"Not for leprosy," returned the doctor, with sad but firm emphasis. "At least I never heard of a cure being effected, except by some of the Eastern wise men."

"Then, by all the gods that protect our race and family, my son shall return to the East and one of these wise men shall cure him—else— else—Have ye told the queen?"

"Not yet."

"That is well. I will myself tell her. Go!" This summary dismissal was nothing new to the doctor, who understood the king well, and sympathised with his obvious distress. Pausing at the door, however, he said—

"I have often talked with Phoenician captains about this disease, and they tell me that it is terribly infectious, insomuch that those who are smitten with it are compelled to live apart and keep away from men. If Bladud remains here the disease will surely spread through the house, and thence through the town."

Poor Hudibras fell into a chair, and covered his face with both hands, while the doctor quietly retired.

It is impossible to describe the consternation that ensued when the terrible fact was made known. Of course the news spread into the town, and the alarm became general, for at various times the Phoenician mariners had entertained the islanders with graphic descriptions of the horrors connected with this loathsome disease, and it soon became evident, that even if the king and his family were willing to run the risk of infection by keeping Bladud near them, his people and warriors would insist on the banishment of the smitten man.

To Bladud himself the blow was almost overwhelming—almost, but not quite, for the youth was possessed of that unselfish, self-sacrificing spirit which, in all ages of the world's history, has bid defiance to misfortune, by bowing the head in humble submission to the will of God. He knew well the nature of the dread disease by which he had been attacked, and he shuddered at the thought that, however long he might be spared to live, it would sap his strength, disfigure his person, and ultimately render his face hideous to look upon, while a life of absolute solitude must from that day forward be his portion. No wonder that in the first rush of his dismay, he entertained a wild thought of putting an end to his own existence. There was only one gleam of comfort to him, and that was, the recollection that he had caught the disease in a good cause—in the rescue of a poor old woman from destruction. The comfort of the thought was not indeed great, still it was something in the awful desolation that overwhelmed him at the time.

While travelling in the East, a short time previous to setting sail for home, he had come across an old woman who was being chased by a wild bull. Her flight would have been short-lived in any case, for there chanced to be a steep precipice not far from her, towards which she ran in her terror and scrambled hastily down until she reached a spot where she could go no further without losing her foothold. To the rock she clung and screamed in her despair.

It was her screams that first attracted Bladud's attention. Rushing forward, he was just in time to see the bull—which could not check its mad career—plunge over the cliff, at the bottom of which it was killed by the fall.

Bladud at once began to descend to the help of the poor woman. As he did so, the words "unclean! unclean!" met his ear. The woman was a leper, and, even in her dire extremity, the force of habit caused her to give the usual warning which the Eastern law requires. A shudder passed through the prince's frame, for he knew well the meaning of the cry—but as he looked down and saw the disfigured face and the appealing eyes turned towards him, a gush of intense pity, and of that disregard of self which is more or less characteristic of all noble natures, induced him to continue his descent until he reached the poor creature. Grasping her tightly round the waist, he assisted her up the perilous ascent, and finally placed her in safety at the top of the cliff.

For a time Bladud felt some anxiety as to the result of the risk he had run, but did not mention his adventure to any one. Gradually the fear wore off, and at length that feeling of invulnerability which is so strong in youth, induced him to dismiss the subject from his thoughts altogether. He had quite forgotten it until the doctor's statement fell upon him with the stunning violence of a thunder-clap.

It is usually when deep sorrows and great difficulties are sent to them, that men and women find out the quality of their natures. Despair, followed by listless apathy, might well have seized on one who, a few days before, possessed all the advantages of great physical strength and manly beauty, with what appeared to be sound health and a bright life before him. But, instead of giving way, he silently braced himself for a lifelong conflict. He did not turn, in his extremity, to the gods of his fathers—whatever these might be—for he did not believe in them, but he did believe in one good supreme Being. To Him he raised his heart, offered an unspoken prayer, and felt comforted as well as strengthened in the act.

Then, being a man of prompt action, he thoughtfully but quickly formed his plans, having previously made fast his door—for well he knew that although his strong-minded father might keep him at arm's-length, his loving mother and sister would not only come to talk with him, but would, despite all risks, insist on embracing him.

That he was not far wrong was proved the same evening, for when the king revealed the terrible news to his wife and daughter, they went straight to Bladud's door and knocked for admission.

"Who goes there?" demanded the prince.

"Your mother. Let me in, Bladud."

"I may not do so just now, dear mother. Tomorrow you shall know all. Rest content. I feel better."

In the dead of night Bladud went out softly and sought the hut where Captain Arkal and Maikar slept. He found them conversing in great sorrow about the terrible calamity that had overtaken their friend when he entered. They started up in surprise to receive him.

"Keep off," he said, shrinking back. "Touch me not! I know not whether the disease may not be catching even at its present stage. Sit down. I will stand here and tell you what I want you to tell my mother in the morning."

The two men silently obeyed, and the prince continued.

"I am on the point of leaving home—it may be for ever. The Disposer of all things knows that. The disease, as you know, is thought to be incurable. If so, I shall die where no one shall find me. If health returns I shall come back. It will be of no use to search for me; but I think that will not be attempted. Indeed, I know that my father would be compelled to banish me if I wished to remain at home. It is partly to spare him the pain of doing so that I banish myself of my own accord; and partly to avoid leaving infection behind me that I go without farewell. Let my dear mother and sister understand this clearly—and— comfort them if you can."

"But where will you go to and what will you do?" asked the captain anxiously.

"That I do not yet know. The forests are wide. There is plenty of room for man and beast. This only will I reveal to you. To-night I shall call at the hut of Beniah the Hebrew. He is a wise man and will advise me. If I send news of myself it shall be through him. But tell not this to any one. It would only bring trouble on the old man. Farewell, my comrades. I will remember you as brothers—always. May the All-powerful One watch over us."

Unable to restrain himself, little Maikar sprang up with the obvious intention of rushing at his friend and seizing his hand, but the prince stepped back, shut the door against him, and, in another moment, was gone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

AN EAVESDROPPER IN THE CAVE.

An hour later Beniah the Hebrew, who had been obliged to postpone for a time his journey to the North, was startled by hearing footsteps approaching his hut in the dell. It was so unusual an event at that hour of the night, that he arose quickly and grasped the six-foot staff which was his only weapon.

At a much earlier hour Branwen had retired to rest in the inner cave, and was buried in that profound sleep which proverbially accompanies innocence and youth. The noise in the outer cave partially aroused her, but, turning on her other side with a profound sigh, she prepared for a little more of the perquisites of innocence and youth. Presently she was startled into a condition of absolute wide-awakeness by the sound of a well-known voice, but it suddenly changed into that of the Hebrew.

"I've dreamt it, I suppose," she muttered, in a tone of regret; nevertheless, she listened.

"Come in," said Beniah, evidently to some one outside of his door.

"I may not enter—I am a leper," answered the first voice; and Branwen sat up, with her great beautiful eyes opened to the utmost, and listening intently, though she could not make out clearly what was said.

"It matters not; I have no fear. Come in. What! Prince Bladud!" exclaimed Beniah in astonishment as our hero entered.

"Even so. But how is it that you know me?"

"I saw you once, and, once seen, you are not easily forgotten. But what mean ye about being a leper?"

"Keep at a safe distance, and I will tell you."

Hereupon the prince began to give the old man an account of his illness; the opinion expressed by the doctor as to its nature; and the determination he had formed of forsaking home, and retiring to the solitude of some unfrequented part of the forest for the remainder of his life.

It would have been a sight worth looking at—had there been light to see it—the vision of Branwen, as she stood in the passage in partial deshabille, with her eyes wide, her lips parted, her heart beating, and a wealth of auburn hair curling down her back, listening, as it were, with every power of her soul and body. But she could not hear distinctly. Only a disconnected word reached her now and then. In a state of desperate curiosity she returned to her cave.

A few minutes later a noise was heard by the two men in the outer cave; and a little old woman in a grey shawl was seen to thrust a plank over the chasm and totter across towards them.

Poor Beniah was horrified. He did not know what to do or say. Happily he was one of those men whose feelings are never betrayed by their faces.

The old woman hobbled forward and sat down on a stool close to them. Looking up in their faces, she smiled and nodded.

In doing so she revealed the fact that, besides having contorted her face into an unrecognisable shape, she had soiled it in several places with streaks of charcoal and earth.

"Who is this?" asked Bladud in surprise. Before the old man could reply, the old woman put her hand to her ear, and, looking up in the prince's face, shouted, in tones that were so unlike to her own natural voice that Beniah could scarce believe his ears—

"What say you, young man? Speak out; I'm very deaf."

With a benignant smile Bladud said that he had merely asked who she was.

