

'But you don't think that changes will come over us, or that we shall be separated, Raymond?'

'Certainly not; but we may as well be on the safe side. For instance, if I were to go out and meet with an enchanter, and he were to turn me into a dwarf, and then I were to come back to you, how would you know me except by my half of the guinea?'

'I should trust my heart for that,' said Rosamund, softly. 'Still, we will wear the halves, so that everyone may see that we are but half ourselves when we are not together.'

This being settled, Rosamund fetched a hatchet, and Raymond put the guinea on a stool, and, with one strong blow, made it fly into two exact halves. Then he drilled a hole through Rosamund's half, and hung it round her neck by a piece of pink ribbon; and as for his own half, he strung it on the silken cord that he had always worn. So their betrothal was confirmed.

Just at this moment half a dozen of Rosamund's old suitors came trooping into the bar, and began calling for milk like a herd of calves. Then the lovers looked in each other's faces and smiled, and bade each other farewell very tenderly. Raymond went out through the cowyard; and Rosamund returned to the bar, where she served out fresh milk and thought about the half-guinea that was hidden in her bosom.

CHAPTER III.

THE GOLDEN DWARF.

Raymond strolled away towards the river. He wanted to think it all over. His betrothal was a sort of surprise to him. He had loved Rosamund, in a meditative way, so long that he had got used to not expecting anything more; but now, on the spur of the moment, he had told his love and received the pledge of hers, and it was all settled. He was happy, of course, for he believed Rosamund to be the prettiest and the best girl in the world. Still, he did not wish quite to give up the hope that something might happen to make their life more splendid. He said to himself that it was only for Rosamund's sake he hoped this. Perhaps that was the reason he hoped it so much.

The path down to the river was narrow and winding; it lay between hawthorn hedges white with blossoms. It ended at the ford, where willow trees bowed down over the current. One of these trees had been cut down on the day Raymond was born. The stump made a sort of chair, in which Raymond had spent many a summer hour, musing over the flowing water, or lifting his eyes to gaze thoughtfully at the distant city. He called the willow-stump his throne; and in the stream that hurried beneath he imagined he saw the march of mighty nations passing before his feet to do him homage. To-day all such imaginations must end; and it was more habit than anything else that had brought him to the spot. He did not come, as formerly, half in fear and half in delight, hoping to meet with some beneficent fairy or other, who would grant him the three wishes which all fairies have in their gift. No; he came to take a last look at that world of dreams in which he had lived from childhood, and to make up his mind to living henceforth in the matter-of-fact world which common people inhabited.

It was afternoon when he came to the willow-stump throne and sat down upon it. The sky was thronged with stately clouds--phantom mountains, with castles on their tops--castles wherein Raymond's fancy had often dwelt. The air was soft and warm, sweet with fragrance of lilac and apple-blossoms, and bright with bird-songs. The bending willows swept the river surface with slender green ringers, startling the trout and grayling that quivered and darted in the pools and shallows. Life and beauty and happiness were everywhere; and far to the eastward, piled high against the horizon, rose the white marble walls and towers of mighty London. They looked less real than the clouds. Sunlight sparkled on the gilded domes, and cast afar the tender purple shadows of royal palaces. And amidst green meadow-banks, and past gleaming wharves populous with delicate masts and rainbow sails, swept the azure curves of the translucent Thames towards the fair city. London was, indeed, at this time, the most magnificent city in the world; and Camelot, which was built hundreds of years afterwards, was never anything to compare with it. What wonder, then, if Raymond eyed its distant splendours with some regret, remembering that they were lost to him for ever?

'But I have Rosamund,' he murmured to himself.

'So much the more fool you!' spoke a metallic voice close behind him.

Raymond looked round. Whence had come that grotesque figure which was standing within a couple of yards of him, and which gazed at him with an expression at once so quizzical and so penetrating? Had he ever seen it before? No--and yet--had he?

The figure was that of a man about three feet high, with a body shaped like a sack of potatoes, supported by short and crooked legs that bent beneath its weight. The arms were so long that the hands (like great curved claws) hung down nearly to the ground; and the fingers made a continual movement as if clutching something. The head of this creature was large, and had no neck; the nose was aquiline, the eyes bright and sharp. On the chin was a pointed beard, and a pair of long moustachios curled up over the cheekbones. The creature was dressed in rich and costly clothes, which, however, bore an unaccountable resemblance to Raymond's own threadbare attire. On the head was a yellow cap, apparently made of woven gold, which glowed and sparkled in the sunlight. Certainly there was something familiar about that cap and those moustachios!

'Where did you come from?' Raymond asked.

'I was here before you,' replied the dwarf.

'I saw no one.'

'People do overlook me sometimes,' rejoined the other, with a chuckle; 'but they are more apt to spend their lives in trying to find me. Once in a great while I appear without being asked--as I do now!'

'Where have I seen you before?'

'Ask yourself.'

'Who are you?'

The dwarf made a low bow. 'I am an Appanage of Royalty!' said he.

'Then it was you who brought the King's silk stocking to be washed! But were you not a great deal taller then than now?'

'What of that? Were not you a great deal shorter?'

'That is true,' murmured Raymond, struck by the justness of the remark.

'True as gold!' added the dwarf, with another chuckle. 'And so you want to go to London?' he continued suddenly.

Raymond started. 'I have been thinking of it,' he said; 'but now----'

'Nonsense! You want to go now as much as before you went to the Brindled Cow, and I am the only person in the world that can help you do it.'

'But how did you know----'

'Pooh! I know everything. Weren't you thinking of me at the very moment you kissed her? There--no more words! Are you ready to start? Speak up.'

But Raymond drew back, startled and mystified. Seeing this, the dwarf altered his tone, and from being abrupt and overbearing became friendly and familiar.

'Come, my dear boy,' he said, laying his great claw on Raymond's arm. 'Men must be men; we mustn't let ourselves be ordered about by a parcel of women. Would you let a few kisses and keepsakes stand in the way of your ambition? How many years has she waited for you? Let her wait twenty-four hours longer. Besides, if you don't go now you will never go at all. Rosamond--trust me--will like you none the less when she sees you the greatest man in England. Come, now. I can put in your hands a power before which the whole world bows: will you take it or not? I shan't offer it twice.'

Now, Raymond had a secret suspicion that something was wrong in all this; for why should a stranger be so anxious to confer an inestimable boon upon him? And yet London was but seven miles off. He could get back that very night if need be. It would be a pity to lose this chance after having waited for it so long. It could do no harm; it was worth trying. 'I think I will,' passed through Raymond's mind.

'I knew you would!' exclaimed the dwarf at once, as if Raymond had spoken aloud. 'But we must lose no time, for you must be in London by five; that is the hour when the Seven Brethren assemble. So--off with your doublet!'

'Why must I take my doublet off?'

'To exchange with me. Mine is the same as yours--the only difference is in the lining. Try it.'

'But it's too small,' objected Raymond.

'It will fit whomsoever is lucky enough to get it,' said the dwarf, wagging his big head confidently. 'Let me help you--first this arm--then this--and there you are.' And there Raymond was, sure enough, as neatly fitted as if he had been to the Court tailor.

'And now, my dear Raymond,' continued the dwarf affably, 'I must trouble you to carry me across the ford. One--two--and there we are!' And before the astonished young man had time to remonstrate his new friend had sprang upon his shoulders, wound his long arms about his neck, and was urging him into the water.

Well, it would not be so much of a job to carry over so small a creature, Raymond thought. Besides, since putting on the dwarf's doublet he had felt less his own master than before. If his soul were still his own his doublet was not; and a very small compromise of freedom sometimes goes a long way. So Raymond (like his contemporary Sindbad the Sailor) set forth meekly with his burden on his back.

The River Thames was, in those days, very clear and transparent, with a sandy bottom, and with frequent shallows or fords. The Honeymead ford was reckoned an especially good one; and Raymond, expecting an easy passage, stepped into the eddying current with confidence.

But before he had gone far he thought there must be a mistake somewhere: either he was not so strong as he had supposed or else the dwarf was uncommonly heavy. Twice or thrice he staggered and almost lost his footing. By the time he had got to the middle of the stream every muscle in his body ached, his legs trembled under him, and the sweat stood on his forehead. The water, too, rose high above his waist, and seemed to flow with unusual swiftness. If he had been carrying a sack of gold on his shoulders, instead of a dwarf, it could not have felt heavier.

'You're not tired?' asked the dwarf, as Raymond laid hold of a rock that rose partly out of the water and panted as if his lungs would burst.

'What on earth are you made of?' gasped the young man.

'Of all things conducive to worldly prosperity,' said the other, with his odd metallic chuckle. 'But now, as we are at the middle of the river, let us settle the terms of our bargain. I will give you my cap--you have wanted it ever since that day in the washing-room--in exchange for yours.' Having made this exchange (which Raymond was, of course, powerless to prevent his doing, even had he been so inclined), the dwarf continued: 'You now possess the most precious talisman in the world. By making a proper use of that cap you may reach any height of fortune. Does it fit you comfortably?'

'Not at all!' cried Raymond: 'it makes my head ache. Take it off again.'

'Pooh! my good Raymond, is not unbounded wealth worth a headache? Besides, you will get used to it after a while. Meantime listen to this couplet, which contains much wisdom in small space:--

Cap on--cap and knee!
Cap off--who is he?

Can you remember that?'

'What if I can?' groaned Raymond, clinging to the rock. 'We shall both be drowned in another minute!'

'Not at all,' answered the dwarf with composure. 'My left foot is a trifle wet; but what of that? By-the-by, I shall be passing through Honeymead again this evening; shall I drop in at the Brindled Cow and tell Rosamund that you are all right?'

'I am not all right. I wish I were at the Brindled Cow myself.'

'Tut! tut! Ambition should not be so easily damped. Well, I'll make a point of calling on the young lady. But, stay; I must carry some token to prove that I am an authorised messenger. What shall it be? Ah! this will do--this half of a spade guinea that you wear at your neck. Permit me to remove it,' And he began to fumble with the silken string.

'Stop! that is my betrothal pledge--you can't have that!' cried Raymond, putting up his hand to withhold the dwarf's claw.

'And who was it gave it to you, in the first place, I should like to know?' exclaimed the dwarf tartly. 'Fie! have you so little confidence in your friends? It is for your own good that I must have the token. Give it me at once.'

The place in which this discussion was carried on was so inconvenient to Raymond, he was getting so exhausted, both in body and mind, and the dwarf had spoken the last sentence so imperiously, that Raymond thought he had better yield. Moreover, the yellow cap squeezed his brain just in those places where the proper arguments lay, and thus prevented his using them. The end of it was that he said--

'I suppose you'd better take it, but----'

He never finished his sentence. The dwarf whipped the silken string over his head, and the golden pledge was gone. The next moment Raymond was floundering headlong in the stream. How he reached the opposite bank he never knew--he seemed to be under the water half the time. At last he got his hands on a bush growing beside the margin and pulled himself out.

