Part 4

A young mother lay in her white bed, and close in her arms nestled the little soul whose life journey was just beginning. It was twilight time, and the mother lay half asleep, half awake, close on the confines of that border land.

The rain beating on the window, the fire purring in the grate, played a soft accompaniment to her thoughts.

“What will my little baby’s life be,—happy or sad?” questioned the mother. “Oh, dear All-Father, if I might know!” thus she prayed. And while she asked and wondered, a soft rustle by her bedside caused her to glance up. Above her and the sleeping baby leaned a tall bright angel, in garments soft and white like snow, with folded wings like the petals of some great white lily. “What is it,” wondered the mother; and a soft voice answered: “I am your baby’s angel. Your prayer has been heard. Look.” And the mother, following the angel’s glance, saw at the foot of the bed three gray shapes, three mysterious woman forms. There they sat, solemnly regarding the little one. In the hands of one was what the mother knew to be a distaff; from it, a fine thread passed to the baby’s hand. “Ah, that is why you clasp your hands so tightly, my darling, lest you lose the thread,” said the mother.

The next sister held a pair of shears in her hand; her eyes were sad and downcast. The last one had empty hands, but she spoke with authority, and she said: “Sisters, this new soul is bound for the city on the heights of Peace. How shall she reach it?”

Then spoke the one with the distaff: “Ah, sister, she is little and weak. She is a woman child. May she not go by the way that leads through the valley, where there is pleasant shade, and the birds sing all day long?”

The eldest answered: “Who that takes that route reaches the city? Do they not wander away into the defiles of the mountains, and the heights are lost to them? Nay, sisters, she shall go by the way of tears till she come to the wayside cross.”

Then the pitying one raised the shears to cut the tiny thread of life, but the other stayed her hand. “Let me read to you her destiny,” she said.

The angel bent low over the mother and child. “Be strong, be courageous,” he whispered; and the mother’s fears were stilled.

Then spoke the Fate: “This soul shall early be acquainted with sorrow; and the angel of pain shall walk hand in hand with her. But close beside shall walk the angel of patience. Her little feet shall be pierced with thorns and bruised with cruel rocks. But beside the stony path sweet flowers will bloom. She will hear the lark sing up in the blue, and at every turn in the path she will look backward and see that she is climbing higher. Sometimes, to strengthen her, shall be given her glimpses of the wonderful city. And always her guardian angel shall be with her to minister to her.

“As the years go by, she will not journey alone. She will be happy, for love will lighten the way. Then suddenly shall she come to the wayside cross. There a great horror of darkness shall settle over her, her strength shall be taken from her, and she shall lie with her face in the dust.

“But at the cross, the clouds will separate, the mists roll away, and she will find her journey almost accomplished. For behold, from it a wonderful stairway of pearl and gold leads up into the heart of the city; and her loved ones will hasten to greet her, and stretch out their hands to help her on her way. She will have gained the heights of Peace, and will be an inhabitant of that wonderful country, a citizen of the golden city.”

Then the mother, weeping tears of sorrow and of joy, was satisfied, and the tiny baby stirred in its sleep, and nestled closer to her heart.

VIII. IN QUEST OF THE DARK.

Little Gene, up at the castle, was missing. The night had come on, and the woods that inclosed the cliff on which the castle stood, and that swept down the valley and up the opposite heights, were hushed and still, or sighing dolefully in the summer wind. The servants were out with torches, calling, and running in every direction. Some one suggested letting out the dogs; but that, the lady would not allow. She would not have the child torn to pieces by the great wolf-hounds, she said. She sat in her room and wrung her hands in despair. For the twentieth time she questioned the weeping nurse, who grew more frightened and confused with each question.

“Most noble lady, I saw him last in the courtyard. He called to me and said: ‘Nursie, I will run away out into the deep wood;’ and I answered that the Dark would catch him if he did, and then he could never get home again; and he said: ‘I am not afraid of the Dark. I will find him, and tell him so; and I like the Dark.’ And then—I brought him into the play-room, and I—”

“Stop right there!” cried the mother. “You did not bring him in. You intended to do so; but in talking with the men-at-arms and other idlers, you forgot my son; and now, he is either in the grasp of that robber chief Montfort, or the wolves have found him.”