"Haven't you got eyes, young man? Don't you see that I'm a little old woman?"

"I see that," returned the prince, with a good-humoured laugh; "and I fear you're a deaf old woman, too."

"Eh?" she said, advancing her head, with her hand up at the ear.

"You seem indeed to be extremely deaf," shouted the prince.

"What does he say?" demanded the old woman, turning to the Hebrew.

By this time Beniah had recovered his self-possession. Perceiving that the maiden was bent on carrying out her role, and that he might as well help her, he put his mouth close to her ear, and shouted in a voice that bid fair to render her absolutely deaf—

"He says he thinks you are extremely deaf; so I think you had better hold your tongue and let us go on with our conversation."

"Deaf, indeed!" returned the woman in a querulous tone; "so I am, though I hear you well enough when you shout like that. Perhaps he'll be as deaf as I am when he's as old. There's nothing like youth for pride and impudence. But go on, never mind me."

"She's a poor creature who has sought refuge with me from her persecutors," said Beniah, turning to the prince, while the old woman fell to crooning a wild song in a low voice, accompanying the music—if such it may be called—by a swaying motion of her body to and fro.

Seeing that she meant to sit there, and that she apparently heard nothing, Bladud resumed the conversation where it had been interrupted.

"Now, as I was saying, you know the country in all directions, and can tell me of the most likely part where I can find what I want—a solitude where I shall be able to escape from the face of man, and build a hut to live in till I die. It may be long, it may be short, before death relieves me. Meanwhile, I can hunt and provide myself with food till the time comes."

The crooning of the old woman stopped at this point, and she sank her face on her hands as if she had fallen asleep.

"I know of a man—a hunter," said Beniah, "a wild sort of being, who lives a long way from here, in a beautiful part of the land, where there is a wonderful swamp with a hot spring in the midst of it. Besides hunting, the man who lives there cultivates the ground a little, and keeps a few cattle and pigs. It may be that he can put you in the way of finding what you want; and you need not tell him about your disease, for you are not yet sure about it. Thus you will have an opportunity of keeping out of the way of men until you find out whether the doctor is right about it. He may be wrong, you know. Diseases sometimes resemble each other without being the same."

Bladud shook his head.

"There can be no doubt that I am doomed," he said. "I know the disease too well."

The Hebrew also believed that, if the doctor was right in his opinion, there was no hope for the youth. Being unwilling, however, to dwell upon this point, he asked—

"How did you come by it?"

"Very simply," answered the prince, who thereupon entered into a graphic account of the incident which we have already recorded. Having done so, he made up his mind, after some further talk, to pay a visit to the hunter who dwelt in the region of the Hot Swamp.

"But you will not surely go without arms?" said Beniah.

"Why not? If I am doomed to die at any rate, why should I take the life of any man to save my own?"

"Let me at least give you a bow and a sheaf of arrows. You cannot procure food without these."

"Well, you are right. I will accept your kind offer. To say truth, my heart was so crushed at first by this blow, that such matters did not occur to me when I left; for it is terrible to think of having to die of a slow disease without father, mother, or sister to comfort one!"

"It is indeed, my son," returned Beniah with much feeling. "If you will accept it, I can give you a word of comfort."

"Give it me," said Bladud; "for I need it much,—if it be but true."

"It is true," returned the Hebrew earnestly; "for in one of the books of our holy men who spoke for the All-Father, it is written, 'When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.'"

"It is a good word," returned the prince; "and I can well believe it comes from the All-Father, for is He not also All-Good? Yet I can scarcely claim it as mine, for my father and mother have not forsaken me, but I them."

A few minutes more, and Bladud rose to depart. He took the bow and arrows in his left hand, and, totally forgetting for the moment the duty of keeping himself aloof from his fellow-men, he shook hands warmly with Beniah, patted the old woman kindly on the shoulder, and went out into the dark night.

The moment he was gone Branwen started up with flashing eyes that were still bedewed with tears, and seized the old man's hand.

"Child," he said, "thou hast been weeping."

"Who could listen to his telling of that old woman's escape from the bull and the precipice without tears?" she replied. "But tell me, what is this terrible disease that has smitten the prince?"

"It is one well known and much dreaded in the East—called leprosy."

Here the Hebrew went into a painfully graphic account of the disease; the frightful disfigurement it caused, and its almost, if not quite, certain termination in death.

"And have the queen and Hudibras actually let him go away to die alone?" she exclaimed.

"Not so, my child. Before you interrupted us he told me that he had left home by stealth on purpose. But, Branwen," continued the old man with some severity, "how could you run such a risk of being discovered?"

"I ran no risk," she replied, with a laugh.

"Besides, it was not fair to pretend to be deaf and thus obtain all his secrets."

"I don't care whether it was fair or not," replied the girl with a wilful shake of her head. "And was it fair of you to back me up as you did?"

"Your rebuke is just, yet it savours of ingratitude. I should not have done so, but I was completely taken aback. Do you know that your face is dirty?"

"I know it. I made it so on purpose. Now tell me—when are you going away to tell my father and brothers about me?"

"I shall probably start to-morrow. But many days must pass before I can bring them here, for, as you know, their town is a long way off. But, child, you do not seem to reflect that you have betrayed me."

"How?" asked Branwen, wonderingly.

"Did you not thrust out the plank and cross over before the very eyes of Bladud?"

Branwen pursed her lips into the form of an O and opened her eyes wide.

"I never thought of that!" she said. "But after all it does not matter, for the prince took no notice of the plank, and he is not the man to go and betray secrets!"

The Hebrew laughed, patted the girl on the head and sent her off to rest. Then he busied himself in making preparation for his too long-delayed journey.

Next morning, before daybreak, he set off, leaving Branwen in charge of the hut, with strict orders to keep well out of sight. If any one should come to it she was to retreat to the inner cavern and withdraw the bridge.

"They may do as seemeth to them good in the outer hut. There is nothing there worth stealing, and they are welcome to make themselves at home."

The Hebrew went on his mission; arrived in due time at his journey's end; reported Branwen's dilemma; guided a party of stout warriors under her father Gadarn, and led them to his hut in the dell in the dead of a dark night, for it was no part of the programme to abduct the girl by main force, unless peaceful or stealthy measures should prove unsuccessful. When, however, he reached the dell and entered his dwelling, he found that the bird had flown! Every nook and cranny of the place was carefully searched; but, to the consternation of the Hebrew, and the wrath of Gadarn and his men, not a vestige of Branwen was to be found.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

ADVENTURES IN THE FORESTS.

Poor Branwen! it was an unfortunate day for her when, in her youthful ignorance and recklessness, she took to the wild woods, resolved to follow Bladud to his destination and secretly wait there and watch over him like a guardian angel, as it were, until the terrible disease should lay him on his deathbed, when she would reveal herself and nurse him to the end!

Let not the reader suppose there was any lack of maiden modesty in this resolve. It must be borne in mind that Branwen was little more than a child in experience; that she was of an age at which the world, with all its affairs, is enveloped in a halo of romance; that her soul had been deeply stirred by the story of the rescue of the leprous old woman, and her pity powerfully aroused by the calm, though hopeless, tones of the doomed man when he spoke of his blighted prospects. Rather than leave him to die in absolute solitude she would sacrifice everything, and, in spite of infection and disfigurement, and the horrible nature of a disease which eats away the features before it kills, she would soothe his dying hours. Besides this, it must be remembered that our ancestors' notions of propriety were somewhat different from ours, and— well, it was about eight hundred years BuC!

Whether love was a factor in her resolve we cannot say, but we are firmly convinced that, if it were, she was ignorant of the fact.

It is, however, one thing to resolve—quite another thing to carry resolution into effect. Branwen had, in an incidental way, obtained from her protector, Beniah, information as to the direction in which the hunter of the Hot Swamp lived, and the distance to his dwelling; but when she actually found herself in the forest, with nothing to guide her save the position of the sun—and, on cloudy days not even that—she began to realise somewhat of the difficulties that attended her enterprise, and when, on the first night, she crouched among the forked branches of an old oak, and heard the cries of wolves and other wild creatures, and even saw them prowling about by the light of the moon as it flickered through the foliage, she began to appreciate the dangers.

She had not, indeed, been so foolish as to set out on her expedition without a certain amount of forethought—what she deemed careful and wise consideration. She knew that by noting the position of the sun when at its highest point in the sky she could follow pretty closely the direction which Beniah had pointed out to her. She was quite aware that food was absolutely necessary to life, and had packed up a large bundle of dried meat, and also provided herself with one of her host's bows and a sheaf of arrows. Besides this, she knew, like every girl of the period, how to snare rabbits, and was even expert in throwing stones, so that, if it should come to the worst, she could manage to subsist on little birds. As to sleeping at night, she had been accustomed, as a little girl, to climb trees, which faculty had not yet departed from her, and she knew well that among the branches of many kinds of trees there were cosy resting-places where neither man nor beast would be likely to discover her. She had also some idea of what it is to follow a trail, for she had often heard the king's chief hunter refer to the process. As it was certain that Bladud, being an enormously big man, would leave a very obvious trail behind him, she would follow that—of course keeping well in the rear, so that he might never dream of her existence or intentions until the fatal time arrived when she should have to appear like a guardian angel and nurse him till he died.