Where was the dwarf? He had vanished. Had he fallen off and been drowned? What was that echo of a metallic chuckle in the air? Raymond groaned and pressed his hands to his aching head, on which the yellow cap stuck fast.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TALISMAN.

After a while he got up and looked about him. The river was much swollen, and was hurrying past its banks with such fury that it was useless to think of returning as he had come. No, he must go on. His head was confused, so that he could not think clearly about Honeymead, and still less about Rosamund. She seemed far away and indistinct. Did she love him? Did he love her? At all events, it was better to fix his mind on London now. He looked thither, but the clouds had gathered over the sky, and the sunlight no longer gleamed upon the golden pinnacles. The city did not seem so alluring as from the other side of the river. However, time was flying, and London was seven miles away. Raymond set forth.

By and by he came to a milestone, on which he sat down to rest, and to wonder how he was to make his fortune in London when he got there. It was true that he had a talisman, but how was that to help him? A yellow cap! It was, indeed, woven of golden thread, and might be sold for a guinea; but a guinea was not a kingdom. Meanwhile the cap made his head ache so that he pulled it off. It was certainly a fine cap. It was lined with the best yellow satin, and a peacock's feather was stuck in the band. On the band some letters were embroidered. Raymond spelt them out, and found that they made the following couplet:--

Cap on--cap and knee!
Cap off--who is he?

It was the same that the dwarf had repeated to him in the river. What did it mean? The dwarf had said it was full of wisdom; but Raymond had never been much in the way of wisdom, and perhaps might fail to recognise it when he saw it. He could not even be sure whether it were better wisdom to put the cap on again or to keep it off. He was inclined to keep it off. His head felt much clearer so; he was able to think lovingly of Rosamund once more, and he longed to see her again. What if some harm came to her in his absence? Might not that half of the spade guinea give the dwarf some power over her? He rose to his feet full of anxiety, and looked back towards Honeymead. Through a break in the clouds the sun lit up the little village; the cottages showed clearly in the warm light; and amongst them, with its thatched and gabled roof, and with the great lime-trees standing over it, was the Brindled Cow. Rosamund was there, no doubt, wondering where her Raymond was. Now, perhaps, the dwarf was coming in, with the half-guinea round his neck. What if he were to assert that he was the true Raymond, showing the token in proof thereof? When this thought came into Raymond's mind he started up from the milestone, resolved to go back to Honeymead without the loss of an instant. How blind and stupid he had been! Was not Rosamund more precious than a kingdom, or than all the money in the Bank of England? Of course she was!

But just as Raymond's eyes were sparkling with good resolutions, and one foot advanced on the way back to the Brindled Cow, he heard a flourish of trumpets, hautboys, and cymbals, and, behold! a splendid cavalcade advancing towards him on the way to London. In front rode a company of knights in glittering armour; then came a long array of men-at-arms, squires, and attendants, gorgeously attired; then more knights, riding two-and-two; then a body of courtiers, and in the midst of these, borne upon the shoulders of some of them, a platform draped in cloth of gold. Upon the platform was a chair of carved ivory, and in the chair sat a man with a long white beard falling over his breast, and an ermine mantle on his shoulders. One foot rested on a golden footstool, thereby showing a fine silk stocking with embroidered clocks. The sight of that stocking made Raymond's heart beat.

By this time the vanguard of knights had reached the milestone beside which Raymond was standing. As they passed they glanced at him contemptuously. This annoyed him, for he was used to think well of himself, and the Honeymead people treated him with consideration. But if the knights looked contemptuous, the men-at-arms and attendants jeered and made mouths at him; and as for the pages they mocked and bantered him unmercifully.

'Here's an odd fish!' cried one, pointing with his finger.

'He's lost his way trying to swim on land!' laughed another.

'A scaly fellow--let's skin him and clean him!' called out a third.

'How much are you a pound, fish?' asked a fourth.

'Bah! he's stale already!' shouted a fifth.

'What's that in his right fin?--a human cap and feather, I declare!' exclaimed a sixth.

'Take it away from him!' cried several together; and one spurred his horse towards the young man and reached forth the point of his lance, as if to catch the cap from Raymond's hand.

But Raymond, though a minute ago he was almost ready to throw the cap away, was not going to submit to being robbed of it. He caught the lance by the shaft and jerked it from the page's grasp; then, putting the cap firmly on his head, he stood on his guard boldly, with the weapon advanced.

Why was the laugh with which the other pages had begun to greet their companion's mishap checked so suddenly? Why was every eye bent upon Raymond with an expression of respect and subservience? Why did all salute him so profoundly, bowing to their saddles in silent homage? What did this sudden change mean? It could not be that they were awed by the bold front he had shown; it was more likely that this was but a new way of making fun of him. And yet it was odd that all should have joined in it unanimously and at an instant's notice. What did it all mean?

The pages passed on, and the second company of knights followed. Strange! they also seemed to have taken up the jest, for one and all made deep obeisance to Raymond as they passed. And now came on the courtiers, bearing aloft the platform on which sat the majestic figure in the pink silk stockings. Raymond began to feel alarmed. If this were (as he more than suspected) his Majesty King Ormund himself, what punishment would be inflicted for the audacious crime of disarming one of his Majesty's bodyguard? To lose his head was the least he might expect. There could be no doubt that Raymond was alarmed, for he actually forgot to uncover his head in the presence of his sovereign. There he stood, upright and pale, with the spear in his hand, the yellow cap on his head, and his eyes fixed upon the king.

The courtiers saw him. There was a flutter and a murmuring amongst them; one of them said something to the King, at which he gave a start.

'Now for it!' thought Raymond. He moved his head a little--perhaps he would not have the power of moving it much longer. He wondered how it would look when it was off his shoulders.

The King now leaned forward in his ivory chair and gazed at Raymond intently. Then he gave an order to those about him, and the platform was lowered to the ground by those who carried it. The King stepped from it and came straight towards Raymond, the crowd falling back on either side. How strange! instead of frowning his Majesty wore a very cordial smile. He was close up to Raymond now; he was throwing his royal arms about his neck; he was kissing him heartily on both cheeks; he was saying, 'It delights our heart to see thee. Welcome--welcome to England!'

'What, in the name of wonder, is the meaning of it all?' said Raymond to himself.

CHAPTER V.

THE KING'S FAVOUR.

When it became evident that King Ormund, instead of cutting off Raymond's head, was treating him like a younger brother, Raymond began to pluck up spirit. 'Possibly I look like some friend of his,' he thought; and he resolved to make the most of the mistake, keeping his eyes open for the first chance of escape.

Meanwhile the King overwhelmed him with attentions, and even insisted upon his sitting beside him in the ivory chair; and the courtiers who had to carry this double weight, instead of looking discontented, smiled as if Raymond had been loading them with benefits instead of with himself. The procession now swept onward, and the King himself had hardly more honour than the washerwoman's son. In his wildest dreams Raymond had never anticipated making such a brilliant entry into London as this.

And had he given up the idea of going back to Honeymead? Yes; and he had almost forgotten that there was such a place. The Brindled Cow and Rosamund were like visions of the past which did not much concern him. His yellow cap was the thing that most troubled him, for it pained his head badly. If he had been alone he would have taken it off; but in such fine company he was unwilling to be seen without the handsomest part of his attire.

All this time the King had been talking to him in the most confidential and familiar way imaginable.

'My dear fellow,' he said, 'your arrival is most timely. To-morrow would have been too late. It is most kind of you.'

'I rejoice to be of service----'

'Service, my friend! Such a word between you and me? Never! Counsel--support--sympathy--such as one potentate may claim from another--these I expect from you. But let me explain to you exactly how the case stands. In the first place, I feel that I am getting old.'

After saying this the King paused as if for a reply. Raymond had never known what it was to pay a compliment in his life; but now something prompted him to say, with a smile and a bow--

'Not at all. Your Majesty is, to all intents and purposes, as young as I am.'

'Ah, it is very good of you to say that,' sighed his Majesty, looking highly gratified. 'But I really am old--older than you would suppose; and, if you can believe it, some of my scoundrelly subjects have said (behind my back) that I am growing senile--that is the word the villains use--and they are plotting to dethrone me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning.'

'A conspiracy?'

'Nothing less. It is announced to take place at Drury Lane Theatre, and the house is sold, from pit to gallery.'

'Oh! it is only a play, then?' said Raymond, in a relieved tone.

'I don't know what you mean by a play,' returned the King, looking slightly hurt. 'It takes place on the stage, of course; but it is as much earnest as anything that goes on in London.'

'Certainly--of course,' said Raymond, anxious not to seem ignorant of fashionable customs. 'But whom do the conspirators mean to put on the throne in your stead? Your son?'

'My Assimund, you mean? Well, that is just the point. My son Assimund is a perfectly harmless young fellow, but--in fact--he is rather too much so.'

'Too much so?'

'Yes--he is--as I might say--hum!' And the King tapped his forehead significantly.

'You don't mean------' And Raymond laid his forefinger between his eyes and then shook it in the air.

'Fact, I assure you.'

'Dear me, how sad!'

'So now you see what I am driving at,' added the King more briskly.

'Well, I hardly--that is----'

'Briefly, then, the part of the usurper has not yet been given out. But I have reigned fifty years, and, between you and me, I'm tired of it. This crown of mine'--the King laid his hand upon the diadem he wore--'often gives me a headache. Ah, I see you understand that. You've felt the same yourself?'

'Why, something of the sort, I confess,' said Raymond, settling his yellow cap on his brow.

'Bless you! what monarch has not? But you are young and hearty--you can stand it. So here is my plan: I decline to submit to force, because the precedent would be dangerous; but I am willing to abdicate. That is my counter-move--my rival attraction, as the stage manager would say. But, if it is to succeed, there is no time to be lost; the posters must be got out at once.'

'Yes, I agree with you,' said Raymond, who was now quite bewildered.

'I was sure I might count on your aid. It is settled, then. As soon as we reach town I will arrange with the advertising agent that your name shall appear upon the bills as my successor in the largest type.'

'I?' cried Raymond, jumping up, and almost oversetting the ivory chair.

'Bless me! what's the matter? Who else but you?'

Raymond sat down again quite dumb-foundered. He a king! It had been the ambition of his life, but now that it was so near being realised he found himself unprepared. Some kinds of good luck are better to look forward to than to have. However, since it seemed inevitable, Raymond was bound to put a good face upon it. Probably he would have a prime minister to give him some hints at starting.

'I shall be happy to make myself of use,' he said politely. 'But I must tell you that it is some time since I governed a kingdom, and I may be a little out of practice.'

'Oh, never mind that,' returned the King, stroking his beard. 'In an absolute monarchy like this the sovereign is responsible to no one. Do as you like; it saves trouble and expense too.'

Raymond smiled, and tried to look at ease. But he resolved to make one more effort to get time for looking about him.