Here the mother’s and the nurse’s outcries blended; and if the nurse’s shrieks were loudest, there may have been cause; for a noble dame’s white hand could strike heavily, in those days.

The whole night through, the mother and the nurse mingled their tears for their darling, while the search went on. The men-at-arms and servants loved the boy, not only that he was the son of their lord but for his own quaint ways and bonny face.

Early in the morning the seekers came straggling in, tired and hungry; no trace had been found of the child. All feared to tell their lady of their fruitless quest. She had not ceased, all night, to walk the floor, weeping, and asking herself how she would dare tell her husband that their boy was gone. The nurse crouched by the door, trembling, and in sore distress; while the seekers asked of each other who was to tell their mistress. While they lingered, a shout from the valley caused all to hasten to the castle wall. A horse and rider came rapidly toward them from under the trees; clasped in the rider’s arms was little Gene; his yellow curls glistened against the man’s black armor.

Placing the child on the ground, the stranger bowed low to the lady, turned his horse, and disappeared into the forest. The mother scarcely saw him; her eyes were on her boy. She reached out her arms to him.

“Gene, little Gene, my dearest, come.” The little fellow kissed his hand and waved it to her. Soon he was in her arms; and she held him close, while she questioned him.

“Where have you been, Gene, and who was yon dark man who brought you home?”

“That was the Dark, mamma. Nurse does always tell me that the Dark will catch me; and when I say that I do not fear, she threatens to send me to him. I asked her where he lived, and she said, ‘In the day-time, in the great vaults under the castle;’ and I asked her where he lived at night, and she said, ‘In the deep woods.’ So I said I would find him, and tell him I did not fear him.”

“Did you think to frighten his father’s son with such baby lore?” asked the lady of the nurse, scornfully.

“But continue, my son; tell me, how went you out from the castle?”

“There is a little door through which—but dear mamma, I cannot tell you what is known only to the men-at-arms.”

The lady glanced round darkly. “This castle needeth its master sorely,” she said. The men drew back abashed. The boy continued,—

“When I came out into the woods, I left the path that leads away—away,”—he spread out his dimpled arms and looked far off,—“I know not whither it goes, but I left it, and sought the deep wood. The shadows are heavy there, and it is very still. While I stood under a tree, uncertain which way to go, suddenly down toward me, through the trees, came the Dark.”

“Holy Mary! it was some robber,” exclaimed the mother.

“No, mamma, I tell you, it was the Dark. He was very black; his armor was black, and so were his beard and his eyes. He looked at me as though he wanted to eat me. But I said, ‘Are you the Dark? I come to find you and to tell you that I do not fear you.’ And then I looked at him, and he laughed, and I said, ‘I think I am going to like you;’ and he said, ‘Who are you? Have you strayed from Fairyland?’

“So I told him who I was, and he frowned and said, ‘Careless woman, to guard such a treasure so slackly.’ Who did he mean, mamma?”

The lady’s face flushed. “Continue, my son; did he harm you?”

“Oh, mamma, no. He found me some berries and a drink from a spring; and then he showed me how, at his coming, the little birds went to sleep in the trees, and the deer beneath them. And he showed me the stars, coming out in the deep sky. And when I grew sleepy, he held me in his arms, and sang of the white moths, and the glowworms; and the bird that sings at night sang with him; and then I went to sleep. But when morning came he found a great black horse, which was his; and so he brought me home, and made me promise never to seek for him again. I did not want to promise, only his eyes looked so that I feared him; so I promised; and he gave me this keepsake, for my mamma.”

Here little Gene drew forth from his sleeve a piece of parchment, which he handed to his mother.

The lady was obliged to call to her aid the priest, who read slowly:—

“Thou careless woman, guard this treasure more securely, lest he fall a second time into the hands of Montfort.”

“Holy St. Denis! it was that fierce robber,” said the lady.