Poor Branwen felt dreadfully depressed when she thought of this termination, and was quite unlike her gay reckless self for a time; but a vague feeling of unbelief in such a catastrophe, and a determination to hope against hope kept her from giving way to absolute despair, and nerved her to vigorous exertion.

It was in this state of mind that she had set the Hebrew's house in order; carried everything of value to the inner cave; removed the plank bridge; closed the outer door, and had taken her departure.

As already said, she concealed herself among the branches of an old oak the first night, and, although somewhat alarmed by the cries of wild animals, as well as by the appalling solitude and darkness around, she managed to make a fair supper of the dried meat. Then,—she could not tell when,—she fell into a profound slumber, which was not broken until the sun had risen high, and the birds were whistling gaily among the branches—some of them gazing at her in mute surprise, as if they had discovered some new species of gigantic acorn.

She arose with alacrity, her face flushed with abounding health, and her eyes dancing with a gush of youthful hope. But memory stepped in, and the thought of her sad mission caused a sudden collapse. The collapse, however, did not last long. Her eyes chanced to fall on the bundle of dried meat. Appetite immediately supervened. Falling-to, she made a hearty breakfast, and then, looking cautiously round to see that no danger was near, she slipped down from her perch, took up the bow and quiver and bundle of food, threw her blanket, or striped piece of Phoenician cloth, over her shoulder, and resumed her journey.

It was soon after this that Branwen found out the misfortune of ignorance and want of experience. Ere long she began to feel the cravings of thirst, and discovered that she had forgotten to take with her a bottle, or any other sort of receptacle for water. About noon her thirst became so great that she half repented having undertaken the mission. Then it became so intolerable that she felt inclined to sit down and cry. But such an act was so foreign to her nature that she felt ashamed; pursed her lips; contracted her brows; grasped her bow and strode bravely on.

She was rewarded. The tinkling of water broke upon her senses like celestial music. Running forward she came to a little spring, at which she fell on her knees, put her lips to the pool, and drank with thankfulness in her heart. Arising refreshed, she glanced upward, and observed a bird of the pheasant species gazing fixedly down.

"How fortunate!" exclaimed the maiden, fitting an arrow to her bow.

It was not fortunate for the pheasant, evidently, whatever Branwen may have meant, for next moment the bird fell dead—transfixed with an arrow.

Being high noon by that time, the demands of nature made our huntress think of a mid-day meal. And now it was that she became aware of another omission—the result, partly, of inexperience. Having plucked and cleaned the bird, she prepared to roast it, when a sudden indescribable gaze overspread her pretty face. For a moment she stood as if petrified. Then she suddenly laughed, but the laugh was not gleeful, for it is trying to human nature to possess a good appetite and a good dinner without the means of cooking! She had forgotten to take with her materials for producing fire. She knew, indeed, that sticks and friction and fungus were the things required, but she knew not what sort of sticks, or where to find the right kind of fungus, or tinder. Moreover, she had never tried her hand at such work before, and knew not how to begin.

Laying the bird on a bank, therefore, she dined off the dried meat—not, however, so heartily as before, owing to certain vague thoughts about supply and demand—the rudimentary ideas of what now forms part of the science of Political Economy. The first fittings of a careworn expression across her smooth brow, showed, at all events, that domestic economy had begun to trouble her spirit.

"For," she thought to herself, "the dried meat won't last long, and I can't eat raw things—disgusting!—and I've a long, long way to go."

Even at this early period of her mission, her character was beginning to develop a little and to strengthen.

For several days she continued her journey through the great solitudes lying to the north-west of King Hudibras' town, keeping carefully out of the way of open places, lest wandering hunters should find her, and sleeping in the forked branches of trees at night. Of course the necessity of thus keeping to the dense woods, and making her way through thorny thickets, rendered her journey very fatiguing; but Branwen was unusually strong and healthy, though the grace of her slender frame gave her a rather fragile appearance, and she did not find herself exhausted even at the end of a long day's march; while her dressed-deerskin skirt and leggings bid defiance to thorns. So did the rude but serviceable shoes which her friend Beniah had constructed for her out of raw hide.

One thing that troubled the poor girl much was the fact that she had not yet discovered the trail of Bladud. In reality, she had crossed it more than once, but, not being possessed of the keen eye of the hunter, she had not observed it, until she came to a muddy swamp, on the edge of which there was an unmistakable track—a trail which a semi-blind man could hardly have missed. Stopping for a few minutes to take particular note of it, she afterwards went on with renewed hope and energy.

But this state of things did not last, for the trail became to her indistinguishable the moment the swamp was passed, and at last, during a very dark wet day, she lost herself as well as the trail. At evening of the same day she climbed into a tree. Opening out her bundle of dried meat, she began to eat and bemoan her fate. Tears were in her eyes, and there was a slight tendency to sob in her voice, as she muttered to herself—

"I—I wouldn't mind being lost so much, if I only knew what to do or where to go. And this meat won't hold out another week at the rate I've been eating. But I could hardly help it—I have been so hungry. Indeed, I'm hungry now, but I must not eat so much. Let me see. I shall divide it into two parts. That will last me twelve days or so, by which time I should be there—if I'm still going in the right direction. And now, divide the half into six—there—each of these will do for— Oh! but I forgot, that's only enough for breakfast. It will need two portions for each day, as it will be impossible to do without supper. I must just eat half of to-night's portion, and see how it feels."

With this complicated end in view, she dried her eyes and began supper, and when she had finished it she seemed to "see" that it didn't "feel" enough, for, after much earnest consideration, she quietly began to eat the second portion, and consumed it.

She was putting away the remnants, and feeling altogether in a more satisfactory state of mind, when her eyes fell upon an object which caused her heart to bound with alarm, and drove all the colour from her cheeks.

At the foot of the tree, looking up at her in blank amazement—open-eyed and mouthed—stood a man; a big, rough-looking man, in hairy garments and with a hairy face, which was topped by a head of hair that rendered a cap needless. He stood with his feet apart and an arrow across his bow, like one who sees a lovely bird which he is about to bring down.

"Oh! don't shoot!" she cried, becoming suddenly and alarmingly aware of the action—"don't shoot! It's me! I—I'm a girl—not a beast!"

To make quite sure that the man understood her, Branwen jumped to the ground quickly and stood before him.

Recovering himself, the man lowered his bow and said something in a dialect so uncouth, that the poor girl did not understand him. Indeed, she perceived, to her horror, that he was half-witted, and could articulate with difficulty.

"I don't know what you say, good man, but I am lost in this forest, and belong to King Hudibras' town. I am on my way to visit the hunter of the Hot Swamp, and I would think it so very, very kind if you would guide me to his hut."

The idiot—for such he was—evidently understood the maiden, though she did not understand him, for he threw back his head, and gave vent to a prolonged gurgling laugh.

Branwen felt that her only chance was to put a bold face on matters. She, therefore, by a violent effort, subdued her emotion and continued.

"You know King Hudibras?"

The man nodded and grinned.

"Then I am quite sure that if you behave well, and show me the way to the Hot Swamp, he will reward you in a way that will make your heart dance with joy. Come, guide me. We have a good deal of the day still before us."

Thus speaking, she put her hand quietly within that of the idiot, and in a voice of authority said—"lead on!"

Regarding the girl with a look of mute surprise, the man obeyed, but, instead of leading her to the region named, he conducted her over a neighbouring ridge, into what appeared to her to be a robber's den. There was nothing for it now but to carry out the role which she had laid down. The desperate nature of the case seemed to strengthen her to play her part, for, as she was led into the circle of light caused by a camp-fire, round which a band of wild-looking men were standing, a spirit of calm determination seemed to take possession of her soul.

"What strange sort of animal is this you have caught, lad?" demanded one of the band.

Before an answer could be given, a tall, fierce-looking woman came out of a booth, or temporary hut, close to the camp-fire, pushed her way through the crowd of men, who fell back respectfully, and, going up to Branwen, grasped her by the wrist.

"Never ye mind what animal she is," cried the woman, shaking her fist at the man who had spoken, "she is my property." Then, turning to her captive as she led her into the hut, she said:

"Don't be afraid, my dear. Black-hearted though some of them are, not one will dare to touch you as long as you are under my protection."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

BRANWEN IN IMMINENT DANGER.