'It will not be best, I suppose, to enter upon my duties at once?' he said. 'The people will have to accustom themselves to the change, and----'

'Nothing of the sort,' interrupted the King. 'I don't believe in too much playing to the pit and gallery, especially when the stalls are inclined to be disorderly. Make your hit with the executioner's axe, if need be. Don't mince matters--it is better to mince them.'

'But are you really so willing to part with your crown? It looks quite as comfortable as my cap feels,' sighed Raymond. They were now within sight of the city gates, and he was feeling rather nervous.

'Do you think so? Suppose you try it on?' said the good-natured monarch, taking his crown off. 'Come, off with your cap!'

Raymond doffed his cap, thrust it into the front of his doublet, and put out his hands to take the crown which the King held towards him.

But as he did so he noticed a singular change come over his Majesty's heretofore jolly visage. The eyes of the venerable potentate opened wider and wider until they were broader than they were long; his forehead wrinkled, and his nostrils expanded. His face from red became crimson, and from crimson purple; and he shook all over.

'Who are you, fellow?' he roared out in a terrible voice. 'How did you get up here? Ho! guards! seize this insolent varlet and cut off his head this moment!'

There was no time to think twice. Raymond sprang to his feet, overturning the ivory chair as he did so, so that his transparent Majesty King Ormund fell off to the platform, which trembled at the shock. The fifty courtiers who supported it staggered and lost their footing, and the whole affair came to the ground with a tremendous crash, landing the King in a mud-puddle, and splashing his transparent stockings all over with mire.

Taking advantage of the dismay and confusion thus brought about, Raymond dodged between the legs of a gigantic guard who was on the point of clutching him, butted his head into the stomach of a second, who in falling upset a third, over whom a fourth and fifth stumbled; and, having by this time got to the brink of the broad and deep ditch beside the road, he crossed it with a flying leap, plunged into the bushes on the further side, and made such good use of his legs that in two or three minutes he was beyond the reach of pursuit.

CHAPTER VI.

DONKEY-BACK.

Raymond ran on without paying attention to the way he was going so long as it was away from King Ormund and his company. By and by he came to another road, narrower than the one he had left, but leading also towards the city. There was a heap of stones on the roadside, and on this Raymond sat down to think over his adventure.

It was a puzzle, whichever way he looked at it. Had the King been making game of him all along? No, his Majesty had without doubt looked upon him as a person of consequence. But if so, what had so suddenly undeceived him?

'The dwarf must be at the bottom of it,' said Raymond to himself.

But how? The dwarf had given him the cap and promised him the kingdom. He had been very near getting the kingdom; but the cap had only given him a headache. He pulled it out of his doublet and looked at it.

Yes, it was a fine cap. But Raymond had got to feel such a dislike of it that, had he owned another, he would have thrown this away. But it would never do to make his entrance into London bareheaded.

'But why should I go to London at all?' Raymond asked himself. 'I don't really want to be a king: I only like to think about being one. Shall I go back to the Brindled Cow and Rosamund? Yes, I will!' And with that he got up, put on his cap, and took two or three steps in the direction of Honeymead.

'But what an ass I should be,' he said, stopping short, 'to turn back at the very gates of London! Besides, it is too late to get back to Honeymead to-night. I won't return before to-morrow. Something may happen after all.'

He faced about once more towards London.

'It is an odd thing,' he remarked to himself as he went along, 'how I keep changing my mind first one way and then another. Why is it? It used not to be so when I was in Honeymead. It almost seems as if I were not the same fellow; or as if I were sometimes myself, and sometimes somebody else. I believe there must be something of that kind the matter with me,' he continued after a while. 'Look how those courtiers treated me. They were all cap and knee to me one moment, and the next they were all shouting out "Who is he? Cap and knee--who is he?" Hullo! I have an idea! It is--it isn't--can it be--the cap?'

He snatched it off his head, and round the band he read again the couplet that had mystified him before:--

Cap on--cap and knee!
Cap off--who is he?

The words began to have a meaning now. Fairies and magic spells were at that time common-place matters in England. Fairy stories were not written then, but the events they tell about used to happen. The dwarf himself had called the cap a talisman. 'I will try the experiment with the next person I see,' said Raymond to himself.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a noise of pattering hoofs made him look round, and he saw a young fellow riding towards him on the extreme end of a small donkey. Raymond stood in the middle of the road, his cap in his hand.

'Get out of the way, you!' called out the rider as he drew near. 'I'm going to the Seven Brethren. Now then, stupid!'

'I also am in a hurry to get to London,' said Raymond politely. 'Couldn't you give me a ride there?'

'Mind your eye, numskull!' cried the other; and he tried to drive his donkey directly over Raymond. But Raymond caught the bridle, and at the same time put on his cap. Everything depended on what the donkey-rider did next.

Greatly to Raymond's gratification--though it half-frightened him too--the fellow immediately slipped backwards over his donkey's tail; and, having reached the ground, made an awkward but obsequious salute.

'Beg your Worship's pardon humbly!' said he, ducking his head and scraping his foot at every few words. 'Didn't know your Worship at first. Hope your Worship will pardon a poor lad whose intellects are not quite right.'

Indeed, the fellow appeared only half-witted. He had round goggle eyes, a silly mouth, and scarcely any forehead at all.

As for Raymond he felt more like hugging the fellow than merely pardoning him; but he remembered that he must keep up his dignity. Moreover, he now perceived that the wearing of the cap made almost as much change in his own feelings as in other people's opinion of him.

'I will overlook your mistake,' he said condescendingly; 'and in proof of it I will make use of your donkey as far as the city; for I am weary, and there is not much time to lose.'

'Indeed, then, your Worship, he's not fit for a gentleman like your Worship to be riding on,' replied the fellow, ducking again; 'but, if your Worship doesn't mind, I should be proud to see your Worship sitting on him; and he'll carry your Worship well.'

Raymond mounted accordingly, and the party proceeded on their way, the fellow trotting behind, and occasionally persuading the donkey with the oaken cudgel he carried. Meanwhile Raymond asked him some questions.

'You are going to the Seven Brethren?'

'Yes, your Worship. There are good things there, as your Worship knows.'

'How should I know?'

'La! as if I couldn't see that your Worship was one of them himself!'

'It must be the same Seven Brethren of which the dwarf spoke,' thought Raymond; and he said aloud, 'They meet to-night at five o'clock, I think?'

'Right, your Worship. And your Worship may trust me. "Yellow-cap" is the password, "seven" the number, and "five" the time. Isn't it, your Worship?'

Raymond felt much obliged by this information, though he was careful not to say so. When they came to the city gates he slipped off the donkey at a moment when the other was not looking, at the same time removing his cap; when he had the pleasure of seeing the fellow turn to him and ask him whether he had seen 'his Worship?' Raymond only shook his head in reply; and then, following the donkey and its owner at a distance, he presently saw them turn into a narrow archway.

CHAPTER VII.

THE DARK PASSAGE.

Raymond crossed over to the opposite side of the road, in order to take a look at the house to which the archway belonged. It was a little old-fashioned inn, squeezed in between two tall houses, like a shabby dwarf between two respectable giants. Over the door hung a sign--a painting of a man with seven heads. They were ugly faces, all of them, each with its peculiar kind of ugliness, and Raymond felt a separate kind of dislike towards each one. Nevertheless (as might have been expected, seeing that there was but one body between them) they bore a sort of family likeness one to another. 'That must be a very wicked body,' Raymond thought; 'it must be capable of committing all the seven deadly sins at once.' It was thick and shapeless, with short crooked legs, and very long arms. Underneath was written, 'The Seven Brethren.'

As he stood in the shadow on the opposite side of the street, with his cap under his arm, Raymond felt half-minded not to enter the inn which hung out so uninviting a sign. How different were these faces from those of Armand, Dorimund, Sigismund, and the rest of the rosy young farmers who drank milk at the Brindled Cow! Should he go back there even now? There he would be sure of a welcome: he was not sure of a welcome here. Raymond hesitated. But before he could make up his mind the barmaid of the Seven Brethren appeared at the door of the inn. She soon espied him where he stood, and smiled and beckoned to him.

'Come over, come over, my lad,' she said; 'it's just upon supper-time, and there's a chop on the gridiron, and a draught of brown ale I'll draw for you. Come; you look right hungry.'

Her voice and look made Raymond's heart beat, for, in a certain way, they were like Rosamund's. And yet they were unlike. She had eyes like Rosamund's, but the expression in them was one which Rosamund never wore. Her manner of speaking, too, resembled Rosamund's. Yet Rosamund had never spoken in quite that tone. Raymond hardly knew whether to be pleased or shocked. After a little hesitation he put on his cap and came across the street to her.

'Oh! my Lord, I'm sure I crave your pardon!' exclaimed the girl, dropping him a curtsey. But though her words were humble Raymond fancied he saw a mischievous sparkle in her eye which made him suspect that she might be making fun of him. 'I didn't recognise your Lordship in the shadow over there,' she continued, in a still softer voice. 'They have been expecting your Lordship.'

Now that Raymond was close to the girl she seemed much prettier than before. 'What is your name?' he asked her.

'Silvia, please your Lordship.'

'Silvia--not Rosamund?'

'Oh, no, please your Lordship. Rosamund is such a vulgar name.'

'You are very pretty, Silvia.'

'Your Lordship is very good to say so,' replied she, casting down her sparkling eyes and curtseying again.

'What is that round your neck, Silvia?'

'That is the half of a brass farthing, please your Lordship, that I and my lover split between us this afternoon.'

'I thought it was the half of a spade guinea.'

'I'd be glad to exchange it for that,' said Silvia, looking up, with a smile.

'Would you exchange your lover at the same time?'

'If the other was a handsome man,' said she, with a coquettish glance. 'But won't your Lordship come in? It's past five, I'm sure.'

'I will follow you,' said he. And they went in.

'Will your Lordship take my hand?' she said. 'The passage is very dark and winding.' She put her hand in his as she spoke.

'Why is there no light here?' he asked.

'This passage can never be lighted, please your Lordship: the goblins pinch out the wick of the candle with their fingers.'

'Are there goblins here?' said Raymond, drawing back.

'Keep hold of my hand, and they will do your Lordship no harm.'

'Does this passage belong to them?'

'Mind the steps, please your Lordship,' said Silvia suddenly. 'If you were to lose me here you would never see light again.'

'How strange your voice sounds! Are you Silvia?'

'I am not Rosamund, at any rate!' replied his conductor, with a low laugh. 'It's the vault of the passage makes my voice sound hoarse.'

'We must be a long way underground. And this darkness is like a block of black marble. And I feel as if creatures were walking around me who can see me though I cannot see them.'

'Their eyes are more used to the darkness than your Lordship's.'

'How far have we still to go?'

'Not far. I shall leave your Lordship at the next corner.'

'What am I to do then?'

No reply was made to this question. But in a few moments Raymond lost his hold of the hand that had guided him, and a voice said, in a whining tone--

'Won't your Lordship spare me a trifle for coming so far?'

