Part 4

“Now he will see—now he will see—he must choose the good or the bad. Which will he choose?—which will he choose?”

Then the grey veil stirred, as if shaken by a gentle wind, and, blowing aside, disclosed what seemed to Tom to be a great sheet of ice of dazzling whiteness set up on end. As he looked, however, shadows began to appear on the milky surface which acted a kind of play and then vanished, and in the play he was always the central figure.

First he saw himself pick up the purse in the snowy street; then hide it in his bed. He saw his ragged shadow glide down-stairs from the garret to buy food; the shopman looking at him, then at the shilling; then a policeman arresting him and finding the purse hidden in the bed. Afterwards he saw himself in prison; then released, and prowling about the streets. Years seemed to pass as he looked, and his shadow became taller and stouter, but always wearing a ragged dress. After many years he seemed to see his shadow breaking into a house—meet the owner of the house, and kill him. Afterwards the shadow of himself stood in the dock; then crouched in prison; and, last of all, he appeared standing under a black gallows with a rope round his neck. At length all the shadows vanished, and the surface of the ice mirror again became stainless, whilst a voice whispered in his ear, “All this will happen if you steal the purse.”

Then the shadows again came on to the mirror and acted another play; but this time it was much more pleasant.

Tom saw his shadow representative take the purse back to the poet who had lost it. Then he saw himself in a school, learning all kinds of wonderful things; and the years rolled by, as they had done in the other play, unfolding the shadows of a beautiful life. He saw himself become a great and famous poet, who wrote beautiful books to make people wise and good. Then he saw himself in church, with a woman’s shadow by his

side, and he knew, in some mysterious way, that it was the daughter of the poet who had lost the purse. And as the happy years rolled on he saw himself rich and honourable, and the end of all was a magnificent funeral, taking his body to be buried in the great church wherein many famous men were laid. Then the shadows vanished, and the mirror became pure again, while over it the grey mists fell like a soft veil, and once more the voice of his shadow said,—

“All this will happen if you remain honest.”

Then the crowd of shadows around Tom looked at him with their mournful eyes, and a whispering question ran through the fantastic throng,—

“Which will he choose?—which will he choose?”

“I will choose the honest life,” cried Tom loudly. “Yes, I will give back the purse to the poet.”

At this the shadows around seemed to rejoice, and he could see beautiful faces smiling at him from amid the crowd. The shadow multitude broke in a wild dance of joy, keeping time to some aerial music which Tom could not hear; and his own shadow, with happiness shining out of its mournful eyes, threw its arms round him once more. A dark veil seemed to fall over him, and the great white plain, the glimmering mists, and the restless shadows, vanished together.

When Tom opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on the floor of his garret, cold and hungry still, but with his heart filled with a great joy, for the shilling was still clutched in his hand, and he knew he had not stolen the money. He took the purse from under the sacks, replaced the shilling, and then went out, in the bright sunshine of the Christmas morning, to give back the lost purse to its owner.

Overhead the bells rang out merrily, as if they were rejoicing at Tom’s victory over himself, and a beautiful lady, who was on her way to church, gave Tom some money to get food. He went and bought a loaf and a cup of coffee, then, thankful for his good fortune, he trudged off to the poet’s house.

The great poet received him very kindly, and, after thanking Tom for returning his purse, asked him why he had done so instead of keeping it? Whereupon Tom told the poet all about the shadow, which interested the poet very much. He also had been to Shadowland and seen strange things, which he told to the world in wonderful verse.

“This boy is a genius,” he said to his wife, “and I must help him.”

Then it all happened as the magic mirror had foretold, for Tom was put to school by the kind poet, and became a very clever man. He also wrote poems, which the world received with joy; and when he became a famous man, the kind poet gave him his own daughter in marriage, and the bells which had rang the birth of the child-Christ when Tom was a poor ragged boy, now rang out joyously in honour of his marriage.

“He has conquered,” they clashed out in the warm, balmy air; “he is the victor, and now he will be happy.”

And he was happy, very very happy, and felt deeply thankful to the shadow who had shown him the way to be happy. His own shadow never left him, but it never spoke to him again, though when Tom felt tempted to do wrong, he heard a whisper advising him to do right. Some people said that this was the voice of conscience, but Tom knew it was the voice of his dear shadow, who still watched over him.

And one day he took his wife to the garret where he had lived when a poor boy, and told her how he had been to Shadowland, and learned that to be honest and noble was the only true way to happiness. His wife laughed, and said Tom had been dreaming; but Tom shook his head, and said that it was no dream, but a great truth.

Now, who do you think was right—Tom or his wife?

THE WATER-WITCH

I.

FIRE AND WATER.