It is a wonderful, but at the same time, we think, a universal and important fact, that love permeates the universe. Even a female snail, if we could only put the question, would undoubtedly admit that it loves its little ones.

At least we have the strongest presumption from analogy that the idea is correct, for do we not find lions and tigers, apes and gorillas, engaged in lovingly licking—we don't mean whipping—and otherwise fondling their offspring? Even in Hades we find the lost rich man praying for the deliverance of his brethren from torment, and that, surely, was love in the form of pity. At all events, whatever name we may give it, there can be no doubt it was unselfish. And even selfishness is love misapplied.

Yes, let us be thankful that in one form or another love permeates the universe, and there is no place, however unfavourable, and no person, however unlikely, that can altogether escape from its benign influence.

We have been led to these reflections by the contemplation of that rugged, hard-featured, square-shouldered, angry old woman who so opportunely took Branwen under her protection.

Why she did so was a complete mystery to the poor girl, for the woman seemed to have no amiable traits of character about her, and she spoke so harshly to every one—even to her timid captive—that Branwen could not help suspecting she was actuated by some sinister motive in protecting her.

And Branwen was right. She had indeed a sinister end in view—but love was at the bottom even of that. The woman, whose name was Ortrud, had a son who was to the full as ugly and unamiable as herself, and she loved that son, although he treated her shamefully, abused her, and sometimes even threatened to beat her. To do him justice, he never carried the threat into execution. And, strange to say, this unamiable blackguard also loved his mother—not very demonstratively, it is true, except in the abusive manner above mentioned.

This rugged creature had a strong objection to the wild, lawless life her son was leading, for instead of sticking to the tribe to which he belonged, and pillaging, fighting with, and generally maltreating every other tribe that was not at peace with his, this mistaken young man had associated himself with a band of like-minded desperadoes—who made him their chief—and took to pillaging the members of every tribe that misfortune cast in his way. Now, it occurred to Ortrud that the best way to wean her son from his evil ways would be to get him married to some gentle, pretty, affectionate girl, whose influence would be exerted in favour of universal peace instead of war, and the moment she set eyes on Branwen, she became convinced that her ambition was on the point of attainment. Hence her unexpected and sudden display of interest in the fair captive, whom she meant to guard till the return of her son from a special marauding expedition, in which he was engaged at the time with a few picked men.

Whatever opinion the reader may have by this time formed of Branwen, we wish it to be understood that she had "a way with her" of insinuating herself into the good graces of all sorts and conditions of men— including women and children. She was particularly successful with people of disagreeable and hardened character. It is not possible to explain why, but, such being the case, it is not surprising that she soon wormed herself into the confidence of the old woman, to such an extent, that the latter was ere long tempted to make her more or less of a confidant.

One day, about a week after the arrival of our heroine in the camp, old Ortrud asked her how she would like to live always in the green woods. The look of uncertainty with which she put the question convinced the captive that it was a leading one.

"I should like it well," she replied, "if I had pleasant company to live with."

"Of course, of course, my dear, you would need that—and what company could be more pleasant than that of a good stout man who could keep you in meat and skins and firewood?"

Any one with a quarter of Branwen's intelligence would have guessed at once that the woman referred to her absent son, about whose good qualities she had been descanting at various times for several days past. The poor girl shuddered as the light broke in on her, and a feeling of dismay at her helpless condition, and being entirely in the power of these savages, almost overcame her, but her power of self-restraint did not fail her. She laughed, blushed in spite of herself, and said she was too young to look at the matter in that light!

"Not a bit; not a bit!" rejoined Ortrud. "I was younger than you when my husband ran away with me."

"Ran away with you, Ortrud?" cried Branwen, laughing outright.

"Ay; I was better-looking then than I am now, and not nigh so heavy. He wouldn't find it so easy," said the woman, with a sarcastic snort, "to run away with me now."

"No, and he wouldn't be so much inclined to do so, I should think," thought Branwen, but she had the sense not to say so.

"That's a very, very nice hunting shirt you are making," remarked Branwen, anxious to change the subject.

The woman was pleased with the compliment. She was making a coat at the time, of a dressed deer-skin, using a fish-bone needle, with a sinew for a thread.

"Yes, it is a pretty one," she replied. "I'm making it for my younger son, who is away with his brother, though he's only a boy yet."

"Do you expect him back soon?" asked the captive, with a recurrence of the sinking heart.

"In a few days, I hope. Yes, you are right, my dear; the coat is a pretty one, and he is a pretty lad that shall wear it—not very handsome in the face, to be sure; but what does that matter so long as he's stout and strong and kind? I am sure his elder brother, Addedomar, will be kind to you though he is a bit rough to me sometimes."

Poor Branwen felt inclined to die on the spot at this cool assumption that she was to become a bandit's wife; but she succeeded in repressing all appearance of feeling as she rose, and, stretching up her arms, gave vent to a careless yawn.

"I must go and have a ramble now," she said. "I'm tired of sitting so long."

"Don't be long, my dear," cried the old woman, as the captive left the hut, "for the ribs must be nigh roasted by this time."

Branwen walked quickly till she gained the thick woods; then she ran, and, finally sitting down on a bank, burst into a passion of tears. But it was not her nature to remain in a state of inactive woe. Having partially relieved her feelings she dried her tears and began to think. Her thinking was seldom or never barren of results. To escape somehow, anyhow, everyhow, was so urgent that she felt it to be essential to the very existence of the universe—her universe at least—that she should lift herself out of the Impossible into the Stick-at-nothing. The thing must be done—by miracle if not otherwise.

And she succeeded—not by miracle but by natural means—as the reader shall find out all in good time.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE PRINCE UNDERTAKES STRANGE WORK.

When Prince Bladud entered upon what he really believed would be his last journey, he naturally encountered very different experiences, being neither so ignorant, so helpless, nor so improvident as his helpless follower.

After a good many days of unflagging perseverance, therefore, he reached the neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp, in good spirits and in much better health than when he set out. He was, indeed, almost restored to his usual vigour of body, for the fever by which he had been greatly weakened had passed away, and the constant walking and sleeping in fresh air had proved extremely beneficial. We know not for certain whether the leprosy by which he had been attacked was identical in all respects with the fatal disease known in the East, or whether it was something akin to it, or the same in a modified form. The only light which is thrown by our meagre records on this point is that it began with fever and then, after a period of what seemed convalescence, or inaction, it continued to progress slowly but surely. Of course the manner in which it had been caught was more than presumptive evidence that it was at least of the nature of the fatal plague of the East.

Although his immunity from present suffering tended naturally to raise the spirits of the prince, it did not imbue him with much, if any, hope, for he knew well he might linger for months—even for years—before the disease should sap all his strength and finally dry up the springs of life.

This assurance was so strong upon him that, as we have said, he once— indeed more than once—thought of taking his own life. But the temptation passed quickly. He was too conscientious and too brave to do that; and had none of that moral cowardice which seeks escape from the inevitable in hoped-for oblivion. Whether his life was the gift of many gods or of one God, he held that it was a sacred trust which he was bound in honour to guard. Therefore he fought manfully against depression of spirits, as one of the destroyers of life, and even encouraged hope, frequently looking at the fatal white spot on his shoulder, and trying to persuade himself that it was not spreading.

In this state of mind Bladud arrived one day at the abode of the hunter of the Hot Swamp. It was not, indeed, close to the springs which caused the swamp, but stood in a narrow sequestered gully quite five miles distant from it. The spot had been chosen as one which was not likely to be discovered by wanderers, and could be easily defended if it should be found. Moreover, its owner, as Bladud had been warned, was a fierce, morose man, who loved solitude and resented interference of any kind, and this was so well known in the thinly-peopled neighbourhood that every one kept carefully out of his way.

Sometimes this eccentric hunter appeared at the nearest village—twenty miles distant from his home—with some pigs to barter for the few commodities which he wanted from time to time; but he and his horse, cow, and dogs ate up all the remaining produce of his small farm—if such it might be called.

It was a beautiful evening when the prince walked up to the door of the little hut, in front of which its owner was standing, eyeing him with a forbidding scowl as he approached.

He was in truth a strange and formidable man, such as one would rather not meet with in a lonely place. There appear to have been giants in those days; for this hunter of the Hot Swamp was nearly, if not quite, as tall as Bladud himself, and to all appearance fully as strong of limb. A mass of black hair covered his head and chin; a skin hunting-shirt his body, and a hairy boar-skin was thrown across his broad shoulders. Altogether, he seemed to his visitor the very personification of ferocity. A huge bow, ready strung, leaned against his hut. As Bladud advanced with his own bow unstrung, the man apparently scorned to take it up, but he grasped and leaned upon a staff proportioned to his size.