IX. THE KING WILL HUNT TO-DAY.

This story was told by an Indian mother to her children, while the wind whirled and twisted the snow into great heaps against the walls of the tepee.

“This that I will tell you happened many years ago, before the white man was here, and when the red man owned all the vast prairies and deep woods, the great lakes and broad rivers of this land. The red man ruled over every living animal, save the great bear, who dwelt in the dim vastness of the forest, and the gaunt wolves, who submitted to the rule of a king, strong and terrible.

“One winter the frost came early; the rivers were frozen solid; the snow covered the nuts under the trees and the roots that were eatable. The animals sought their dens and burrows, and the earth slept the death-sleep. All living things suffered, the red men most of all; there was fasting and sorrow in all the tepees—in all save one, where lived the Wolf-Maiden and her mother. Their tepee was warm and bright—warm with the furs of animals, bright with the light of great dry logs blazing on the fire. The daughter was plump and rosy, for she had plenty of food; but the mother was thin and pale, and sat all day with her face hidden on her knees, in the corner of the tepee. Every night the daughter called the mother to come with her; and the mother followed, trembling, not daring to disobey. Those who watched them saw them disappear in the starlight, across the wide, snow-covered prairie, taking the direction of the ravine, where were the dens of the Wolf-King and his old wolf-mother. They would return heavily laden with meat and furs; and frequently the mother bent under a great load of logs. Often when the children of the village, hollow-eyed and pale, would come near the tepee, scenting the fragrance of the broiling meat, the maiden would snatch from the fire a portion and offer it to the little ones; but it was rejected with horror; for the mothers had told the children that the meat was bewitched, and if they ate of it they would be turned into wolves.

“The Wolf-Maiden was looked upon with fear; for it was said that in the long summer evenings she had been seen playing and romping with the old mother-wolf and the young Wolf-King; while her Indian mother, from a distant hill, watched her, and wrung her hands for fear. So all the girls of the tribe shunned her, and the young men feared her greatly.

“Now the winter waxed colder and fiercer, and cruel hunger dwelt in each tepee. Many little ones died, for there was no food for them; and there was mourning in the village. The Wolf-Maiden’s heart was filled with pity; she went to the mothers and offered them meat for the children. When they drew back she said, ‘Is it not better to give this to the children than to see them die? Do not I eat it, and am I a wolf?’

“Then her face grew red as the sky when the sun bids it good night. The mothers finally accepted the meat, although with many a smothered curse for the giver. The children grew strong and rosy again; and the parents watched them anxiously, to see if claws or fur would appear on them.

“But the Wolf-King and his subjects grew weary with the toil of supplying so many with food; and in sulky silence they retired to their dens and slept the time away. Then, when the Wolf-Maiden had gone to his den, and had called the king to come to her without avail, she sought the old mother-wolf, and she said, ‘Oh, mother, dost thou not care that thy child lacks food? and see, my lazy brother will not hunt for me.’

“And the wolf-mother said, ‘Daughter, I know well that it is not for thyself thou demandest food, but for the helpless beings among whom thou dost dwell. What is it to me that they starve? Have they not taken thee from me, and dost thou not blush when thou rememberest that thou wast once a wolf?’

“‘Not so,’ answered the maid; ‘I blush rather for the cruel heart that a wolf-skin can cover. Give me now my wolf-skin robe: I will find food for those helpless little ones.’

“Then hastily snatching the robe she flung it over her shoulders, and she was changed into a wolf, and, speeding away across the snow, she was quickly lost to view in the distance. Then the old wolf-mother sprang to the door of her cave and sent a cry of alarm and anguish up the valley. It entered the door of the Wolf-King’s den, and awoke the sleeping monarch. He ran with great leaps down the valley to his mother’s home. She quickly told him her story, and bemoaned her own and her son’s selfishness.

“‘Thy sister will die, will die! And I, her mother, have sent her to her death. She is all unused to the hunt, she will perish alone in the bitter cold! Follow her! Bring her back!’

