Part 3

“Thy name, child?”

“I am Mabel, the daughter of Karl Gatz the charcoal-burner; and my father will, e’er now, be wondering at my absence.”

“Nay, maiden,” returned the stranger, gently taking her slender hand in his, “thou art no longer his daughter, but the bride of King Tolv. Didst thou not know, fairest, that when he meets beneath the midsummer moon a maiden fair and pure as thou, carries her to his own home, to reign for ever queen of him and his?”

“But heaven? My soul?” murmured the trembling girl.

“Thou shalt be wedded by a man of God (thou seest I can pronounce that sacred name), and the benediction of heaven shall rest upon our heads. Thou knowest, dear Mabel, the hermit who makes his dwelling in a mountain cave near by?”

“Father Franz--I know and love him,” murmured Mabel in a half reassured voice.

“Then, if he will bless our union, wilt thou be content, sweet one?” asked the lover, in a voice sweet and low as the dream-voice of King Tolv.

“Yes,” faltered the maiden, and in another moment found herself borne swiftly upon the back of the goblin horse up the mountain road. Arrived at the nearest point of the path to the hermit’s cave, King Tolv checked the fiery steed, and, lifting Mabel from his back, led her tenderly along the rugged and barely discernible footpath which led up to the mountain summit. Weary and breathless they reached the cave, where Mabel had often been to carry the aged hermit little delicacies for his table, and to hear his words of holy cheer.

Placing her upon the rude stone seat just without the grotto, the majestic lover once more took the maiden’s hand and said solemnly,

“Mabel, wilt thou promise, as thou art a pure and stainless maiden, to be my bride?”

Unfalteringly Mabel raised her clear eyes to the noble face which bent toward her with a heart-searching gaze.

“I will, if the holy man says it is no sin,” said she.

“Wait here then, _liebe_, till I bring him,” said the lover in a lighter and more joyous tone.

Mabel sat many minutes on the stone bench, and heard the round, manly tones of her bridegroom alternating with the more feeble, solemn voice of the aged priest in an earnest conversation, of which, however, no distinct words reached her ear.

At last, priest and king stepped out into the rich, full moonlight, and Mabel, even at that moment of anxiety and agitation, felt a thrill of admiration as she noted the tall, manly figure and open, handsome face of her lover. Then her eye fell upon the mild, benign face of Father Franz, and her heart leaped for joy as she saw by his calm, benevolent smile and serene expression, as he laid his hand upon her head, in silent benediction that he was not displeased at the proposed union.

“And may I be King Tolv’s bride, and yet remain a daughter of the Church?” whispered she falteringly.

“You may wed your noble suitor without sin or fear, daughter,” responded the priest, with a smile more nearly approaching humor than Mabel had ever seen before on his calm and thoughtful face; “and,” he added, “thy power of serving holy Mother Church will be far greater as his wife than it could be in thy present estate.”

The Latin ceremony was solemnly performed, the nuptial benediction spoken; and Mabel, half bewildered, felt a warm kiss pressed upon her lips, never touched before save by her mother’s mild caress.

“It is not fitting, dearest love,” said the young husband, “that thou shouldst enter thy future home thus alone and unattended. Return for a few hours to thy father’s house, and when the day which now is dawning has reached its noon, stand there by the cross where first I saw thee, and King Tolv will come with his retinue to carry his fair and gentle queen to her new home.”

“I myself will leave thy wife at her father’s door, most noble king,” said the hermit, with a half smile. “Business takes me to the monastery in the valley, and I shall not reach there before sunrise if I set forth now.”

As Father Franz went into his cave to make his simple preparations, the bridegroom followed him. A whispered conversation ensued, and as they again issued forth Mabel heard the holy father say,--

“I will surely be there, mein Herr.”

King Tolv tenderly supported his trembling bride down the steep mountain path, and then, with one more fond kiss upon her quivering lips, he sprang upon his fiery steed and was gone.

When next the mid-day sun looked down upon the old oak shading the lonely cross, his rays, struggling through the envious leaves, fell in flecks of ardent light upon the white clad figure of the maiden bride, supplying with their golden sheen the lack of those ornaments which indeed, had they been formed of aught less pure than the eternal radiance of the sun, would have rather dimmed than added to the wondrous loveliness of the expectant bride.

Again, as Mabel listened, the sound of horses’ feet came thrilling upon her ear; but now the horses were many, and the sound of wheels mingled with their tread. They came, too, up the road from the valley; but ere Mabel had time to doubt, a glad burst of music fell upon her ear, and a number of horsemen, riding two and two, each with a bridal favor upon his arm, appeared surrounding a carriage, which, to the timid eyes of the bride, far outshone all that she had read of in fairy land. A band of music followed playing a joyful bridal march, and within the carriage, radiant and smiling, sat King Tolv, clad in a rich dress, whose sparkling jewels and heavy embroidery gave him a still more noble and commanding air than he had worn the night before in his simple hunting suit of russet brown.