Anxious to propitiate this mysterious being, the prince approached with steady, unaffected ease of manner, and a look of goodwill which might have conciliated almost any one; but it had no effect on the hunter.

"What want ye here?" he demanded, when his visitor was near enough.

"To enter your service."

"My service!" exclaimed the man with a look of surprise that for a moment banished the scowl. "I want no servant. I can serve myself well enough. And, truly, it seems to me that a man like you should be ashamed to talk of service. You are more fitted for a master than a servant. I trow you must have some bad motive for seeking service with a man like me. Have you murdered any one, that you flee from the face of your fellows and seek to hide you here?"

"No, I am not a murderer."

"What then? Are you desirous of becoming one, and making me your victim?" asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; "for you will find that no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack your crown for coming here to disturb my solitude!"

"Two can play at that game," replied Bladud, with a seraphic smile. "But I am truly a man of peace. I merely want to look after your cattle for occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from your dwelling, if you will let me serve you—my sole desire being, like your own, to live—and, if need be, to die—alone."

For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter's face as he asked, in a tone that had something almost of sympathy in it—

"Is there a woman at the bottom of this?"

"No. Woman has nothing to do with it—at least, not exactly—not directly," returned Bladud.

"Hah!" exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification implied in the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, "did she tempt you on and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for another man?"

"You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one, labouring under a deadly disease."

On hearing this the hunter's softened look vanished, and his former scowl returned.

"Go!" he said, sternly; "I can take care of the cattle myself, without help. But stay, a man of your peaceful nature and humility may, perchance, not be too proud to take charge of pigs."

Bladud flushed—not so much because of the proposal as the tone of contempt in which it was uttered; but, remembering his condition and his object, he mastered his feelings.

"I am willing to take charge of your pigs," he said, in a quiet tone; "where do they feed?"

"A goodish bit from here. Not far from the Hot Swamp, that lies on the other side of the hill."

The man pointed to a high ridge, just visible beyond the gully in which his hut lay concealed, which was clothed from base to summit with dense forest.

"There are plenty of pigs there," he continued in a milder tone. "How many I don't know, and don't care. I brought the old ones here, and they have multiplied. If you choose to keep them together, you are welcome. I want only a few of them now and then. When I do, I hunt them together and drive them with my dogs. You may kill and eat of them as you please; but don't come nigh my hut, mind you, else will I put an arrow in your heart."

"Good, I will take care," returned the prince gravely. "And if you come nigh my dwelling, is it understood that I am to put an arrow in your heart? I could easily do it, for I am a fair marksman."

Something approaching almost to a smile crossed the hunter's swart visage at this reply. It did not last, however.

"Go!" he said. "Keep your jesting for the pigs, if they have a mind to listen."

"I will try them. Mayhap they are more sociable than their owner. And now, master, might I ask for the loan of one of your dogs? It might be useful in herding."

"None of them would follow you. Yet—yes, the pup might do so. It has not yet come to care for me much."

So saying, the man went to the rear of his hut, and, from the kennel there, fetched a young but full-grown dog, somewhat resembling a retriever, which gambolled joyously at the prospect of being let out for a run.

"There, take him. He comes of a good breed. Keep the leash on his neck till you have given him his first feed; he'll follow you after that."

"What is his name?" asked the prince.

"No name. Like his master in that!"

Taking the leash in his hand, Bladud said farewell, and went away into the woods, while the hunter of the Swamp, turning round, stooped as he entered his hut, and shut the door behind him.

It may seem strange that the prince should thus voluntarily seek for menial occupation, but, in truth, he shrank from the idea of living absolutely to himself alone, and felt a strong desire to have some sort of responsibility in connection with a human being, however short his life on earth might be, or however uncouth the individual with whom he might have to do—for man is intensely social, as only those who have dwelt in absolute solitude can thoroughly understand.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

PRINCE BLADUD TAKES POSSESSION OF HIS ESTATE AND BEGINS BUSINESS.

Pondering over the circumstances of the strange being from whom he had just parted, Bladud proceeded to the summit of the hill, or ridge of high land, on the other side of which lay the region in which he had made up his mind to end his days.

It took him full two hours to make his way through the dense underwood to the top; but when this point was reached, the magnificent panorama of land and water which met his view was a feast to his eyes, which for a time caused him to forget his forlorn condition.

In all directions, wherever he gazed, ridges and knolls, covered with dense woods and richest vegetation, were seen extending from his elevated outlook to the distant horizon. Cliffs, precipices, dells, and bright green open spaces varied the landscape; and in the bottom of the great valley which lay immediately beneath his feet there meandered a broad river, in whose waters were reflected here and there the overhanging trees, or green patches of its flower-bespangled banks, or the rich browns and yellows of spots where these banks had been broken away by floods; while, elsewhere, were seen glittering patches of the blue sky.

Far away in the extreme distance a soft cloud of thin transparent vapour hung steadily over a partially open space, which he rightly conjectured to be the Hot Swamp, of which he had often heard wondrous stories in his boyhood, but which he had not been permitted to visit, owing to the tribes living near the springs having been at war with his father. During his absence in the East, King Hudibras had attacked and almost exterminated the tribes in question, so that the Hot Swamp region, just at the time when the prince arrived, was a land of desolation.

Though desolate, however, it was, as we have tried to show, exceeding lovely, so that our wanderer was ravished with the prospect, and seated himself on a bank near the top of the ridge to contemplate its beauties in detail.

His canine companion sat down beside him, and looked up inquiringly in his face.

During the first part of the journey the pup had strained a good deal at the leash, and had displayed a strong desire to return to its former master, as well as a powerful objection to follow its new one. It had also, with that perversity of spirit not uncommon in youth, exhibited a proneness to advance on the other side of bushes and trees from its companion, thus necessitating frequent halts and numerous disentanglements. On all of these occasions Bladud had remonstrated in tones so soft, and had rectified the error so gently, that the pup was evidently impressed. Possibly it was an observant pup, and appreciated the advantages of human kindness. Perhaps it was a sagacious pup, and already recognised the difference between the old master and the new.

Be this as it may, Bladud had not been long seated there in a state of dreamy abstraction, when he became conscious of the inquiring look. Returning it with interest, but without speaking, he gazed steadily into the soft brown eyes that were turned up to his. At last the prince opened his lips, and the dog, turning his head slightly to one side with a look of expectancy, cocked his ears.

"Browneyes," he said, "you'll grow to be a fine dog if you live."

There was the slightest possible tremor in the pup's tail. Of course there might have been more than a tremor if the caudal appendage had been at liberty instead of being sat upon. It was enough, however, to indicate a tendency to goodwill.

"Come here, Browneyes," said Bladud, holding out his hand.

But the pup was hardly prepared for such a complete and sudden concession as the invitation implied. He repeated the tremor, however, and turned his head to the other side, by way of a change, but sat still.

A happy thought occurred to the prince—justifying the remark of Solomon that there is nothing new under the sun. He opened his wallet, took out a small piece of meat, and held it out.

"Here, Brownie, have a bit." Another justification of Solomon, for the natural abbreviation of names is not new!

The pup advanced with confidence, ate the morsel, and looked inquiringly for more, at the same time wagging its tail with unqualified satisfaction.

"Yes, Brownie, you shall have more."

The second morsel was bestowed; the tail wagged effusively; the name of Brownie became irrevocably associated with food, and a loving look and tone with favours to come. Thus a title and a friendship were established which endured through life and was terminated only by death. So trivial sometimes are the incidents on which the great events of life are hinged!

We pause here to deprecate the idea that this fine animal's affection was gained through its stomach. Many a time had its old master thrown it savoury junks and bones of food; but a scowl and sometimes a growl, had often been thrown into the mess, thereby robbing the gift of all grace, and checking the outflow of affection. Bladud's character similarly, was as clearly perceived by the manner of his gifts. Indeed, it would have been a poor compliment to the intelligence of Brownie—or of any dog, young or old—to suppose it capable of misunderstanding the gentle tone, the kindly glance, and the patting hand of Bladud. At all events, the result was that Brownie, with an expressive wag and bark, vowed fidelity from that date to the prince, and, in the same act, renounced allegiance to the hunter of the Hot Swamp.

From that date, too, the master and the dog entered upon, and kept up at frequent though brief intervals, a species of conversation or mental intercourse which, if not profound, was equal to much that passes for intercourse among men, and was, at all events, a source of eminent satisfaction to both.

Removing the leash, Bladud descended the hill, with Brownie gambolling delightedly round him.

That night they slept together under the spreading branches of a magnificent oak.

There was no need to keep watch against wild beasts, for Brownie slept, as it were, with one eye open, and the slightest symptom of curiosity among the wild fraternity was met by a growl so significant that the would-be intruder sheered off.