'I--I'm afraid I have nothing to give,' said Raymond, putting his hand in his empty pocket.

'A kiss is all I want from your Lordship,' answered the voice; and then a pair of lips met Raymond's in the darkness. The lips were cold as ice, but the breath that came between them was hot as flame.

Then all was silence. Had Raymond kissed one of the invisible goblins instead of Silvia? Or was Silvia herself a goblin?

Be that as it might Raymond was left in an awkward situation. For all he knew he was in the middle of an underground labyrinth; and the next step might land him at the bottom of some pitfall. Raymond remembered that long ago, when he was a small boy, his mother had once shut him up in the dark closet behind the kitchen chimney, because he had made a mud-pie on the ironing-board. That closet had seemed black enough, but what was it compared with this? Besides, Rosamund had come after a while and secretly let him out, and they had spent the afternoon together in the barn. But Rosamund could never come to him here; and that goblin kiss upon his lips had taken away his right to hope for her.

While these thoughts had been passing through his mind he had been slowly feeling his way forward; but all at once he was brought to a stand by a sharp prick on the breast as if from the point of a levelled spear.

'Who comes?' said a harsh voice.

'Only me,' replied Raymond in his most conciliating tone.

'Have you the password?' demanded the voice again.

Recollecting what the donkey-driver had told him, Raymond answered at a venture--

'Yellow-cap!'

'Pass on, Yellow-cap!' said the voice.

He passed on, hoping that his wanderings were now to end. But after a few steps he felt against his throat the smooth sharp edge of a sword, which caused him to start back with a cry.

'Who comes?' said a snarling voice.

'Yellow-cap!' Raymond replied.

'The number, Yellow-cap?'

'Seven!' hazarded Raymond.

'Pass on, Seven!' said the voice.

Raymond stepped forward nervously, stumbled down an unexpected pair of steps, and all in a moment there was a brilliant dazzle of light close to his eyes. It vanished as suddenly as it came; but it had given him a fleeting impression of many grisly faces pressing around him on all sides, with fire-lit eyes all fixed upon his. On the succeeding darkness, which seemed more intense than ever, the image of these faces was still somehow discernible; while from amidst them came a hissing voice, which said--

'Who comes?'

'Yellow-cap!'

'The number?'

'Seven!'

'The time?'

'Five!'

'Pass!' said the voice.

And immediately (though how it happened he could not tell) Raymond found himself in a square, low-ceilinged, comfortable room, with a large lamp burning in the centre of the table, around which were seated six men, each with a long pipe in his mouth and a tankard of ale before him.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MAGIC EYE.

The six men arose, and each in turn, and then all together, uttered the words--

'Welcome, Yellow-cap!'

Then he among them who had the biggest nose and the most sweeping moustachios came forward, made Raymond a grave salute, and, taking him by the arm, led him to a chair at the head of the table.

'The tale of the Seven Brethren is at last complete,' said he.

'Hear! hear!' gruffly responded the others.

'Brother Yellow-cap,' continued the first speaker, 'let me introduce you to our Brotherhood. I am the Prime Maniac. He on your right is the Chancellor of the Jingle. Next to him is the Home Doggerel. At the foot of the table is the First Lord of the Seesaw. The Foreign Doggerel is next on the left. Next again the Lord Privy Gander. One and all of us are bound to aid you, abet you, and obey you, so long as you own and wear the yellow cap. Once more, welcome, Yellow-cap!'

'Welcome!' chimed in the Brethren; and they raised their tankards to their lips and emptied them at a draught.

'We do not call one another by our titles,' said the Lord Privy Gander.

'Nor by our names,' added the Chancellor of the Jingle.

'Nor by our surnames,' pursued the Home Doggerel.

'But by our nicknames,' observed the Foreign Doggerel.

'By the mystic syllables repeated,' said the First Lord of the Seesaw.

Hereupon a curious ceremony took place. Beginning with the Lord Privy Gander, and so on in regular order to the First Lord of the Seesaw, each brother in rapid succession spoke his own nickname, with the following result.

'Ruba!' said the Lord Privy Gander.

'Dubb!' said the Chancellor of the Jingle.

'Dubsix!' said the Home Doggerel.

'Menin!' said the Foreign Doggerel.

'Atub!' said the First Lord of the Seesaw.

'Gyp is my nickname,' remarked the Prime Maniac, 'because the verse had not feet enough to go all round. Did you ever hear anything like this before?'

'I fancied at one moment that I had; but now I don't know,' Yellow-cap answered.

'There is only one inconvenience about it,' observed Ruba.

'We must always speak in order,' added Dubb.

'On pain of spoiling our metre,' put in Dubsix.

'And our rhyme,' continued Menin.

'Except Gyp,' added Atub, 'who can talk when he likes, and that is his chief advantage.'

'It is an advantage in more ways than one,' Gyp remarked. 'Not only can I talk when I like, but none of the others can say anything unless all the rest are willing; because his speaking makes it necessary that all the rest should have something to say, and that Ruba should begin. The only laws that we recognise are metrical laws, and they, as you know, are the strictest in the world.'

Yellow-cap felt rather bewildered; but he was glad to find that he himself was not included in the metrical system. Some error in either rhyme or rhythm would, he felt sure, have been the consequence.

'Let me order you a pipe and tankard,' continued Gyp, ringing the bell. Somewhat to Yellow-cap's surprise Silvia appeared at the door in answer to the summons. The pipe and the tankard were soon brought; and the new-comer's health having then been drunk in ceremonious silence, the formal part of his reception seemed to be at an end.

Meanwhile he had improved such opportunity as he had had for examining the faces about him, and was not altogether astonished to find that they were the originals of the many-headed portrait on the inn signboard. Only the seventh (and central) head, the ugliest of all, was missing; the Brethren, exclusive of himself, being only six in number. Beer-drinking and tobacco-smoking seemed to be the business of the meeting. Yellow-cap had never until this evening drunk anything stronger than milk or smoked anything more dangerous than sweet-fern; but the beer gave him courage for the tobacco, and he soon began to feel at home.

'But can you tell me how I got here?' he inquired of Gyp, who sat nearest him, and who, moreover, could answer without setting all the feet running. 'The way was long and perilous and as black as pitch; and yet, when the door was open just now, I could see right through the house into the street, and it did not seem more than twelve paces.'

'Did you come alone?' asked Gyp, puffing a long whiff of smoke up towards the ceiling.

'Alone with Silvia.'

'Ah-h-h! Silvia sometimes leads the best of men astray. But you got here at last, and that is more than many do. And you were but just in time. The King prints his placards to-night.'

'What placards?' asked Yellow-cap innocently.

'Announcing his "successor"--a farce in one act.'

'And who is his successor?'

'Who would you like him to be?' inquired Gyp, smiling.

At this all the Brethren looked at one another and winked mysteriously. Yellow-cap, who was fast becoming wise, and who knew more about this matter than he cared to admit, could not help wondering at his queer position--the Head of a Secret Society hostile to the very monarch who had offered him his kingdom that same afternoon. The thought of it made him feel quite hot; and he was so far forgetting himself as to be on the point of taking off his cap to cool his forehead, when Gyp caught his arm, and a murmur of horror ran through the assembly.

'Forbear! as you value your credit!' cried Ruba.

'And your gentility!' exclaimed Dubb.

'And your influence!' called out Dubsix.

'And your success!' shouted Menin.

'And your reputation!' bawled Atub.

'It is against the first law of the Brotherhood,' added Ruba.

'We all have headaches,' asserted Dubb.

'We couldn't live without them,' declared Dubsix.

'Would you commit suicide?' demanded Menin.

'Be guilty of treason?' hiccoughed Atub, who had swallowed some smoke the wrong way.

'Good gracious!' was all that poor Yellow-cap was able to reply.

'Allow me to explain,' interposed Gyp courteously. 'The Seven Brethren are the outcome of an artificial civilisation. It is our strength and also our weakness that we never seem to be what we are. Our laws are binding because they are irrational. Our power is great because it is an imposition. Our respectability is perfect because it is a fraud. We gain our ends because our ends are ourselves. Our union is strong because it depends on mutual distrust. In a word, we are the Everlasting Unreality! Have you understood me?'

'Not in the least,' replied Yellow-cap.

''Tis well. No one of us understands either himself or his brother. He who understands or is understood is anathema.'

'Dear me!' ejaculated Yellow-cap.

'You have heard of the cap of invisibility?'

'I believe so.'

'The yellow cap is more wondrous yet--it is only when you put it on that you can be seen--at all events by the world.'

'Dear me!' ejaculated Yellow-cap again.

Hereupon all the Brethren twisted their moustachios, knocked the ashes out of their pipes, refilled them, lighted them, and smoked in silence.

'By the way,' said Yellow-cap at length, 'about the signboard outside the inn-door. I recognise six of the portraits, but where is the seventh? He was the one whose face was the most ugly and disagreeable of all; but I don't see him here.'

'He is here,' said Ruba.

Yellow-cap was going to ask, 'Where?' but Gyp laid his hand upon his arm and whispered in his ear that he must not interrupt until the whole verse had run itself out.

'We have seen him,' continued Dubb.

'The likeness is good,' pronounced Dubsix.

'Flattering,' affirmed Menin.

'I can think of nothing to say,' confessed Atub.

'Come and look in our mirror,' said Gyp, taking Yellow-cap by the arm and leading him to the end of the room.

Now, against the wall at this end hung a very odd specimen of a looking-glass. Its surface was convex, and in shape it was neither square, nor round, nor exactly oval, for it was pointed at both ends. Its length was divided into three parts, of which the central one was black, and those at the sides of a dull white like china. Altogether it looked like a gigantic eye plucked from the forehead of some Polyphemus; and hung up in the old inn-parlour, where, if it could no longer see anything itself, it might at least give those who gazed into it a distorted image of themselves.

When Yellow-cap, however, first fixed his eyes upon this curious mirror he could see nothing but a profound depth of blackness; but in the midst of this obscure movements were presently visible. By and by the many wavering shapes grew clearer and drew near to one another and, as it were, melted together, until at last a definite image stood forth against the dark background.

A strange figure it was--of a short-legged, shapeless man, with no less than seven heads upon his shoulders. Six of these Yellow-cap knew at once; but the seventh--the central and most important one of all--was unknown to him. And what an unpleasant set of features it had, to be sure!

The whole company had gathered behind Yellow-cap, who was standing directly in front of the mirror.

'You don't know him?' spoke the voice of Ruba.

'He knows you,' said Dubb.

'He is an old friend of yours,' remarked Dubsix.

'And a very dear one,' added Menin.

'And a very false one,' observed Atub.

'What does it all mean?' inquired Yellow-cap.

'If you will give yourself the trouble to lay your left finger beside your nose it might inform you,' said Gyp courteously.