As the carriage stopped, the bridegroom sprang to the ground, and taking the cold and trembling fingers of Mabel in his own, he turned to the retainers who stood about them, saying:

“Behold my bride, and your future mistress.”

One by one the horsemen passed before the shrinking yet graceful girl, making a low obeisance and saying:

“Hail to our noble Mistress!”

When all had passed, King Tolv led his bride to the carriage, and, placing her in it, seated himself by her side. So ardent were his whispered promises of love and tender praises of her beauty, that the blushing, agitated girl did not once raise her eyes from the floor at her feet till the carriage suddenly stopped, and, glancing hastily up, Mabel found herself in the court-yard of a castle, in whose open door stood a beautiful and magnificently dressed lady. A servant opened the door of the carriage, and the bridegroom descending, handed out his bride, and led her up the steps to where the fair lady stood, then exchanging his soft, lover-like tones for a voice clear, sonorous, and grave, he said:

“My dear sister, and you my faithful retainers. I have brought home to you my wife whom you now see; beautiful and good she is already; and that she may be as happy as she deserves shall henceforth be my aim, and I trust yours also.”

The crowd which filled the court-yard shouted, with willing zeal, “Joy to our noble Graff and his lovely Graffin.”

The fair and noble lady who stood on the threshold clasped Mabel in a warm embrace, while she whispered,

“Ah, little one! you studied well the little book I gave you years ago.”

Looking up with a startled look, Mabel recognized the Fraulein von Rosenberg who had in the cloister given her the little volume where first she read of König Tolv, and who now stood watching her with laughing eyes.

Mabel turned to her husband, but he silenced her with a grave smile, and, turning again to his people, said,

“My wife and I have already been married in a private manner; but that you, my children, may be witnesses of my happiness, the same priest will now perform a more public ceremony, and then we will sit down to the marriage feast.”

Then, taking Mabel by the hand, while his noble sister walked by the side of the bride, the Graff von Rosenberg led the way to the great hall of the castle, where stood Father Franz in his solemn robes of office, and by his side, as assistant, one of the brethren of the neighboring monastery.

The solemn ordinance proceeded, and the simple Mabel found herself the wife of Fredrich von Rosenberg, Count of Wolfsmarchen.

“But König Tolv?” whispered she, as her husband sat beside her, at the head of the long table.

“Shall never have my Mabel for his bride,” was the whispered response.

* * * * *

Karl Gatz was informed, the same day, of his daughter’s marriage, by the hermit, who was also charged to inquire in what way his son-in-law could serve him.

“By keeping out of my way,” was his only reply; and when Mabel, a few days after, went with her husband to renew their offers, they found the hut deserted, the charcoal pit extinguished, and no trace remaining of the late owner, nor from that day were tidings ever heard of Karl Gatz, although the mountaineers scrupled not to say, that, being deserted by his guardian angel, Mabel, the devil had claimed his own.

No such scandal, however, reached the ear of Mabel, who, in the warmth and light of her love-crowned life, bloomed into such exuberance of loveliness as astonished those who had thought her perfect before.

“And a tender consort made he, And her gentle mind was such That she grew a noble lady, And the people loved her much.”

THE GRAY CAT AND THE CAVE OF THE WINDS

[Illustration]

Once upon a time there was a young man named Ernest, who lived all alone in a little hut upon the sea-shore. He had lived there ever since he could remember, and always alone, except when, in summer, some wandering traveller would stop at his hut to ask a night’s lodging or a supper or dinner, or when the fierce storms of winter had twice driven a ship upon the rocks which lay between him and the sea, and a few poor half-drowned sailors had been cast upon the beach, where they would soon have perished had it not been for Ernest’s ready aid.

From these and the travellers the youth heard many stories of the great world, its wonders and its pleasures, and several times his visitors had invited him to go with them and see the marvels which they described; but Ernest always shook his head, saying,

“No, no, I have no place in this great world of yours; nobody would know or care for me. Here I have friends on every side; the loons, the gulls, the wild geese, and the ospreys know me and like me. I think even the waves feel acquainted with me, and I know that the fish do. No, I will stay.”

So the tourists and the sailors went their way, and Ernest remained alone.

At last a whole year went by, and brought no visitors. Autumn, winter, spring, and summer passed, and autumn had come again, without a single word having broken the silence which reigned about the little hut. No voice but the solemn ocean murmur.

At first Ernest liked this, and dreaded the arrival of a stranger; but by-and-by he began to wonder why no one came, and then to look longingly up and down the beach and out to sea, in hopes to see some one, but he looked in vain.