The sun was high when the prince awoke and arose from his bed of leaves. The pup, although awake long before, had dutifully lain still, abiding his master's time. It now arose and shook itself, yawned, and looked up with an expression of "what next?"

Having lighted a fire, Bladud set up the carcase of a wild duck to roast. He had shot it the day before on his way to the valley of the Swamp. As this was a proceeding in which the pup had a prospective interest, he sat by attentively.

"Ah! Brownie," said his master, sitting down to wait for the cooking of the bird, "you little know what a sad life awaits you. No companionship but that of a doomed man, and I fear you will be a poor nurse when the end comes, though assuredly you will not be an unsympathetic one. But it may be long before the end. That's the worst of it. Come, have a bit."

He threw him a leg as he spoke, and the two breakfasted peacefully together on the banks of the shining river, slaking their thirst, after it was finished, at the same pure stream.

While doing so the prince observed with satisfaction that large trout were rising freely, and that several flocks of wild ducks and other aquatic birds passed both up and down the river.

"Now, Brownie," he said, when the meal was concluded, "you and I must search for a convenient spot on which to build our hut."

Before starting off, however, he uncovered his shoulder and looked anxiously at the white spot. It was as obvious as ever, but did not seem to him increased since he left home. A very slight matter will sometimes give hope to a despairing man. Under the influence of this negative comfort, Bladud took up his weapons and sallied forth, closely followed by the pup.

In the haste of departure and the depressed state of his mind he had, as has been said, forgotten his sword, or deliberately left it behind him. The only weapon he now possessed, besides the bow and arrows given to him by the Hebrew, was a small bronze hatchet, which was, however, of little use for anything except cutting down small trees and branches for firewood. He carried a little knife, also, in his girdle, but it was much too small to serve the purpose of an offensive weapon, though it was well suited to skin wild animals and cut up his food. As for his staff, or club—it might be of use in a contest with men, but would be of little service against bears or wolves. Casting it aside, therefore, he cut for himself a ponderous oaken staff about five feet long, at one end of which there was a heavy knotted mass that gave it great weight. The other end he sharpened to a fine point. This formidable weapon he purposed to wield with both hands when using it as a club, while, if need should arise, he might also use it as a spear.

"I was foolish, Brownie," he remarked, while rounding off the head of this club, "to leave my good sword behind me, for though I have no desire to kill men, there may arise a need-be to kill bears. However, it cannot be helped, and, verily, this little thing will be a pretty fair substitute."

He twirled the little thing round his head with one hand, in a way that would have rejoiced the heart of a modern Irishman, had he been there to see, and induced the pup to jump aside in surprise with his tail between his legs.

A few minutes later, and he was striding over the beautiful land in all directions, examining and taking possession, as it were, of his fair domain.

In passing over a knoll which was crowned by several magnificent oaks, they came suddenly on a family of black pigs, which were luxuriating on the acorns that covered the ground.

"My future care!" muttered the prince, with a grim smile, for he hardly believed in the truth of all he was going through, and almost expected to awake and find it was a dream.

The pigs, headed by a huge old boar, caught sight of the intruders at the same time, and stood for a moment or two grunting in stolid astonishment.

With all the gaiety of inexperience, the pup went at them single-handed, causing the whole herd to turn and fly with ear-splitting screams—the old boar bringing up the rear, and looking round, out of the corner of his little eyes, with wicked intent.

Bladud, knowing the danger, sprang after them, shouting to the pup to come back. But Brownie's war-spirit had been aroused, and his training in obedience had only just begun. In a moment he was alongside the boar, which turned its head and gave him a savage rip with a gleaming tusk. Fortunately it just barely reached the pup's flank, which it cut slightly, but quite enough to cause him to howl with anger and pain.

Before the boar could repeat the operation, Bladud sent his club whizzing in advance of him. It was well aimed. The heavy head alighted just above the root of the boar's curly tail. Instantly, as if anticipating the inventions of the future, fifty steam whistles seemed to burst into full cry. The other pigs, in sympathetic alarm, joined in chorus, and thus, yelling inconceivably, they plunged into a thicket and disappeared.

Bladud almost fell to the ground with laughing, while Brownie, in no laughing mood, came humbly forward to claim and receive consolation. But he received more than consolation, for, while the prince was engaged in binding up the wound, he poured upon him such a flood of solemn remonstrance, in a tone of such injured feeling, that the pup was evidently cut to the heart—his self-condemned, appealing looks proving beyond a doubt that the meaning of what was said was plain to him, though the language might be obscure.

On continuing the march, Brownie limped behind his master—a sadder and a wiser dog. They had not gone far when they came on another family of pigs, which fled as before. A little further on, another herd was discovered, wallowing in a marshy spot. It seemed to Bladud that there was no good feeding in that place, and that the creatures were dirtying themselves with no obvious end in view, so, with the pup's rather unwilling assistance, he drove them to more favourable ground, where the acorns were abundant.

At this point he reached a secluded part of the valley, or, rather, an off-shoot from it, where a low precipice rose on one side, and thick flowering shrubs protected the other. The spot was considerably elevated above the level of the low ground, and from an opening in the shrubbery at the further extremity could be seen the larger valley with all its wealth of forest and meadow, its knolls, and slopes, and wooded uplands, with the river winding like a silver thread throughout its whole extent.

Here the prince resolved to fix his abode, and, not a little pleased with the successful way in which he had commenced his amateur pig-herding, he set vigorously and patiently to work with the little bronze hatchet, to fell such trees as would be required in the construction of his future home.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A STRANGE ABODE AND A WILD VISITOR.

Bladud's idea of a palace worthy of a prince was not extravagant. He erected it in three days without assistance or tools, except the bronze axe and knife—Brownie acting the part of superintendent of the works. Until it was finished, he slept with the forest trees for a shelter and the sky for a canopy.

The edifice was nothing better than a small hut, or booth, constructed of long branches bent in the shape of semi-hoops, the ends of which were thrust into the ground. The whole was thatched with dried grass and bound down with ropes made of the same material. It was further secured against the possible influence of high winds, by heavy branches being laid across it and weighted with stones. Dried grass also formed the carpeting on the floor.

Of course it was not so high that its architect could stand up in it, but he could sit in it erect, and could lie down at full length without showing his heels outside. There was no door, but one end was left unfinished as a substitute. Neither was there a fireplace, the space in front sufficing for a kitchen.

While engaged in its erection, Bladud was too busy to indulge in gloomy thoughts, but as soon as it was finished and he had lain down to rest under its shade, the terrible, almost incredible, nature of his position rushed upon him in full force. The opening of the hut had been so arranged as to present a view of the wide-spreading valley, and he gazed upon scenes of surpassing loveliness, in which all the sights that met the eye breathed of beauty and repose, while the sounds that broke upon the ear were suggestive of bird and beast revelling in the enjoyment of the gifts and sunshine of a bountiful Creator. But such sights and sounds only enhanced the misery of the poor man, and he started up, after a few minutes' contemplation, and rushed outside in the vain hope of escaping from his misery by energetic action.

"This will drive me mad," he thought, as he paused and stood for a few minutes irresolute. "Better far to return to the East where tyrants reign and people dare not call body and soul their own, and die fighting in the front rank for liberty—but—but—who would let me join them, knowing my disease? 'Unclean!' I may not even come within touch of my kind—"

His head sank on his breast and he tried to banish thought altogether. At the same moment his eyes met the meek, patient look of Brownie.

"Ah, pup," he exclaimed, stooping to fondle the soft brown head as he muttered to himself, "you teach me a lesson and put me to shame, despite your want of speech. You are awaiting my commands, ready to give unquestioning obedience—whether to go to the right, or left, or to lie down. And here am I, not only a prince, but supposed to be a reasoning man, rebelling against the decree of my Maker—my Spirit-Father! Surely there must be One who called my spirit into being—else had I never been, for I could not create myself, and it must be His will that I am smitten—and for a good end, else He were not good!"

For a few minutes longer he continued to meditate in silence. Then he turned quickly and picked up the axe which lay at the entrance of the hut.

"Come, pup," he cried, cheerfully, "you and I must build another house. You see, we shall have plenty of game and venison soon to guard from the wolves, and it would be disagreeable to keep it in the palace along with ourselves—wouldn't it? So, come along, Brownie."

Thus appealed to, the pup gave its assent by some violent tail activities, and, in a few minutes, had resumed its former post as superintendent of the works, while its master toiled like a second Samson in the hope of driving mental distress away through the pores of his skin.

He was not indeed altogether unsuccessful, for so intimate is the mysterious connection between spirit and matter that he felt comparative relief—even to the extent of cheerfulness—when the muscles were in violent action and the perspiration was streaming down his brow; but when the second hut, or larder, was completed his depression returned in greater power than before.