ONCE upon a time, long long years ago, there was a shepherd called Duldy, who dwelt in the forests which clothed the base of the great mountain of Kel. This mountain was in the centre of an immense plain, watered by many rivers, and dotted over with many cities, for the kingdom of Metella was a very rich place indeed, so rich that the inhabitants looked upon gold in the same way as we look upon tin or iron, as quite a common thing. The plain was very fertile by reason of the great rivers which flowed through it like silver threads, and all these rivers took their rise in the mountain of Kel, a mighty snow-clad peak which shot up, white and shining, to the blue sky from amidst the bright green of its encircling forests.

There were old stories handed down from father to son, which said that the mountain was once a volcano, which, breathing nothing but fire, sent great streams of red-hot lava down to the fertile plain, to wither and blight all the beautiful gardens and rich corn-fields. But the fires in the breast of the mountain had long since died out, and for many centuries the black, rugged summit had been covered with snow, while countless streams, caused by the melting of the glaciers, fell down its rocky sides, and, flowing through the cool, green pine forests, spread themselves over the thirsty plain, so that it bloomed like a beautiful garden.

Duldy lived in these scented pine forests, and was supposed to be the son of an old couple called Dull and Day, from whence by joining both names he got his own Duldy; but he was really a lost child whom old Father Dull had found, seventeen years before, on the banks of the Foam, one of the bright sparkling streams which flowed from the snowy heights above. Dull took the child home to his wife Day, who was overcome with joy, for she ardently desired to have a little boy of her own, but never had the happiness to become a mother. This good couple took great care of Duldy, and he grew up to be a handsome youth, with golden hair, like the tint of ripe corn, and blue eyes, the colour of the sky. Any one who saw Duldy would have said he was a prince, so noble and handsome did he look, but, alas! he was only a poor shepherd lad, for, in spite of all inquiries, Dull and Day never found out who were his parents.

Now, at eighteen years of age, Duldy was the bravest youth in the forest, for, while protecting his flock of sheep, as they browsed on the thin grass of the high lands, he had killed many wolves who would have carried off the lambs. All the forest maidens were in love with Duldy, for he looked noble and grand in his simple suit of green cloth; and, moreover, it was well known that Dull and Day would certainly leave their flock of sheep to their adopted son, so Duldy would one day be a rich man—that is, rich in the eyes of the simple country people around. But the handsome shepherd never troubled his head about the maidens who sighed so ardently at his feet, for the fact is, he had one day seen the beautiful Princess Elsa when she was hunting in the forest, and had fallen deeply in love with her.

She was really charming, the Princess Elsa, tall and stately, with dark hair and dark eyes; it was no wonder that Duldy loved her, but how hopeless was that love! She was the daughter of King Arago, who ruled over the kingdom of Metella, and he was a poor unknown shepherd lad. Still all these things happened in the days of the fairies, and when fairies take a fancy to any mortal, that mortal can gain anything, however lowly he may be, from the hand of a princess to the throne of a kingdom.

But did a fairy love Duldy? Ah, that is a difficult question to answer! He was not quite sure, and yet he was almost certain that he was loved by the Water-witch Foamina.

She was the fairy of the stream called Foam, whose sparkling waters fell from a great height in a white veil down to a deep pool surrounded by delicate green ferns. From this pool the stream gushed out between two great stones, and babbled down the side of the mountain, glided round great moss-covered rocks rippled under the gnarled roots of ancient trees, and swirled into sombre pools beneath the cool shadow of its grass-fringed banks. After leaving the forest, it flowed broad and placid between rich fields of yellow corn, through old-fashioned villages, under the slender bridges which leaped from bank to bank, and at last mingled with the mighty river encircling the island upon which stood the city of Aurea, the capital of King Arago, wherein dwelt the beautiful Princess Elsa.

Dull and Day had both told Duldy how he had been found on the banks of the stream lying on a white bed of soft foam, and he was very fond of sitting by the brook, listening to its babbling talk, and thinking that it might tell him something about his unknown parents. One day, while he was thus sitting dreaming about the lovely princess, and wondering if he would ever see her again, he heard a light laugh, and thought he saw an arch face peering out at him from behind the falling foam of the waterfall. As he looked steadily, the face vanished, but he caught a glimpse of two white arms playing with the sparkling water, and again saw the smiling face. Then the stream seemed to stop babbling and fretting among its stones, and form itself into words, which grew louder and clearer as he listened. It was not the murmur of the waterfall, nor the sighing of the wind, nor the babbling of the stream, but a voice, much more beautiful than all three, which sounded from behind the veil of foam, and sang this song:

“I am the daughter Of earth and water, Born of the sun and the snow so white. I fall in foam From my mountain home, Downward flash in a torrent bright. My streamlet rushes And sparkling gushes, Cold as ice from the virgin snow; And see these swirls, My foamy curls Ringlets white in the pool below. Now see me dancing, Chattering, glancing; Over and under the grey stones grim I slide, I creep, I bound, I leap, On and on thro’ the forest dim; Then, broadly flowing, Where corn is growing, Yellow fields ’neath the azure sky, Thro’ cities old My waters cold By turret and tower go gliding by. I hear the laughing Of revellers quaffing Wine, red wine, in the splendid night; At morning grey I pass away, Golden now in the gold dawn’s light. With ceaseless motion I flow to ocean, Encircle first the King’s chief town. From dark to light, From dawn till night, Ocean calls, and I hurry down.”