“Then the king ran swiftly down the valley, giving the hunting call as he ran; and all the wolves of the pack awoke and called to each other: ‘The king will hunt to-day!’ And there was a gathering and mustering of the strong ones of the tribe. And the king said, ‘Come, follow, follow quickly, we are on the track of a wolf. I warn ye all, let no one harm the stranger should we meet with it; for it is my royal sister, returned to us once more!’

“Now the Wolf-Maiden ran long and far over the dim snow-covered plain, but found nothing; for she was unused to the hunt, and knew not how to track or to follow. Presently she drew near the great black forest, wherein dwelt the Bear-King. But this she did not heed, for just on the edge of the forest an antelope started up from the long, high grass and brush, and sprang away among the great trees. The Wolf-Maiden followed closely on its trail. She did not see the wicked eyes, cruel claws, or gleaming teeth above her. Just as she sprang on the antelope, a blow from the great bear’s paw struck her down. She sprang to her feet, all the royal blood in her body aroused by the blow; but who could strive against that terrible arm? Suddenly through the forest rang the royal hunting call of the Wolf-King, and the great bear turned to face as cruel a fate as he had planned for the Wolf-Maiden. Then came the combat: terrible blows were given and taken, growls and snarls of rage, the wild joy and glow of the battle. The Wolf-Maiden, forgetting all but her wolf nature, joined in the struggle, and helped to drag the monster to the ground.

“When the battle was over and the bear was dead, the pack withdrew to a respectful distance, and formed a circle around the dead bear and antelope. They watched the Wolf-King and his sister divide the spoil; a large portion for the helpless children, a smaller portion for their mother and themselves. And when they were served, the wolves closed in around the carcasses and left scarcely the bones.

“The Wolf-Maiden returned no more to the Indian village; retaining her wolf form, she abode with her own mother. But all through the cold of the terrible winter, the wolves brought down the game, and supplied the wants of the children; and when the winter was gone, and the birds sang on the ridgepoles of the tepees, the Wolf-King, his mother, sister, and tribe removed far to the north land. Ever after, the wolf was venerated in the tribe and was chosen as their totem.”

X. HE WAS A PRINCE.

The rain had poured down steadily all day. Max was tired and depressed, for a slight cold made going out into the rain impossible. All the books had been read and re-read. There was no one to amuse him but Candace, the nurse, a mulatto woman of dignified and solemn mien, who always reminded him of Thorwaldsen’s “Africa,” for her large eyes had a far-away look, “As if she were remembering things,” Max said.

She was kind, but seldom talked to him; and as Max had no mother to tell his thoughts to, they would sit for an hour at a time, dreaming their own dreams, neither speaking to the other.

As the afternoon wore on, Max grew more and more restless and his sighs more frequent. Nurse Candace glanced up from her sewing, but said nothing.

Just then the great white cat, “Necho” by name, rose up from his dark red velvet cushion, yawned wearily, stretched himself, and stepped with stately grace from the room.

“Why! he walks like a prince,” said Max.

“He is a prince at night,” said Candace.

“Is he? How do you know?” eagerly asked Max.

“If I tell you, you must not let him suspect, even by your actions, that you know,” said Candace, “or my punishment—” Here she broke off.

“I promise,” said Max.

“Well, it is as I tell you. All day long while the daylight lasts with us he is under a spell. Once, in the olden days, his father, the king of Egypt, caused to be put to death a great magician; but before his death the magician laid a spell upon the great king’s only son, Prince Necho; and this was it. When night came the prince and one attendant were to depart to the westward, far over the unknown sea; and when they came to the land of strangers, the prince must take the form of some animal.

“When the queen heard this she was filled with despair, and implored the great cat-headed goddess, Pacht, to have mercy on her son; but all the comfort the goddess promised her was, that the spell upon the prince should last only from darkness to daylight; that he might take the form of the animal sacred to the goddess, the cat; because of his pure and blameless life he should be a white cat; that while he was under the spell he should have a kind and loving master, and his faithful attendant should be with him.