Then he took to hunting with tremendous energy, a plan which was highly approved of by his canine companion. He also devoted himself to his specific duties as swine-herd; collected the animals from all quarters into several large herds, counted them as well as he could, and drove them to suitable feeding-grounds. On retiring each day from this work, into which he threw all his power, he felt so fatigued as to be quite ready for supper and bed.

Gradually he became accustomed to the life, and at length, after a considerable time of it, a feeling of resignation to his fate began to tell upon him.

The effect of prolonged solitude also began even to numb the powers of his mind. He was fully aware of this, and tried to shake it off, for he shuddered more at the thought of mental than of physical decay. Among other things, he took to talking more frequently to Brownie, but although the pup was, in many respects, a most valuable and sympathetic companion, he could not prevent the conversation from being rather one-sided.

By degrees the summer merged into autumn; the foliage assumed the tints of green and gold. Then it became russet, and finally the cold bleak winds of a northern winter shrieked through the valley and swept the leaves away.

During all this time no human being had gone near that region, or paid the forlorn prince a visit, except once when the hunter of the Hot Swamp made his appearance.

The rebellious tribes retained too vivid a recollection of the slaughter that had taken place during and after the fight with King Hudibras, to risk a second encounter with that monarch, so that the place was at that time absolutely deserted by human beings—though it was sufficiently peopled by the lower animals. On the occasion when the hunter unexpectedly appeared, he demanded of Bladud an account of his stewardship. The report was so satisfactory that the hunter became, for him, quite amiable; commended his swine-herd and drove off a number of the pigs to market. On his return, laden with the few household goods for which he had bartered them, he paid the prince another visit, and even condescended to accept an invitation to enter his hut and partake of a roast of venison which was at the time being prepared for the mid-day meal. He was still, however, very brusque and taciturn.

"No one has been near me during the whole summer or autumn but yourself," observed Bladud with an involuntary sigh.

"You must be pleased at that," returned the hunter, sharply; "you said you came here for solitude."

"Truly I did; but I had not thought it would be so hard to bear."

"Why do you seek it, then, if you don't like it?" asked the hunter in the same brusque, impatient manner which characterised all his words and actions.

"I am forced to seek it by a Power which may not be resisted with impunity."

"There is no such power!" exclaimed the hunter with a wild, demoniac laugh. "I can resist any power—all powers. There is nothing that I cannot resist and overcome."

The gigantic man, with his dishevelled locks and shaggy beard, looked so fierce and powerful, as he sat on the opposite side of the fire glaring at his host, that Bladud became impressed with a hope that the maniac— for such he evidently was—would not attempt to prove his resistless power there and then. In order to avert such a catastrophe, he assumed an air of the most perfect ease and indifference to the boast, and asked him with a bland smile if he would have another slice of venison.

The hunter seemed to be disconcerted by the question, but, being a hungry man and a ravenous eater, he accepted the offer and began to eat the slice in moody silence.

"Your good pup has been a real blessing to me," resumed the prince a few minutes later, during which time he had devoted himself to his own portion of food, "not only in the way of helping me to hunt and drive the pigs, but as a companion who can do all but speak."

"He could speak if you would let him," returned the hunter. "I speak to my dogs continually, and they always answer—not with their tongues, for that is not dog-language, but with their eyes—and I know every word they speak. You would wonder how clever they are, and what droll things they say sometimes."

He burst into a wild hilarious laugh at this point, as if the thought of the canine pleasantries were too much for him; then suddenly became grave, and scowled furtively at his host, as if he felt that he had committed himself.

"You are right," replied Bladud, affecting not to observe the scowl. "My pup often speaks to me with his eyes, but I am not so good at understanding the language as you appear to be. No doubt I shall acquire it in time."

"Then you don't like being alone?" said the hunter, after a pause, during which Bladud saw that he was eyeing him keenly, though he pretended not to observe this.

"No, I don't like it at all, but it can't be helped."

"Well, it might have been helped, for I could have sent them to you."

"Sent whom?"

"A man and a boy. They were not together, but came to my hut at different times inquiring for you, but, knowing your desire for solitude, I turned them away on the wrong scent."

"I'm glad you did," returned the prince, "for I want to be troubled by neither man nor boy. Yet I wonder who they could be. Did they say why they wanted to find me?"

"No, they did not say, and I would not ask; what cared I about their reasons?"

"Yet you care enough for me, it appears, to say you would have sent them to me if you knew I had been lonely. What was the appearance of the man?"

"He was old, but very strong, though not so big as me—or you. His hair was long and white; so was his beard. He wore a long dark robe, and carried a very big staff."

Bladud had no difficulty in recognising the description of his friend the Hebrew.

"And the boy; what was he like?"

"Like all boys, active and impudent."

"I am afraid," returned the prince with a slight smile, "that your acquaintance with boys cannot have been extensive—they are not all active and impudent."

"Most of those that have crossed my path are so. At all events, this one was, for when I pointed out the direction you had gone—which was just the opposite way from here—he said, 'I don't believe you!' and when I leaped on him to give him his deserts, he dodged me, and fled into the woods like a squirrel. It was as well, for I should have killed him."

"I am not sorry he escaped you, then," said Bladud, with a laugh, "though I scarcely think you would have killed the poor lad even if you had caught him."

"Oh yes, I would. And I'll kill you if you venture to doubt my word."

As he said this the hunter sprang to his feet, and, drawing his knife, seemed about to leap upon his host, who, however, sat perfectly still.

"I should be sorry that you should die," said Bladud in a calm voice, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed on those of the maniac. "You have heard, have you not, of that terrible disease of the East, called leprosy?"

"Yes—the ship-captains have often spoken of it," said the madman, whose mind, like that of a child, could be easily turned into new channels.

"Look! I have got that disease. The Power which you profess to despise has sent it to me. If you so much as touch me, your doom is fixed."

He uncovered his shoulder as he spoke and displayed the white spot.

Bladud felt quite uncertain how this would be received by the madman, but he was scarcely prepared for what followed. No sooner did the hunter see the spot and realise what it meant, than without a word he turned, caught up his bundle, uttered a yell of terror, and fled from the spot, closely followed by his dogs, which howled as if in sympathy.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A STRANGE ENCOUNTER AND A FRIEND IN NEED.

About a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, an incident occurred which, trifling in itself, was nevertheless the cause of momentous issues in the life of our hero.

He was returning one evening from a long ramble with his dog, when the screams of a pig in evident distress attracted his attention. Hastening to the place he found that a small member of his charge had fallen over a cliff into a crevice in the rock, where it stuck fast and was unable to extricate itself. The violent nature of the porcine family is well known. Although very little hurt, this little pig felt its position so unbearable that it immediately filled the woods with agonising shrieks until Bladud dragged it out of the cleft, and carried it in his arms to the foot of the precipice, where he set it free. Then the whirlwind of its outcry came to a sudden stop, thereby proving beyond a doubt that passion, not pain, was the cause of its demonstrations.

From that date many of the pigs became affected by a cutaneous disease, which gradually spread among all the herds. It was some time before Bladud observed this; but when he did notice it, he jumped at once to the conclusion that he must have communicated leprosy to his unfortunate herds while rescuing the little pig. Whether or not he was right in this conjecture, we cannot say; but the probability of his mere touch being so contaminating was sufficient to increase greatly the depression of spirits which had been stealing over him—a condition which was not a little aggravated by the fact that the white spot on his arm was slowly but surely spreading. Still the disease had not, so far, affected his general health or strength in any serious degree.

About that time there set in a long period of fine sunny weather, during which Bladud busied himself in hunting and drying meat, as well as fish, which he stored in his larder for future use. He also cut a large quantity of firewood, and built another booth in which to protect it from the weather, and otherwise made preparation for the winter when it should arrive.

One day he had wandered a considerable way into the forest, and was about to turn to retrace his steps homeward, when he was surprised to hear some creature crashing through the woods towards him. It could not have been startled by himself, else it would have run away from him. Stepping behind a tree, he strung his bow, called Brownie close to his heel, and waited. A few seconds later a deer dashed close past him, but, as his belt was already hung round with game, and home was still far distant, he did not shoot. Besides, he was curious to know what had startled the deer. A few minutes revealed that, for suddenly the sound of footsteps was heard; then the bushes opposite were parted, and a boy, or youth just emerging from boyhood, ran past him at full speed, with an arrow sticking through his left sleeve. He was unarmed, and gasped like one who runs for his life. Catching sight of the prince as he passed the tree that had concealed him, the boy doubled like a hare, ran up to Bladud, and, grasping one of his hands, cried—"O! save me!—save me!— from robbers!" in the most agonising tones.

"That will I, poor lad, if I can."