A burst of gay laughter ended the song, a great veil of white spray was flung over Duldy as he sat on the bank, and the stream resumed its inarticulate babbling. Duldy went home dreaming of the lovely face he had seen, but, feeling something cold clasping his wrist, he looked down and saw for a moment that it was encircled by a wreath of foam. The white bubbles vanished, but he still felt the cold clasp, and knew, though he could not see it, that the water bracelet was still on his wrist. As he stood perplexed at this wonder, the murmur of the waterfall sounding like soft thunder through the green woods shaped itself once more into words:

“’Tis I whom thou hearest. I stole thee, my dearest. I loved thee and kissed when thou wast a child. I love thee for ever, No Fate can us sever: The foam-ring will bind thee to me undefiled.”

And that is how Duldy knew he was loved by the Water-witch.

He came again to the side of the stream and heard Foamina sing the same song, and when he was going home, he once more heard her voice murmuring through the woods. This time he felt rather angry, because he did not want to be bound to the water-faery, as he was in love with the Princess Elsa. However, being a very polite youth, he said nothing, but went home laughing.

Next time he heard her singing, he could not help telling her the truth, and cried out,—

“I do not love you, but the Princess Elsa.”

Instantly the still waters of the pool foamed furiously and arose up like a great fountain, in the centre of which he saw the water-faery looking angrily at him. Terrified at the sight, he hastened away, and did not go to the stream again, but on his wrist he still felt the clasp of the foam-ring, which nothing, not even hot water, could wash away.

Shortly afterwards, a rumour crept through the kingdom that the Princess Elsa had fallen into a deep sleep, out of which no one could rouse her, and the King made a proclamation that whosoever should succeed in waking her would receive her hand in marriage, and be king after him.

When Duldy heard this, he was anxious to go to the city and try to wake the beautiful Princess, but Dull and Day tried to make him give up the idea.

“You don’t know how to wake her,” said Dull; “it must be a magic sleep into which the Princess has fallen.”

“And no one can wake a princess out of a magic sleep except a faery,” observed Day sagaciously.

“At any rate I’ll try,” replied Duldy resolutely, “I have heard that a princess who slept for a hundred years was awakened by a kiss—perhaps if I kiss the Princess Elsa, she also will awake.”

“I don’t think so,” said Dull, shaking his head.

“And the King would never let a poor shepherd kiss the Princess, I’m certain,” said Day wisely.

“Perhaps I’m not a poor shepherd,” cried Duldy cheerfully. “I may be the son of a king for all you know; but I’ll go to the city and try to waken the Princess with a kiss: the King would not mind a kiss if I wakened her.”

Dull and Day shook their heads, for they were simple people, who did not know anything about courts, and were afraid Duldy, whom they loved fondly, would get into trouble.

However, Duldy was determined to try, for one does not get a chance of becoming a king every day, so, packing up a few things in a bundle, and, taking his trusty oaken staff, he set out in the cool of the evening to walk through the forest on his way to the city of Aurea.

It was a beautiful summer’s night, with a gentle wind blowing, and the silver moon shining down on the snowy peak of the mountain, cast strange shadows in the old forest. Duldy did not mind the dark,—for it was rather dark,—but marched bravely on, singing aloud to keep up his spirits. Very soon he found himself walking beside a brawling stream that sometimes ran directly across his path, and as it was deep and turbulent, he was unable to cross it, but had to walk along the bank to see if he could find a shallow place. He never came to any, however, for the stream still appeared deep and dangerous, and wound in and out and round about in the most serpent-like manner, babbling all the time to itself in a laughing way, as if it was delighted at keeping Duldy from pursuing his journey.

Duldy grew very angry, and tried to leap across, but when he was preparing for a spring, the stream broadened out into a wide river, and seeing that, however far he jumped, he would never land on the opposite bank, he wisely abandoned the attempt.

Then it suddenly struck him that the stream must be Foamina, who did not want him to leave the forest, so he determined to find out if it was really her, for he could not believe that it was only a common stream. In order to invoke her to appear, he stood still, and, lifting up his voice, sang these words:

“’Tis I whom thou hearest; If thou art my dearest, And loved me and kissed me when I was a child, I’ll leave thee for ever, Return to thee never, If thou wilt appear not, in woman shape mild.”