“Now, when night is settling down over us, and the sun-god is rising over Egypt, great Prince Necho returns to his own. Not to the present Egypt, with its lonely ruins and its race of slaves, but to a great and glorious realm; for the curtain that hides the past is lifted.”

“And do you go with him? Are you a great princess in Egypt? Oh, may I not go too? Please, please, Candace, let me.”

“Peace! child of the stranger,” said Candace sternly. “Is it not enough that I am revealing the prince’s life to you?”

Then presently she added in a kinder tone: “Now at night, when Necho goes to the door and asks to have it opened, you unfasten it for him and watch him as he walks leisurely to the steps of the porch. But what you do not see is a great ocean, whose waves lap the steps; and on its waves rises and falls a galley of gold and precious wood, with silken sails. This awaits the prince.

“He steps on board and is received with joy by kneeling subjects. The white fur robe he wears here is thrown gladly aside, and the prince sinks to rest, lulled by beautiful music. Speedily he is borne to the mouth of the Nile, where thousands of boats await his coming. Softly he is wafted up the river to the great city, where in their palace by the water wait the king and queen. The father advances with joy to receive his son. The queen, with tears in her beautiful dark eyes, clasps him in her arms and kisses into forgetfulness the sad night of humiliation he has known. All the land rejoices as at the coming of the sun-god.

“Then begins the real life of Prince Necho. He is taught by the priests the sacred mysteries he must know as the great ruler of Egypt. He is taught also the art of ruling himself as well as his subjects. In all manner of noble feats of horsemanship, of chariot racing, of hunting and of war he is taught. And the hours are light with happiness and joy and love. And as the day nears its closing, the father and mother, sitting by him and clasping his hands, speak of their love and their sorrow, and of the time when by great gifts to the gods and to the poor, and by living noble lives, they may expiate the crime of the magician’s death (beloved of Osiris) and so remove the spell from their beloved one.

“Now as the sun sinks in the desert sands, behold there is mourning in all the land of Egypt. And the queen, prostrate on the steps of the altar sacred to Pacht, implores her protection for her darling; while the king and the prince, kneeling in the great temple of Osiris, offer oblations to the offended god. As the twilight deepens, sadly the prince returns to his galley, and sinking into troubled dreams, is borne to this land of strangers. And here the waiting attendant wraps the white robe of fur around him; and he awakes to find the spell not yet removed.

“But the one bright spot in his dark prison life is the love he bears the son of the stranger.”

While Nurse Candace, in a low monotone, repeated her wondrous story, the night outside the windows darkened, and Necho, coming into the room, came up to Max and rubbed his head gently against his knee, then walking to the hall door he asked for it to be opened.

As Max stood in the open door and watched the enchanted prince go down the steps, he fancied he saw, through the rain, the sheen of the silken sails and the gleam of gold on the galley’s prow, and was sure he heard the hymn of welcome. Returning to the room, he saw Nurse Candace sitting with bowed head and sad eyes.

“The attendant does not go with the prince to Egypt,” said Max.

“The attendant awaits here the prince’s sad returning,” she answered.

“But the days will not seem long to the prince; he sleeps the time away,” he said.

“What better can he do,” answered Candace, “than to make of this life a sleep and a forgetting, or to wander in dreams in Egypt?”

Long did Max sit and ponder over this strange story. “Can it be true, I wonder?” he thought. “It cannot be; it is too wonderful. And yet, Candace is so strange. And Necho often reminds me of the sphinx. Well, I will believe it if to-morrow morning I find a lotus blossom on my pillow.”

And so, going to bed, he dreamed of following Necho over a sunlit sea to Egypt.

Strange to tell, in the morning a blue lotus blossom lay on his pillow when he awoke. And when Candace came to call him, she glanced at the flower and started.

“Where did it come from, Candace?” asked Max, although he was quite sure that he knew.

“From the market, of course,” answered Candace. “Uncle Moses” (the colored man of all work) “was there early, and no doubt brought it home with the marketing. He must have laid it on your pillow.”

But Max thought Necho could tell him about the flower, although he was careful not to ask him, or by his actions to reveal the secret that he knew that he was a prince.