He had barely time to make this reply when a man burst from the shrubbery on the other side of the tree, and almost plunged into his arms. So close was he, and so unexpected the meeting, that the prince had not time or space to use his bow, but saluted the man's forehead with such an Olympic crack from his fist, that he fell prone upon the ground and remained there. Bladud had dropped his bow in the act, but his club leant handily against the tree. Catching it up, he wheeled round just in time to face three tall and strong men, with bows in their hands. Seeing their leader on the ground, they simultaneously discharged three arrows, which were well aimed, and struck the prince full on the chest; but they did not penetrate far, for, in anticipation of some such possible encounter with foes, he had covered his chest with a breastplate of thick double-ply hide, which effectually checked them.

Before they could draw other arrows Bladud rushed at them with a terrific shout, hurling his mighty club in advance. The weapon caught the nearest robber full in the chest and laid him flat on the grass. The other two, dropping their bows, turned and fled.

"Guard them, Brownie!" cried Bladud, as he followed.

The dog obediently took up a position between the two fallen men, and eyed them in a way and with an ominous growl, that meant mischief if they dared to stir.

Bladud easily overtook the other two, grasped them by their necks, and, using their heads as battering-rams, rapped them together. They sank half-stunned upon their knees, and begged for mercy.

"You shall have it," said Bladud, "on the condition that you go and tell your comrades that if they ever come within twenty miles of the Swamp, they shall find a man in the woods who will turn them inside out, and roast them all alive! Away!"

They went precipitately, as may be readily believed, and, as the prince had intended, spread a report that gave to him thenceforth the rank of a sorcerer, and secured him from future annoyance.

Returning to the tree, Bladud found the fallen robbers beginning to recover consciousness—the one being held in submission by the fugitive youth, who stood, bow in hand, pointing an arrow at his throat; the other by Brownie, who merely curled his nose, displayed his magnificent teeth, and uttered a low growl of remonstrance.

"Get up!" he said to the one he had knocked down with his fist.

But as the order was not obeyed with sufficient promptitude, he lifted the man up by the collar, like a kitten, and sent him staggering against the tree with a violence that astounded him. Calling off the dog, he gave a similar order to the second robber, who displayed much greater agility in his movements.

Repeating the little threat with which he had dismissed their comrades, Bladud ordered them to be off. The second robber thankfully turned and took to his heels; but the first stooped to pick up his bow, whereupon Bladud wrenched it from his grasp, broke it over his head, and belaboured him with the wreck for a couple of hundred yards through the woods, while the robber ran as if he thought the evil spirit was at his heels.

Returning somewhat blown from this unusual exercise, he found the youth in a state of great amusement and satisfaction.

"Hah! you may laugh, my lad; but I can assure you it would have been no laughing matter if these scoundrels had caught you."

"You speak but the sober truth," returned the boy, still smiling; "for well assured am I that it would have cost me my life if they had caught me. But, believe me, I am not only pleased to see such villains get a little of what they deserve, but am exceedingly grateful to you for so kindly and effectually coming to my aid."

"As to that, I would aid any one in distress—especially if pursued by robbers. But, come, sit down and tell me how you fell into their power. This bout has winded me a little. I will sit down on this bank; do you sit on the bank opposite to me."

"The explanation is simple and short," replied the boy; "I wanted to have my own way, like most other boys, so I left home without leave, or saying farewell."

"That was bad," said the prince, shaking his head. He was on the point of advancing some profitable reflections on this head, but the memory of his own boyhood checked him.

"I know it was bad, and assuredly I have been well punished," returned the boy, "for these robbers caught me and have kept me with them for a long time, so long that I have quite lost count of the days now."

"Does your father live far from here?"

"Yes, very, very far, and I know not where to go or what to do," answered the boy, with a pitiful look.

"Never mind, you are safe at present, and no doubt I shall find means of having you sent safe home—though I see not the way just yet."

"Is that blood on your coat?" asked the lad anxiously, as he pointed to the prince's breast.

"It is. The arrow-heads must have gone through the breastplate and scratched the skin. I will look to it."

"Let me help you," said the boy, rising and approaching.

"Back! you know not what you do," said the prince sternly. "You must not touch me. You have done so once to-day. It may cost you your life. Ask not why, but obey my orders."

Not less surprised at the nature of these remarks than at the severe tone in which they were uttered, the boy re-seated himself in silence, while Bladud removed the breastplate and examined his wounds.

They were deeper than he had imagined, the three arrow-heads being half imbedded in his flesh.

"Nothing serious," he said, drawing out the heads and stanching the flow of blood with a little moss. "Come, now, I will show you my home, and give you something to eat before you tell me more of your history. You shall have a couch in one of my outhouses. Have a care as you walk with me that you do not come against me, or touch me even with a finger. My reasons you may not know, but—remember what I say."

Bladud spoke the last words with the severity that he had assumed before; then, dismissing the subject, he commented on the beauty of the landscape, the wickedness of robbers, the liveliness of animated nature and things in general with the cheerful air that had been habitual to him before he was compelled to flee the face of man. The pleasure he had felt in his brief intercourse with the gruff hunter of the Swamp had remained a bright spot in his lonely life. He naturally enjoyed with much greater zest the company of the lively boy who had thus unexpectedly crossed his path, but when he retired for the night—having told the lad to make for himself a couch in the fire-wood hut—the utter desolation of his life became, if possible, more deeply impressed on him.

During the night his wounds inflamed and became much more painful, and in the morning—whether from this cause or not, we cannot say—he found himself in a high fever.

His new friend, like most healthy boys, was a profound sleeper, and when the time for breakfast arrived he found it necessary to get up and awake him.

"Ho! lad, rise," he cried at the entrance to the firewood hut, "you slumber soundly. Come out and help me to get ready our morning meal."

The lad obeyed at once.

"What is your name?" he asked, as the lad appeared.

"Cormac," he replied.

"Well, Cormac, do you roast the meat this morning. Truly, it seems that you have come just in the nick of time, for I feel so ill that my head seems like a lump of stone, and my skin is burning. It is not often that I have had to ask the aid of man in such matters. Will you get me a draught of water from the spring hard by? I will lie down again for a little."

Cormac willingly ran to a neighbouring spring and filled thereat a cup made of the bark of the birch tree, with which he returned to Bladud's hut.

"Just put it inside the door where I can reach it," shouted the prince. "Do not enter on any account."

Lifting a corner of the skin that covered the entrance, the lad placed the cup inside, and then, sitting down by the fire outside, proceeded to prepare breakfast.

When it was ready he called to Bladud to say whether he would have some, at the same time thrusting a savoury rib underneath the curtain; but the prince declined it.

"I cannot eat," he said; "let me lie and rest if possible. My poor boy, this is inhospitable treatment. Yet I cannot help it."

"Never mind me," returned Cormac, lightly. "I like to nurse the sick, and I'll keep you well supplied with water, and cook venison or birds too if you want them. I can even shoot them if required."

"No need for that," returned Bladud, "there is plenty of food laid up for winter. But don't come inside my hut, remember. It will be death if you do!"

All that day the lad sat by the fire or went to the well for water, of which his patient drank continuously. During the night the prince was very restless, and groaned a good deal, so the boy resolved to sit up and watch by the fire. Next morning Bladud was delirious, and as he could not rise even to fetch from the door the water for which he thirsted, Cormac resolved to disobey orders and risk the consequences. Entering the hut, therefore, and sitting down beside the patient, he tended him for many days and nights—taking what rest he could obtain by snatches beside the camp-fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE PIGS' CURE.

It was not long before our hero recovered from his delirium. Leading, as he had been doing, an abstemious and healthy life, ordinary disease could not long maintain its grasp of him. His superabundant life seemed to cast it off with the ease with which his physical frame was able to cast aside human foes. But he could not thus shake off the leprosy.

One of the first things he did on recovering consciousness was to uncover his arm. The fatal spot had increased considerably in size. With something of a shudder he looked round his little hut, endeavouring to remember where he was and to recall recent events. He was alone at the time, and he fancied the fight with the robbers and rescue of the boy must have been all a dream. The name Cormac, however, puzzled him not a little. Many a time before that had he dreamed of vivid scenes and thrilling incidents, but never in his recollection had he dreamt a name!

Being thoughtfully disposed, he lay meditating listlessly on this point in that tranquil frame of mind which often accompanies convalescence, and had almost fallen asleep when a slight noise outside awoke him. The curtain-door was lifted, and Cormac, entering, sat quietly down on a block of wood beside him.

Bladud became suddenly aware that he had not been dreaming, but he did not move. Through his slightly opened eyelids he watched the lad while he mixed some berries in a cup of water. As he lay thus silently observant, he was deeply impressed with the handsome countenance of his nurse and the graceful movements of his slight figure.