Yellow-cap did as he was desired. The reflection in the glass lifted the corresponding finger and laid it beside the nose of no other than the central head.

'Would you mind winking your left eye?' continued Gyp.

Yellow-cap did so. The central head alone winked back.

'Now you might stick out your tongue,' suggested Gyp.

Yellow-cap tried this experiment also: the seventh head was the only one that imitated the gesture.

'This is absurd,' exclaimed Yellow-cap indignantly. 'The central head imitates everything I do; it even pretends to look like me, which is ridiculous, for it is ugly, while I am----'

'Perhaps you have never looked in a mirror before?' said Gyp gently.

'Yes, I have--in tin pans,' returned Yellow-cap warmly.

'Tin pans are untrustworthy,' said Gyp. 'This is the best mirror in the world, and that is the reason why it is in the shape of an eye, without any face belonging to it.'

'I should think you would be the last people in the world to want a good mirror, or any mirror at all!' exclaimed Yellow-cap testily.

'We don't want it--and that is why we have it. We call it our eyesore; and it is the eye of our destiny. Look again.'

'What is this?' muttered Yellow-cap. 'All the heads are melting into one another; now they are all swallowed up in the central head; and now that head looks more like me than ever, and yet uglier; and now--why, it looks like the old dwarf I carried across the river, and--which am I?'

He turned round, and, behold! the six Brethren were seated each one in his place at the table, smoking and drinking as gravely as ever, and looking as if they had never once stirred from their chairs. Glancing back at the mirror, he saw that it had returned to its former unreflecting condition, only a few vanishing shadows being yet visible in its black depths.

'It certainly is different from a tin pan,' thought he as he went back to his chair at the head of the table.

'Nothing more than an optical illusion,' said Gyp, filling Yellow-cap's pipe from his own tobacco-pouch, and handing it to him courteously. 'There is no harm in it--none at all.'

'Especially as it makes you our Head,' observed Ruba.

'I move we suspend the rules,' said Dubb.

'I second that motion,' said Dubsix.

'We mustn't put our feet into our business,' remarked Menin in an explanatory way.

'The only rule we never suspend is the rule that no rule shall not sometimes be suspended,' added Atub.

'So be it,' said Gyp agreeably. 'The metrical system is hereby suspended for the rest of the evening. Have another tankard of ale, Brother Yellow-cap?'

'I don't care if I do--with a Head on it,' returned Yellow-cap, putting an emphasis on the 'Head.' And when the ale was brought he arose, with a frown on his brow, and spoke to them in a bold voice as follows:--

'Yes, I am your Head, for no one of you is so unreal as I. When I was a little boy I sat blowing soap-bubbles, and saw the Appanage of Royalty appear amidst the clouds of the wash-tub. He promised me this cap, and now the cap is mine. I have paid for it all I had in the world, and now I mean to get my profit out of it. You have waited for me: I have never waited for you; for I could succeed without you; but, without me, you would be nothing!'

'Hear! hear!' exclaimed the Brethren in chorus, seeming much pleased with Yellow-cap's eloquence.

'Now, Brother Gyp, you may state the object of this meeting,' said Yellow-cap, resuming his seat.

Gyp bowed and pulled a roll of parchment out of Brother Dubsix's pocket, which was written all over with musical notes in the bass and treble clefs.

'The object is a twofold one,' he began.

'I object to that expression,' interrupted Dubb.

'Why?' demanded Gyp in a mortified tone.

'Only for the sake of speaking out of metre,' replied Dubb; at which the Brethren looked at one another and lifted their eyebrows.

'Well, at all events,' said Gyp, recovering his good-humour, 'we want to get the King out and put the usurper in his place.'

'Has anything been done to prepare the people for this change?' inquired Yellow-cap. 'Are they on our side?'

'We've got fifty paid claqueurs--I know that,' said Atub.

'And we have suspended the rule about full-dress in the stalls,' added Dubsix.

'Ah!' exclaimed Menin, nodding his head and crossing his feet on the table in republican style, 'there is a great deal in that.'

'How are you going to depose him?' Yellow-cap asked.

'In the usual way,' said Gyp: 'by finding a rhyme to him, and then putting him under foot.'

'But suppose he won't be deposed?'

'Ah, it will be our turn then,' said Ruba gloomily. 'He will appoint a successor, and we shall be repeated backwards.'

At this all the Brethren curled their moustachios and sighed deeply.

'Who is to find the rhyme to "King Ormund?"' inquired Yellow-cap, to whom this affair began to look rather irregular.

'Who but the usurper?' cried all the Brethren together.

'And who is he?' said Yellow-cap.

Hereupon the Brethren one and all took their pipes out of their mouths and deliberately pointed at Yellow-cap with their pipe-stems. At the same time they puffed out a vast cloud of tobacco-smoke, which rose to the ceiling of the room and collected there.

'Do you mean me?' cried Yellow-cap, recoiling. 'I never made a rhyme in my life.'

'You have said it!' they answered with one voice; 'so let it be!'

At this moment they all arose and solemnly emptied their tankards; then they piled the tankards together in the centre of the table; and Dubsix and Atub, taking each an arm of Yellow-cap, raised him from the floor and seated him upon the pile as upon a throne.

The six Brethren now joined hands and began to dance round and round the table, puffing volumes of smoke from their pipes as they went. Faster and wilder moved the dance, thicker and yellower whirled the smoke-wreaths, and the six faces sped dizzily round the table, until it seemed to Yellow-cap as if he were encircled by a great ring of face, with one broad nose, one endless grinning mouth, and a single leering eye in the forehead.

By and by the room began to spin round also--such, at least, was Yellow-cap's impression. Round and round it spun like a teetotum, moving as fast as the dancers did, but in the opposite direction. The smoke, driven together by these contrary motions, was whirled into a sort of hollow dome over Yellow-cap's head. The yellow light from the lamp shone upon that smoky dome, and its shape became defined more and more distinctly, until at last it hung poised in air--a gigantic image of the very yellow cap which Yellow-cap wore.

Gradually it settled down lower and lower, as if to shut him in. He tried to rise from his tankard throne, but a heavy weight from above seemed to prevent him. And now, glaring upon him through the maze of flying phantoms, he saw the mirror of the Brethren, no longer black and lifeless, but fierce and flaming as the eye of a giant demon. And through the centre of that fiery pupil he saw the Brethren, one after another, take a flying leap; not vanishing suddenly, but dwindling away, smaller and smaller, until they could be seen no more. Each as he leaped threw back at Yellow-cap a malicious leer and beckoned to him mockingly to follow. Gyp was the last; and as he sprang Yellow-cap wrenched himself from his throne--which fell behind him with a crash--and strove to follow.

But the yellow cap of stifling smoke came down upon him and shut him in. He sank downwards, choking and gasping; and he heard, ringing through the heated air, a sound of laughter that reminded him of Silvia.

CHAPTER IX.

ON THE STAGE.

Yellow-cap opened his eyes, which felt dry and hot. It was indeed Silvia, who was laughing, and bidding him wake up, for it was past eight o'clock in the morning. And where had Yellow-cap passed the night? Underneath the table in the inn parlour, where that extraordinary meeting of the Seven Brethren had taken place. As Yellow-cap got slowly to his feet he pressed both hands to his head, which felt like a newly-roasted chestnut, with the kernel loose inside; but the yellow cap was still fast about his brows. He longed to take it off and put his head under the pump; but that luxury, he knew, was now and hereafter forbidden him.

'Where are the other fellows?' he asked, turning to Silvia. 'They jumped through the fiery eye----'

'Through what, your Lordship?' cried Silvia, opening her eyes very wide.

'Through that,' said Yellow-cap, pointing to the end of the room where the mysterious mirror hung. But, to his great perplexity, there was to be seen there only a very common-place old looking-glass, made in three compartments, and mounted in a tarnished frame. In the light of the morning sun, which was pouring through the dusty window-panes, it looked not at all like an eye, and it was absurd to suppose that anybody could have jumped through it.

'Things always look so different in the morning,' remarked Silvia good-humouredly. 'But, if it please your Lordship, I am sent by the Brethren to say that they are waiting for you in the front room.'

Yellow-cap felt not at all in the mood to lead a conspiracy; but still he tried to put a good face upon the matter. 'Lead on!' said he; and Silvia opened the door and went before him across a small enclosed yard to another door, on which she tapped; and Yellow-cap, passing in, found himself once more in the presence of his six friends. They were eating devilled bones, and were dressed in long white dominoes. Each had a playbook beside his plate, and they were apparently studying their parts for the morning performance.

'Good morning! Fine day for the deposition,' said Gyp, acting as spokesman for the rest. 'Have a bone?'

'I have no appetite,' replied Yellow-cap. 'Why are you all dressed in white?'

'So that we may be the blacker inside,' said Ruba, looking up from his book.

'It is the court-dress of conspirators,' added Dubb.

'We are clothed in the unwritten pages of history,' continued Dubsix.

'We shall be red hereafter,' said Menin, archly.

'Because we rose against the tyrant,' concluded Atub, with a sigh.

'They are apt to be rather stupid at this hour in the morning,' remarked Gyp, turning to Yellow-cap, 'but they will get warmed to it presently. May I ask whether you are perfect in your part?'

'I have not thought of any rhyme to "Ormund,"' said Yellow-cap.

'Any rhyme will do,' Gyp went on; 'and perhaps the Home or the Foreign Doggerel will be able to help you to one when the time comes.'

'Brethren,' said Yellow-cap, clearing his throat, 'I propose we put off this affair until to-morrow. I don't feel at all well this morning; and besides, a thing like this ought to be done after dark, not in broad daylight.'

Hereupon the six Brethren looked at one another and gave a low whistle; and after a pause Gyp said--

'This day is the only day in the year on which conspiracies are allowed to take place, and they are not permitted later than ten o'clock in the forenoon. But I may mention that the theatre is always darkened, and is lighted by artificial means.'

'I do not understand,' said Yellow-cap, 'how a conspiracy can succeed, if the people who are conspired against fix the time when it is to come off.'

'What sort of an audience should we get,' replied Gyp, 'if the date of the performance was not advertised beforehand? We should find ourselves playing to empty boxes. Besides, conspiracies are costly; and if----'

'If you please,' said Silvia, opening the door, 'it is just upon nine o'clock, and the donkey waits.'

'We come!' said all the Brethren together, They rose up, put their play-books in their pockets, and joining hands so as to form a circle, with Gyp and Yellow-cap in the middle of it, they rapidly repeated five times over the following mystic chant, Gyp beating time for them with the forefinger of his right hand on the five fingers of his left:--

Ruba--Dubb--Dubsix--Menin--Atub--Chorus--Gyp!

This having been duly performed, Gyp, with an air of great respect, took Yellow-cap by the arm and led him out to the street, the other five Brethren following behind. Yellow-cap, who had by this time almost ceased feeling surprised at anything, did not find it especially wonderful that the donkey which was in waiting was the same on which he had ridden the evening before, and that its driver was the same half-witted youth who had given him such useful information about the passwords. This youth grinned and ducked his head when he saw Yellow-cap, and held the stirrup for him to mount.