No sooner had he sung these words than a great jet of foam spouted up from the stream, scattering him all over with cool spray, and in the centre he saw the form of the water-faery glimmering ghostly under the thin white veil. She tossed her arms aloft, sending a shower of water-drops to sparkle in the moon, shining like jewels, and sang in answer:

“River king’s daughter, Here thou hast brought her, From the cool water; She smiles on thee, dear. Throw but a kiss to me, It will be bliss to me, If you do this to me, A maid I’ll appear.”

On hearing this, Duldy kissed his hand towards the tall white column of foam, whereupon it vanished, and in its place stood a slender, beautiful woman in an azure robe girdled with white water-lilies, the same flowers also being entwined in her golden hair, which fell in great waves down to the ground.

On seeing this beautiful faery with the profusion of golden tresses, Duldy could only stare, whereupon she came forward with a smile and took his hand. Her touch was bitterly cold, and he shivered in the chilly atmosphere which she seemed to spread around her.

“Are you Foamina?” asked Duldy cautiously.

“Yes, I am the Spirit of the River,” she replied, nodding her golden head. “Why do you wish to see me?”

“Because I want to leave the forest,” said Duldy quickly.

“I know you do,” cried Foamina, with a laugh which sounded like the ripple of water; “but you’ll never do so; I’ll foam round you like a brook, and you’ll never be able to jump across.”

“But why will you do so?” asked the shepherd.

“Because I love you—I love you!” she murmured, bending towards him; “and I won’t let you go to the Princess.”

“But I want to waken the Princess with a kiss.”

“I know you do,” said Foamina again; “but you’ll never kiss her—even if you did it would be no good. I plunged her into that magic sleep by my enchantments, and she’ll never awaken until you promise to marry me.”

“Oh, I’ll never do that!” exclaimed Duldy.

“Very well; then she’ll sleep on for ever,” said the Water-witch, laughing cruelly, while the air round her grew bitterly cold, and the yellow locks of her hair and the blue folds of her robe seemed to undulate over her lovely form like waves of water.

“Then, as you won’t let me leave the forest, I suppose I must stay here,” said Duldy in despair.

“Yes, unless you promise to marry me,” replied Foamina tenderly.

“In that case I’ll remain here for ever,” cried Duldy angrily; “and as it’s so cold, I’ll light a fire.”

“No, don’t do that,” said the Water-witch, shivering; “I don’t like fire,—a cruel, hot thing which burns me up.”

“I don’t care,” retorted Duldy, beginning to collect sticks for his fire; “I’m not going to perish with cold for your sake, especially when I don’t love you.”

“I’ll put your fire out,” cried Foamina in a rage.

“Oh no, you won’t,” replied Duldy coolly; “I won’t let you. Besides, I can talk to you much more comfortably when I’m warm.”

Foamina stood sulkily on one side as Duldy lighted his fire; for, in spite of her threat, she was so afraid of the flames that she dared not approach them. Very soon the shepherd had a large fire blazing away merrily, and the red glare lighted up the sombre branches of the trees and the beautiful face of Foamina, who retired to some little distance when the fire began to burn, singing a strange, sweet song:—

“Fire red, Thee I dread; Water blue, I love you; Fire—water Maketh hotter; Water—fire Makes expire.”

Now, while she was singing, and Duldy was warming himself at the bright flames, a small brown lizard came creeping out of a bunch of ferns and ran across the open space between Foamina and the shepherd.

As soon as the witch saw it, she flung herself on to it with a wild cry, and dissolved into a wide pool of seething foam, apparently trying to drown the lizard. But Duldy, who was kind to all animals, put his hand into the foam and picked up the lizard, which was nearly dead amid the angry water. He put it on the ground near the fire, but the white foam rolled forward right to the edge of the flames, so the poor lizard had no choice but to be drowned or burned, and Duldy put out his hand once more to save it from the cruel witch. To his dismay, however, the lizard, finding itself hard pressed by the foaming waves of the pool, ran into the fire and hid itself among the burning embers; upon which the water retreated with an angry cry, and spouted up into a snow-white column, out of which stepped Foamina in a fearful rage.

“Why did you not let me kill him?” she cried, throwing some cold spray over Duldy. “I wanted to drown him.”

“The poor lizard was not hurting you,” replied Duldy, laughing.

“It was not a lizard!” shrieked Foamina, stamping her foot. “It was my great enemy Salamander, and you saved him, stupid.”

“I don’t think so,” said Duldy, pointing to the fire. “Salamander ran in there, so he must be burned to a cinder by this time.”

“No, he isn’t!” cried the Water-witch, coming nearer; “that is where he lives! but I’ll put the fire out—I’ll put the fire out and drown him!”