CHAPTER XI

THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING

When Ruth realized that it was David whom she had seen, that the little written message which she treasured so carefully and always carried tucked away in a safe place near her heart, was truly written by him, her joy and fear knew no bounds.

Yes, it was true: David knew where she was. And he would do all in his power to rescue her, to save her from the horrible fate that hung over her. For had not the Bronze King already set the date for their marriage? Had she not seen the wedding invitations and been forced to fold and address many of the great heavy envelopes that contained the announcement of the dreaded event?

It was to take place soon--all too soon, alas! There was little time to be lost. Could David succeed in rescuing her? Could he, in so short a time, devise any method of saving her from the terrible life that seemed so surely about to become hers? What if anything happened to David? What if he met any of the King’s men in or about the woods that adjoined the Palace? She recalled what the King had said to her on that first day, the day when she was captured; and she shuddered as she repeated the words to herself--“As for that young David of whom you speak, he had best keep off my land! All who are found trespassing upon my kingdom are put to death at once.” “David, oh, David! be careful!” she cried.

Then the thought of the terrible Lions filled her with dread. She was sure that he could know nothing of them. She had feared for him on that memorable morning and had listened all that long, dreary day, dreading to hear the sound of their deafening roar, which would surely be the signal that some poor wanderer had fallen their victim. But the Lions had been quiet all day, so she knew he had escaped and had doubtless left the Castle in another direction, knowing nothing of their whereabouts or the dangers that they embodied. But might he not, if he knew nothing of the danger, come upon them in returning? He would return in the darkness, for she herself had counselled him to come on a dark, starless night. “Oh, David, David, if I should be the cause of your death--!”

Nearer and nearer drew the date set for the wedding. The Palace was to be decked in gala fashion, and already preparations were under way; the decorators and landscape gardeners were in full possession, and there was everywhere an atmosphere of eagerness and proud competition.

It had pleased the fancy of the King to make the night preceding the wedding one of little merriment, “For,” he said, “I wish my bride to be fair and beautiful on my wedding day.”

Poor Ruth had grown pale and thin during her days of captivity. She could neither eat nor sleep, and the women in attendance had been obliged to use all their arts to keep her looking even presentable, for the King would permit no pale faces or dull, tear-stained eyes.

So the evening preceding the wedding was to be spent quietly. The household was to assemble after the evening meal, and Ruth was to sing while the others drank and smoked.

The evening was clear and calm, and the lingering twilight revealed a tiny crescent moon that sank below the horizon as the last glow of sunset faded from the sky. Later the wind rose, and dark, threatening storm-clouds obscured the light of the watching stars.

Ruth tuned her harp, but there was little music in her heart. The dark, cloud-swept night seemed a fitting emblem of her future life.

She sang. “Let me forget,” she thought to herself, “let me forget the present and the future; let me live in the past.” So she sang one after another the songs that she and David had loved and sung together. And as she sang, there crept over the listeners that strange, deep drowsiness that so often seemed to follow as a result of her sweet, pure music.

One by one the men and women yawned, their heads began to nod, the fires in the pipes smouldered and finally burned out, the glasses of wine on the tables were left untasted. Eyes closed, heads drooped at all sorts of strange and uncomfortable-looking angles; and soon sounds of heavy breathing, that rose to the volume of deep snores, filled the room. Still Ruth sang, for still not all were sleeping. The King would rouse himself every now and then as if striving to shake off the stupor that sought to gain possession of him.

A strange, strange sound floated in through the open window--a sound as of the rushing of mighty wings. Ruth paused a moment to listen--then she heard the clear, high note of David’s whistle! As the last note rang its welcome message through her throbbing heart, she sang the answering notes which, she knew, would convey to David the message he longed to hear.

A huge moth flew in through the open window, bumped about among the candles for a while, then alighted upon the bald spot on the King’s head and walked across the smooth surface, dragging its wings as it moved.

Ruth almost laughed aloud--but no, it was too serious a moment to yield to such an impulse.

The moth tickled the King. He awoke--opened his eyes--brushed his hand impatiently across his forehead--rose from his chair.

Ruth’s heart sank. Was failure to meet them after all, when victory had seemed so near?

“You have sung well to-night, little Queen,” the King said--“and to-morrow is our wedding day.”

“I have failed, Sire,” she said, “in that which I most wished to do.”

“What is that?” he asked.

“I had thought to put you _all_ asleep to-night--all here in the Palace. I had almost succeeded, when a great moth flew through the open window and awakened your Majesty. Could I but have reached your side in time, I would have driven the thing away: then you too would have slept, and then I should have been happy indeed!”

“Well, Child,” said the King indulgently, “if you desire that so much, sing on. It will take but a few moments to lull me into as deep a sleep as any here in the Hall!”

He settled himself comfortably in a high armchair, stretched out, and rested his feet on a footstool made in such a shape as to fit the chair, making it almost like a couch. Ruth sang again, this time the song she loved most dearly.--

“The forget-me-nots in the meadow Reflect the sky’s own blue, As they lift their tiny blossoms To catch the falling dew.

The Blue Bird flies o’er the meadow; Through the calm his note is heard. Lo, the throbbing heart of Nature Is in tune with the song of a bird.”

The deep, heavy snores rose in a chorus around her as the song ceased, and this time the Bronze King slept even more soundly than Ruth had dared to hope possible.

She rose cautiously, tiptoed her way across the great hall, and slowly pushed the heavy folding doors apart, then as silently closed them behind her. Like the wind she sped along the narrow passageway that led to her own apartments, opened the door, and flew to the long casement window that gave access to the Palace Garden, where she knew David awaited her. She stepped out into the night.

A gust of wind blew the window to behind her with a crash that shattered the glass into a thousand fragments. Her heart sank. “David, David!” she called softly. There was no answer. It was dark--so dark that she could see nothing--and she feared lest the sound of the crashing glass had awakened the sleepers.

She gave a low, clear whistle. In an instant, before there was time for an answer, David was at her side. “Come!” she said. “There is no time to be lost: the sleepers are waking.” As she spoke, they heard the sound of hurrying feet in the passageway. The door of the apartment was pushed open, and her name was eagerly called.

“She is not here, Sire,” said a trembling voice. “And the window is shattered. She must have tried to escape. Spread the alarm throughout the Palace!”

David and Ruth fled hand in hand through the darkness, out into the Palace Garden, surrounded by its high, solid brick walls.