As Yellow-cap did so the thought occurred to him that perhaps he might get a chance to gallop away down some side-street, and so make his escape even at the last moment; for it must be confessed that he did not feel much courage for this adventure. Much to his disappointment, however, no sooner was he in the saddle than the donkey-driver took hold of the donkey's bridle on one side and Silvia on the other; and in this way they set out.

'Why are you coming with us, Silvia?' Yellow-cap asked, after they had gone a little way. 'Are you one of the conspirators?'

'No, your Lordship, not exactly,' she replied; 'but I usually take the part of Columbine, and sometimes lead the ballet.'

'So it's to be a pantomime, is it?' thought Yellow-cap. 'I wonder what the grand transformation scene will be like?'

Then he turned to the donkey-driver, who was plodding along with a vacant grin upon his features, and asked him what part he had to play.

'Oh, please your Worship,' he replied, 'I'm to be the Clown; and that young woman,' pointing to Silvia, 'is to be my sweetheart, if I can catch her.'

'And I'm to be Harlequin, I suppose,' said Yellow-cap to himself. 'Well, I'm sure I begin to feel like one.'

Meanwhile they had entered the chief street of the town, which led to the Drury Lane Theatre. This was a handsome building of white marble, with columns and a sculptured frieze; it was the model which the Greeks long afterwards followed when they built their Parthenon. A great multitude of people were collected in front of the pit and gallery entrances; and when they caught sight of Yellow-cap they set up a great buzzing and murmuring, mingled with shouts and huzzas and waving of hats and handkerchiefs.

'There he is! that's him!' cried the people one to another. 'That's him on the grey charger, with the captive prince and princess a-leading of him along. Oh, ain't he a swell!'

'Hurry up, guv'nor, or you'll be late!' shouted others; and indeed as Yellow-cap looked up at the clock which was placed in the pediment of the theatre he saw that it marked five minutes to ten.

'Hadn't we better move a little faster?' he said anxiously to Silvia. 'And how are we ever to get through all this crowd?'

'Oh, we have time enough,' she answered very unconcernedly. 'And, since we must go in by the stage-door, the crowd won't hinder us.'

As she spoke they turned down a narrow alley to the left, and soon came to a small entrance in the side of the building. Through this the donkey quietly walked, and up a flight of steps to an inner passageway. Before he knew where he was Yellow-cap found himself on an immense stage, at the further side of which was standing King Ormund himself, surrounded by a group of courtiers. The courtiers were all enveloped in long white dominoes, the sight of which caused Yellow-cap to look behind him with a sudden misgiving. He had supposed until this moment that the six Brethren were following behind him; but he now discovered that, except for Silvia and the half-witted donkey-driver, he was quite alone.

'What has become of them?' he cried in dismay.

'There they are,' said Silvia coolly, pointing to the group of courtiers. 'Where else should they be?'

'They have deserted me, then?'

'Not at all; but as the conspiracy is all on your account it is only fair that you should take all the risks. If the conspiracy were to fail, and they were to have their heads cut off, there could be no conspiracy next year; but if only you are executed your cap would be saved, and there would be no difficulty about finding some one else to wear it.'

'Upon my word,' muttered Yellow-cap to himself rather angrily, 'however this matter goes I am resolved that I will not lose my head before making those six rascals shake in their shoes. Courtiers indeed! We shall see.'

At this moment the curtain drew up and showed the vast audience crowding every part of the theatre. A great clapping of hands and stamping of feet followed, and there were several catcalls and whistlings from the pit and gallery. Almost every member of the audience was provided with a programme headed, 'Grand Annual Pantomime: the Conspiracy,' and containing a list of the performers. Attendants were also moving about hawking librettos of the dialogue. Familiar though Yellow-cap had become with marvels, he could not help wondering how anybody could know what he was going to say. He certainly did not know himself.

The audience had now become silent--not a sound was to be heard in the theatre except the occasional rustle of a programme. Yellow-cap dismounted from his donkey, which remained on the stage in the care of the driver, and walked towards the King. His Majesty was eyeing him very closely. The great clock outside the building struck ten. The King and Yellow-cap saluted each other, and Yellow-cap said--

'I hope I have not kept your Majesty waiting.'

'Not at all,' the monarch replied. 'But, stay! surely I cannot be mistaken. Are not you the gallant prince whom I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday, and who vanished so strangely just when we were about to exchange hats?'

'Your Majesty's memory is not at fault,' Yellow-cap answered.

'Bless my soul! my dear fellow,' the King exclaimed with much heartiness, 'allow me to give you a hug!'

At this there was a great outburst of applause from the audience, which his Majesty acknowledged by bowing and smiling. After it was over he continued--

'And now tell me, where on earth did you vanish to? I could have sworn you were beside me--when, almost while I was looking at you, you were gone; and in your place was a dirty, impertinent varlet who tried to snatch my crown out of my very hands.'

'Indeed. An audacious fellow, truly!'

'Ah, but he got his deserts. Ha! I flatter myself he will never again try that game. No, by my faith!'

'What did you do to him?'

'I grappled with him, and, after a tremendous struggle, I managed to get him by the throat and bowed him backwards to the earth. I say "to the earth," because the villains who should have upheld my platform had let it fall. Never mind--I had all their heads before supper-time.'

'And the robber?'

'There was not much left of him,' replied his Majesty, with a hearty laugh. 'After I had strangled him I flung his carcass to my retainers, who made mincemeat of it in no time. But all this is by the way. You have not told me what became of you.'

Now, Yellow-cap had a good imagination; and seeing that the King had made up a clever story, he resolved to do his best to tell another as good.

'Your Majesty must know,' he said, 'that among my other modest gifts I include that of making myself invisible at pleasure and transporting myself to distant places by the force of a wish. Just at the moment when we were about to exchange hats I happened to remember that I had important business elsewhere; and since I had a long way to go, and very little time to go in, I was obliged to leave your Majesty without ceremony. But, as you see, I have lost no time in again presenting myself before you.'

There was a round of applause at this speech, but neither so long nor so loud as at that of the King.

'I hope we may not again be parted,' said his Majesty graciously. 'In fact, I really don't know what I should have done without you.'

Here Yellow-cap felt a gentle pull at his sleeve, and looking round he saw that Silvia was holding out to him a small slip of paper. He took it from her, and read the following words which had been written upon it:--

'A rhyme to King Ormund.'

The King had noticed this transaction, and immediately asked--

'What have you got there?'

'A rhyme to King Ormund,' replied Yellow-cap, repeating the words which he had read without thinking of the effect they might have upon his hearer. But the audience took the point immediately, and the clapping of hands and stamping were this time both loud and long.

And now something happened which Yellow-cap could not at first understand. The King hummed-and-hah'ed and looked rather embarrassed, but said nothing, and by and by began searching in his pockets as if he had mislaid something. The audience saw that something was wrong, and catcalls and whistling and impertinent remarks were heard from all parts of the house. The King turned red, and stood first on one foot and then on another; and at last he muttered between his teeth--

'I'll have that prompter's head cut off!'

'If your Majesty will allow me,' said Silvia, coming forward, 'I can tell you what comes next.' And she whispered a few words in his ear.

'Ah! of course--of course!' exclaimed the King, looking much relieved. 'I have had hardly any time to study my part; and I hope,' he added, turning to the audience, 'that you will excuse me.' 'Go it, old boy!' sang out somebody from the gallery. The King pulled down his ruffles and went on.

'"A rhyme to King Ormund, eh?" Dear me! Then you are one of the conspirators?'

'I have that honour,' replied Yellow-cap. 'In fact, I am the chief of them; and I can, if you like, tell you the names of the others,' he added, glancing at the Prime Maniac and his companions.

'You must not say that,' said Silvia in a low voice, twitching his sleeve again; 'it isn't in your part.'

'I shall take my own part,' returned Yellow-cap, loud enough to be heard all over the theatre, 'and do what I like with it.'

'That's the talk!' called out a man from the pit. 'Give it 'em, youngster, and we'll see fair play.'

'Well, you have got the best of me,' said the King, shrugging his shoulders good-humouredly, 'and I have only one regret.'

'What may that be?' Yellow-cap inquired.

'Only that, since you have got the best of me, I am prevented from enjoying the pleasure I had looked forward to of making you my successor. But, after all, it comes to the same thing in the end--for you, at any rate. And things being as they are, of course they could not be otherwise. Come--despatch!' And so saying the venerable monarch wrapped his mantle round his head and struck an heroic attitude.

'What are you waiting for? Let him have it!' whispered Silvia at Yellow-cap's elbow.

But Yellow-cap thought there was no need of hurrying; so he put the bit of paper in his pocket and said, gently pulling the King's mantle from before his face--

'My dear King, pray let us understand each other. I am sure that we can manage this thing without any trouble to either of us. As you yourself say, what need is there for me to be a usurper, if I can be a successor?'

'Ah, it's very kind of you to think of that,' replied the King, shaking his head; 'but I couldn't be guilty of such inhospitality as to hinder a stranger from carrying out so capital a plot. No--say no more. I see how it is. You have taken a great deal of trouble about this conspiracy, and so far you have managed it very well. I shall not interfere with your triumph for the sake of a selfish whim of my own. Never, my dear boy, never! My spirit is too royal to stoop to such meanness. And I think it unkind of you to expect such a thing of me; and if you don't stop it I shall have to tell the executioner to cut off your head.'

'That last argument of yours is a strong one, and rather than drive you to such extremities I would let you have it your own way,' said Yellow-cap. 'But still I think this affair can be arranged. All I want, you see, is to sit on your throne; to make a rhyme to your name, and to trample you under the feet of the metrical system. Have nothing to do with that. Come, oblige me this once, and I will do as much for you the next time.'

The King stroked his long white beard thoughtfully.

'The fact is,' he said at length, 'I am rather in a muddle about the whole business. If it had been a simple pantomime I could have seen through it; but this combination of two rival performances in one is beyond me. Let me consider. Hum! Ha! I have it. Let us draw lots from the donkey!'

'Draw lots from the donkey?' repeated Yellow-cap, puzzled in his turn.

'To be sure--the way we always do it--draw lots of hair, you know, from the donkey's tail,' continued his Majesty, brightening up, and turning back the ruffles from his wrists. 'The way it is done is this: we each of us in turn pull out a handful; and the one that makes the donkey kick first wins the match.'

'Very well,' said Yellow-cap, 'I agree, on condition that you take the first pull.'

'Such courtesy shows the true prince,' replied the King, with a pleased smile. 'I accept the favour as frankly as it was offered. Ho! fellows, back the animal round there--give him plenty of room to kick--so. Now, then, my lords and gentlemen, make a circle round us, and mark his tail with care. And do you, Mr. Chancellor of the Jingle, act as umpire.'

Everything having been thus arranged, and amidst a pause of breathless interest, his Transparent Majesty King Ormund, Emperor of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, and Defender of the Faith, advanced on tiptoe towards the donkey, who, not suspecting what was to come, stood with its hind quarters turned to him, its head being held fast by the half-witted driver.

When within about two feet of the donkey's heels the monarch stopped, and stretching out his arm, he grasped with his hand the long tuft of hair which grew at the end of the animal's tail. Then by a sudden motion he gave it such a tug as might almost have fetched the tail itself out by the roots.

Without an instant's delay the donkey kicked out as if it wanted to put its hoofs through the skylight in the roof of the theatre; but, King Ormund's stomach happening to be in the way, that potentate was lifted from the ground and made to pass through the air in a graceful curve. He came down upon the upturned face of the Chancellor of the Jingle (who was too busy with his duties as umpire to notice his danger) and flattened him out upon the stage in such a way as to make it quite impossible for him to give his decision.

CHAPTER X.

AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH.

Upon this tableau the curtain came down; but the applause was really so deafening that all the performers--including, of course, the King and the donkey--had to come out and pass before the footlights: when the donkey got a bouquet, and the King a bunch of turniptops. They then returned to the stage and took their places as before, and the curtain went up again.

During several seconds the King lay quite still, with the Chancellor underneath him; and Yellow-cap began to feel uneasy, for he reflected that if the King should lie still permanently his own position might become awkward. He spoke of this in a low tone to Silvia, who was coquetting with her sweetheart the donkey-driver across the donkey's back.

'No need to be alarmed, your Lordship,' replied she composedly. 'His Majesty is only a little out of breath. The stomach of an hereditary monarch is, you know, the strongest thing about him. He will be all right directly.'

In fact, hardly had she done speaking when the King gave a cough and raised himself to a sitting posture. He really seemed none the worse for what had happened; in spite of which Yellow-cap could not help feeling glad that he had not been in the King's place.

'Where is the Chancellor of the Jingle?' demanded the King as soon as he could speak. 'Why does he not come forward and give his judgment as umpire? Where is he, I say? By my crown and sceptre if he does not appear and answer this instant I will have his head cut off!'

'Pardon me, my dear sir,' said Yellow-cap, 'if I say that the Chancellor would probably have given his judgment before now, if you had not yourself put difficulties in the way of his doing so. You are at this moment sitting upon the man's face, and it would therefore be impossible if not disrespectful for him to say anything until your Majesty has arisen. If you will let me pull you up he will be ready to obey your commands--unless,' he added aside to Silvia, 'he is actually crushed to death.'

'No fear of that,' Silvia replied cheerfully. 'The face of a real Chancellor of the Jingle is the most impenetrable thing about him; and I have no doubt that he is smiling at this very minute.'

And in fact hardly had the King raised himself erect than the Chancellor jumped to his feet, with a most charming smile; and having bowed to the King, to Yellow-cap, and to the audience, he spoke thus:--

'In the drawing of lots his Transparent Majesty King Ormund has been successful; and therefore his Royal Highness Prince Yellow-cap has won the wager.'

'Capital--capital!' exclaimed the King, rubbing his hands and stamping about the stage gleefully. 'But you,' he added, turning to the Chancellor of the Jingle, 'must, of course, have your head cut off just the same.'

At this a couple of halberdiers approached and laid their hands on the culprit's shoulders.

Yellow-cap had at first thought that to lose his head would serve the Chancellor only right; but, as he was averse to bloodshed, and as his own affairs seemed to be going on so prosperously, he resolved to be merciful.

'Allow me a word,' he said. 'Since I have won the wager I thereby succeed to King Ormund's throne and sceptre, and by virtue of the power in me vested I do hereby extend to the Chancellor my royal clemency. Loose him, halberdiers, on your allegiance!'

The halberdiers hesitated; and King Ormund, stroking his beard meditatively, said, 'I'm not sure about this. You haven't been crowned yet, you know.'

'At all events I am as much king as anybody here,' Yellow-cap replied firmly. 'And meanwhile I advise anybody who cares to keep his head on his shoulders to obey my commands.'

'I'll tell you what we might do,' exclaimed the King brightly: 'we might draw lots----'

'No; I refuse to leave affairs of State to chance. But, in order to oblige you in every way I can, I will appoint the Chancellor of the Jingle referee. He shall decide whether or not his head is to be cut off; and I promise to abide by his decision.'

'Hum!' said the King. 'Ha! well, that certainly does seem fair. Besides, one must have some consideration for the poor donkey. I agree, then. Now, Mr. Chancellor, what is your decision?'

'My head stays where it is, please your Majesty,' replied the Chancellor promptly.

'It's astonishing what a run of luck you are having!' exclaimed the King, turning to Yellow-cap, with a sigh of admiration. 'Pray, are you as fortunate in love as you seem to be in everything else?'

At this question there rose in Yellow-cap's mind the picture of a little square room, with bright walls and clean sanded floor; a churn in one corner, and a brightly polished tin pan upon the dresser in place of a looking-glass. In this room stood a lovely young girl, with tears in her eyes, but a smile dimpling her rosy cheeks. She was looking up with a loving glance at a young man, who was fastening round her neck, by a bit of ribbon, the half of a spade guinea. Yellow-cap passed his hand over his eyes: the picture had vanished.

'What are you dreaming about?' said the voice of Silvia in his ear. 'The half of a brass farthing is just as good, if you will only think so. And you have not yet answered his Majesty's question.'

'Ah! I beg pardon,' muttered Yellow-cap. 'I--what did you say? I--yes--that is--no! No, I am not so fortunate in love as I seem to be in other things. Ah me! Rosamund!'

'Well, well,' said the King, with a particularly arch look, 'I dare say we shall be able to do you a good turn in that way too.'

'Is this the place where kings are crowned?' demanded Yellow-cap.

'Certainly; where else could it be?' returned the King.

'Then I will be crowned this moment,' said Yellow-cap in the commanding tone which he had found it best to use towards these London people. 'Is there an Archbishop present? And let somebody fetch a throne!'

'Here is the throne, please your Worship,' said the half-witted youth, leading forward the donkey.

'And here is the Archbishop, at your service,' said one of the persons in the white dominoes, making a bow.

'That won't do,' said Yellow-cap sharply. 'You are the Prime Maniac--only you have shaved your moustachios.'

'That makes all the difference, please your Highness,' replied the other humbly.

'And now I look at you again,' continued Yellow-cap, 'I think I remember you before you were a Prime Maniac. I remember you when you were only three feet high.'

'It is all the same,' answered the other again. 'I rise to the occasion.'

'Well, it makes no difference, I suppose,' said Yellow-cap, after a pause, bestriding the donkey's back. 'Now for the crown!'

King Ormund took the crown from his brow and handed it to the Archbishop, who put it on Yellow-cap's head, over the yellow cap. Then all the courtiers round about murmured their congratulations, the audience that filled the theatre shouted 'Hooray!' and 'Encore!' the ex-King clapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Bless you, my boy!' and Silvia whispered in his ear, 'Now you are King!'

'Long live King Yellow-cap!' roared everybody.

'How do you like it?' asked Ormund pleasantly.

'I feel about as I did before,' replied the new King, in a slightly disappointed tone. 'How much does this crown weigh? Haven't you a lighter one?'

'No; and you won't find that one grow any lighter,' said Ormund, with a chuckle. 'But if you don't feel any difference I do! I am ten years younger already. I am positively light-headed.'

'Well, at all events I am a King!' said Yellow-cap.

'And now,' observed Ormund, rubbing his hands and glancing at Silvia, 'since the coronation is over, what do you say to our having the wedding?'

'Yes--yes; the wedding!' echoed all the courtiers.

Silvia arranged the ribbon at her throat, looked coquettishly at King Yellow-cap, and murmured in his ear--

'What says your Majesty? There is no time like the present.'

'Wedding!' repeated King Yellow-cap, turning from one to another. 'Whose wedding?'

'Whose but your own, gracious liege!' replied the courtiers.

'My own! Nonsense! Whom should I marry?'

'Whom but Silvia, most puissant prince?' said the courtiers again.

'Silvia? Why, she is barmaid at the inn! And besides, she is engaged to marry somebody else.'

'Ah, you mean the Prince of Sprats,' remarked the ex-King. 'But that match is broken off. Since you are on the throne he is in opposition, and can only be considered a pretender; but Silvia is a princess of the blood, cousin-german of the dynasty, and Columbine into the bargain; so she can marry nobody but you.'

'That fellow who owns the donkey the Prince of Sprats?' cried Yellow-cap. 'He the son of King Ormund?'

'Prince Assimund--yes. I spoke to you of him yesterday. A little queer in the head, you know, but that is only a sign of his royalty.'

'All this may be so,' replied Yellow-cap, stroking his chin; 'but as to my marrying Silvia--that seems rather sudden.'

'Not more sudden than agreeable, if I were in your place,' observed the ex-King, with a twinkle in his eye which made the pit laugh.

'Besides,' continued Yellow-cap, 'I have an indistinct notion that once--somewhere--I loved--but, no! What with the cap and crown together I can remember nothing. And perhaps Silvia may be she, after all; she looks something like her; but yet----'

'If your Majesty will let me hang this half of a brass farthing round your neck,' interrupted Silvia, 'you will have no more doubts about the matter.' And as she spoke she held the farthing towards him, with a mischievous smile.

'But don't you care at all for Assimund?' he asked her.

'The interests of the State are supreme,' returned Silvia with a grand air.

'Well, if I must, I must,' said King Yellow-cap rather ungraciously. 'But I thought the Kings of England could do what they pleased.'

'Oh, dear, no,' exclaimed the Archbishop, 'Magna Charta forbid!'

'Then I wish----' began Yellow-cap.

But he paused. What had he left to wish? He stretched out his hand to take the half of the brass farthing.

At that moment there was a great noise and confusion at the back of the stage, and half the audience sprang to their feet, supposing that the theatre had caught fire. But out of the confusion was dragged forward a sort of cart, in which a number of persons were seated, with veils over their faces, and their hands tied behind their backs. Yellow-cap saw that one of these persons was a woman.

CHAPTER XI.

THE GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE.

'What is that? What people are those in the cart?' demanded Yellow-cap, rising in his stirrups to get a better view.

'Please your Majesty they are prisoners of State,' said the Home Doggerel, who had turned rather pale. 'It is quite a mistake their coming here; they should have been taken to another theatre. However, since they are here your Majesty cannot do better than sign their death-warrant. I have a pen and ink here; or, if your Majesty happens not to know how to sign your name, I can----'

'Hold your tongue,' interrupted Yellow-cap sharply. He was looking very hard at the veiled figure of the woman. After a pause he said--

'Before signing my name (which I am perfectly able to do) to the death-warrant I will know what crime these persons have committed. Tell them to come nearer, that I may question them.'

'Sire,' exclaimed the Home Doggerel, in evident dismay, 'the law of England does not permit an accused person to be questioned.'

'Why not?'

'Because it might lead to a discovery.'

'What discovery?'

'The discovery of the truth, Sire; and where would you and all of us be then?'

At this a man in the pit began to hiss, and the police tried to take him into custody; but they could not find out his address, and therefore let him alone.

'Where would we be indeed!' murmured King Yellow-cap thoughtfully. 'Nevertheless,' he continued, again fixing his eyes upon the veiled woman, 'I am resolved to question these people; and this pantomime shall not go on until I have done so.'

'I humbly beg your Majesty to think what you are about,' said the Lord Privy Gander in an agitated tone; 'you are in danger not only of hearing the truth but of violating etiquette.'

'It might bring about a reform,' added the First Lord of the Seesaw, with a shudder.

'At all events let the woman be condemned unheard,' said Silvia. 'She looks dangerous, and may intend to do your Majesty some harm.'

'Be silent, everyone!' thundered King Yellow-cap at the top of his voice. 'I say I will hear these persons, and I will hear the woman first. Stop--where is the Headsman?'

'Here I be, your Majesty, quite at your service,' said the Headsman, shouldering through the crowd, and saluting the young King with his axe. He was an immensely strong man, seven feet high, with short red hair standing up over his head, and a butcher's apron tied on in front of him.

'Headsman,' said the King, 'if anyone stirs or says a word except by my leave, off with his head! Do you understand?'

For answer the Headsman tossed his terrible axe high up in the air, caught it lightly as it came down, and then, swinging it round his head, he cut off the tall feather that was fastened in the cap of the Chancellor of the Jingle. An inch more would have buried the blade in his skull.

'Very good,' said King Yellow-cap; 'I see you know your business. Now, then, bring me hither that cart. Let the woman come down.'

Amidst a total silence, during which the Headsman was seen to feel the edge of his axe with his thumb--keeping his right eye upon King Yellow-cap the while, and the left upon the Home Doggerel--the veiled woman got down from the cart and came forward to the donkey which served the King as a throne. Here she dropped a curtsey.

King Yellow-cap gazed steadfastly upon her for several moments. The black veil still hung before her face, but round her neck was visible a bit of pink ribbon.

'Who are you?' he asked at last.

'I am a village maiden, Sire,' she answered in a voice so sweet and clear that it was heard all over the theatre.

'Of what crime are you accused?'

'Of high treason, Sire.'

'In what way did you commit it?'

At this question the Home Doggerel and the other members of the Cabinet made a movement as if they wished to step behind the scenes; but King Yellow-cap noticed it, and in an awful voice he cried out--

'Headsman!'

'Ready, your Majesty,' said that officer, poising his axe to strike.

'One step more,' said the King, turning to the six courtiers, 'and your heads fly into the pit. Keep your axe poised,' he added to the Headsman.

'Right you are, young man!' said the person in the pit whom the police had tried to arrest for hissing. 'Right you are, Master Yellow-cap; you're just about the sort of king I goes in for, and so I tells you.'

'And now go on with your story,' said the King to the veiled woman.

'May it please your Majesty,' she replied, 'the way it happened was this. As I was taking the butter out of my churn yesterday afternoon there came into my dairy-room an ugly little long-armed man, with a hook nose and a great pair of moustachios. I asked him what he wanted, and he said that he wanted me, and that I had promised to marry him.'

'Ha!' said King Yellow-cap. 'And what did you say to that?'

'I was very indignant, Sire,' said the maiden, 'because I had that very day promised to wed a young man of our own village, whom I had known and loved for many years. But this ugly dwarf said, "You belong to me; and to prove it, here is the other half of the spade guinea that is hanging round your neck!" Now, Sire, when I parted with the young man whom I love he had cut his spade guinea in two, and each of us had kept half, for a sign by which, as he said, we might know each other when we met, no matter what changes had come over us in the meantime. So, when I saw the token in this dwarf's hand, I feared my lover was dead, because I knew that no enchantment could make him look like the dwarf, and I could not believe that he would have given up his half of our spade guinea while he had life enough left to guard it.'

'Might your lover not have given it up for something that seemed to him more precious?' asked the young King in a tremulous voice.

'No,' said the maiden firmly, 'for he loved me, and nothing in this world is so precious as love.'

'Go on with your story,' said the King.

'There is little more to tell, please your Majesty. I told the dwarf to be gone; but he threw his arms round me and tried to carry me away. Then I screamed out, and all the young men in the village ran up, and there was a great fight. Then the dwarf said that he was the Lord High Sheepstealer of England, and that he arrested us all for high treason. So he bound us and tied veils over our faces, and brought us prisoners to London; and this morning we were carried hither in this cart.'

'And what do you wish me to do for you?' asked the King.

'I do not much care what becomes of me, Sire,' replied the maiden, 'for I fear my lover is dead, and if he is, then all the love I had for the world is dead with him. But if your Majesty would find out whether he still lives and loves me I will thank you more than for my life, and I will be content to die.'

'You shall have your wish,' said the King, 'though I fear your lover is not worthy of you. But first your eyes shall be unveiled, and you shall tell me whether, amidst this assembly, you can find the man who called himself the Lord High Sheepstealer of England.'

And now a wonderful thing happened.

When the six courtiers, in their white dominoes, heard the command of the King that the maiden's eyes should be unveiled they all got behind one another, and cowered down, shaking in their shoes. And when the maiden's glance rested on them they cowered down still more, as if they were trying to hide their heads in their necks and their necks in their shoulders. Still they shrivelled and shrunk, until they no longer appeared like six tall courtiers, but like half a dozen ugly little dwarfs, barely three feet high. And when they saw how small they had become they uttered a cry of terror, and seemed to rush into one another's arms. And with that--though how it came about would be impossible to say--there stood only a single dwarf, a great deal stouter and uglier than the six, but with precisely the same cast of features and general appearance.

'That is the creature that called itself the Lord High Sheepstealer of England,' said the maiden.

'What have you to say for yourself, sirrah?' said the King sternly.

'Mercy! spare my life!' cried the dwarf, falling on his knees. 'And bethink yourself that we are brothers, and that in destroying me you would unmake yourself.'

'That is the very thing that decides me to show you no mercy,' answered King Yellow-cap. 'I am sick of all this stage-play.'

'Have a care what you do, Sire,' said Silvia, with a frown on her face, which looked much older and less pretty than it had done hitherto. 'He is your brother, and you are bound to him by the vows of the Order.'

'I shall know how to break those bonds,' Yellow-cap replied. 'In the first place, let my guards loose all the prisoners who are in the cart and let them go free.'

When this had been done he turned to the village maiden.

'Get up behind me on the donkey,' he said, 'and put your arms round my waist.'

The maiden obeyed, the donkey standing quite still, and not so much as moving the end of its tail.

'Now let Assimund, Prince of Sprats, approach,' said the King.

'People of England,' he then continued, facing the audience, 'I have been King over you for half an hour, and I have had enough of it. But, before abdicating, I will place the crown on brows worthier to wear it than mine. Behold Prince Assimund, no longer a pretender, but to be hereafter your absolute and legitimate monarch. And behold Silvia, his fitting queen and consort, whose hand I place in his.' He suited the action to the word, and then, removing the crown, he set it upon Assimund's head.

But the audience murmured, and seemed dissatisfied; and Silvia smiled maliciously; and even the dwarf, over whom the Headsman was standing with uplifted axe, showed his teeth in an ugly grin.

'Silence!' shouted Yellow-cap. 'I have not yet done. Headsman--strike!'

Down came the heavy axe; and everyone thought that the dwarf must be cloven asunder from head to foot. But before the axe could reach him there was no dwarf there. Whether he melted into nothing, or whether he disappeared down one of those trap-doors which are to be found in every stage, or what else became of him, will probably never be known. At all events the blade of the axe came down upon the bare boards and buried itself six inches deep in the wood, and no dwarf was there, but only the glittering half of a spade guinea, strung on a broken thread of silk. This the Headsman placed in Yellow-cap's hand, and he hid it in his bosom.

'He lives still!' said Silvia, smiling again.

'But he will never again cross my path,' replied Yellow-cap. 'King Assimund,' he added, 'accept my parting gift before I go. With this and with your crown, and with Silvia to whisper worldly wisdom in your ear, it will be your own fault if you are not the mightiest sovereign in Christendom.'

So saying he snatched off the yellow cap from his own black locks and clapped it down upon Assimund's foolish poll. At the same moment he felt the arms of the village maiden tighten round his waist.

He struck his heels into the donkey's sides and shook the rein. The donkey kicked up its heels, and seemed to spring bodily off the stage. Yellow-cap (but he was now Yellow-cap no longer) had a momentary glimpse of Assimund, now wearing an aspect of imperial magnificence, of Silvia, frowning and biting her lip, and of the whole great audience standing up and shouting; and then he had a feeling of passing rapidly through the air he knew not whither....

He came down very softly.

It was high noon. They were in the meadow beside the river. The donkey was feeding quietly near at hand; Raymond had fallen on his knees in the grass, and Rosamund was standing before him.

'Oh, Rosamund,' he said, 'you are my kingdom! Will you take me back?'

'You have been a very naughty boy,' she replied, 'and you deserve a scolding. But come home first and have some milk, for you must be hungry.'

Raymond looked up at her. She was more lovely than ever. There was a sparkle of laughter in her eyes and a beautiful blush in her cheeks. Beyond her rose the thatched roofs of Honeymead, overshadowed by the great lime-trees; the birds were singing, and the sky was blue.

'Come--do get up!' exclaimed Rosamund. 'Now that you belong to me you must give up these mooning dreamy ways of yours and behave sensibly. Come--make haste! Armand, and Dorimund, and all the rest of them have been invited, and our betrothal is to be formally announced.'

'How strange all this sounds!' said Raymond, getting to his feet in a bewildered way. 'You almost make me think that I have been----'

Before he could finish his sentence the donkey lifted its head and tail in the air and sent forth a long-drawn reproachful bray.

'Ah! no, it was real--I have not been dreaming,' Raymond said. 'If it had not been for that donkey where should we be now?'

'How stupid you are to-day--muttering to yourself like that!' cried Rosamund, briskly. 'Anyone would think you had a headache.'

'And so I had--a very bad one,' said Raymond.

Rosamund became tender immediately.

'Oh, my poor love!' murmured she. 'And what a horrid red mark that is round your forehead, as if you had been wearing a cap that was too tight for you. Stoop down a little--let me kiss it. There, does that feel better?'

'A great deal better,' Raymond answered, with a long sigh.

So they went back, hand in hand, through the meadow. The breeze came fresh and sweet upon their faces; they smelt the fragrance of the breath of cows. As they approached their home they walked more and more slowly. Rosamund was humming a little song to herself; she was as happy as a bird.

But Raymond was silent, and pondered many things.

[The end]
Julian Hawthorne's short story: Yellow-Cap

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