At last, when the pleasant summer was quite gone, and the cold and dreary autumn winds began to blow, lashing the sea into foam and whistling drearily down the chimney of the little hut, Ernest grew very sad and discontented. He roamed uneasily up and down the beach, but never could make up his mind to leave it and turn his steps inland, and always at night he found himself back at his little cabin.

One night, when the winds and the waves together were making such a din and commotion that one could hardly have heard a cannon at a quarter of a mile’s distance, Ernest sat gloomily alone brooding over his driftwood fire, which danced and flickered uneasily as the draughts from door or windows fanned it. Ernest had no clock or watch, nor would he have known the use of it if he had; but after sitting quite motionless for a long time staring at the fire, which now was almost out, he began to feel as if it was bedtime, and was wearily rising from his chair to look out once more at the night, when from the window behind him he heard a faint and prolonged

“M-e-w!”

Turning hurriedly about, Ernest ran to the window and threw it open, upon which, with a pleased and grateful purr, a beautiful gray cat stepped upon the table which stood beneath the window, and, looking in the young man’s wondering face, remarked again,

“M-e-w!”

“You said that before, but I don’t know what it means,” said Ernest gayly, who, although he had never seen a real cat, had heard them described and had seen pictures of them, so he at once guessed what his visitor was, and was well pleased that at last he had a companion.

“Let me see; perhaps ‘w’ means fish,” continued he, going to a shelf in the corner, which served him for a pantry, and taking a wooden platter with the remains of a broiled fish upon it. This he set upon the table in front of the gray cat, who, first rubbing herself with a melodious purr against his hand, applied herself to the fish, and daintily eat some of the best pieces, then drank a little water which Ernest offered her with an apology for having no milk to give, which he said he had heard ladies of her degree were very fond of. “But,” as he said, “since I not only have no milk, but never saw it, or even the cows and goats which give it, I am very glad to see that your highness can drink water.”

The cat, having finished her meal, leaped softly to the floor, and, after walking slowly round the room, looking attentively at every thing in it, she sprang gracefully into Ernest’s arm-chair (which was indeed the only chair in the whole house), and, seating herself upright in the middle of the cushion, began to wash her face and paws with her little red tongue.

“That’s right, my queen, don’t be ceremonious,” said Ernest, laughing aloud. “To be sure you have left me nothing to sit on except this log of wood, but then you are company, and should have the best. Pray make yourself entirely at home. I am very sorry I have no fine napkin to offer you to wipe those pretty paws upon now that you have washed them, but perhaps you can dry them by the fire. Let me make it up.”

So Ernest threw some more wood upon the fire; and then, seating himself upon a great block in the opposite chimney corner, leaned his elbows upon his knees and took an attentive survey of his visitor, who, having completed her toilet, sat regarding the fire with half-closed eyes, purring softly a little tune of her own composition, and beating time with her long tail.

[Illustration]

She was a very pretty cat, with fur of a rich dark gray, except her paws and face, which were pure white, and a crown or circle about her head, of an indescribable glittering appearance. It was this crown-like circle which had induced Ernest to call her highness and queen.

After looking at her a while, the young man reached across the fire, and, taking the cat gently up, placed her in his lap and began to smoothe her rich fur and fondle her, but in spite of all his endeavors to hold her, Pussy glided from his grasp, and with noiseless leap regained her position in the easy-chair.

“You don’t like familiarity--mustn’t be handled, eh?” said Ernest. “Your majesty is very unkind, I think; but perhaps when we are better acquainted----”

Ernest stopped thunderstruck. It was just twelve o’clock, although he did not know it; and at the moment when the clock, had there been one, would have struck the hour, a cloud of golden sparks rose from the circlet upon the cat’s head and filled the whole room, so that Ernest closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

In a moment, however, he looked up and rubbed his eyes. The flaming sparks no longer blinded him, but still he doubted his own sight, for there before him, there where a moment before he had seen the gray cat, he now beheld, seated in his old arm-chair, as if on a throne, a beautiful and majestic woman, in the first bloom of youth and loveliness.

Her long, wide dress, which flowed upon the ground at each side, was a rich, soft velvet of a beautiful silver-gray color, and from its loose sleeves and beneath its hem peeped the smallest and whitest of hands and feet. The beautiful face was surrounded by long, dark hair, and in a circle about the head was the glittering, crown-like appearance which Ernest had noticed on the cat’s head. It did not seem of any substance, like gold, for instance, but merely light and color. The large, light-colored eyes of the beautiful stranger were fixed anxiously upon Ernest, as if waiting for him to speak.

At last he stammered out:

“Are you--can it be--but it was a cat!”

“Yes, it was a cat,” replied the sweetest voice in the world, “but it was also me, Ernest. I am the princess Phelia, only daughter of the king of Catland. All my race have the privilege of assuming at will the human form or the cat form. The nobility and royalty generally appear as men and women, only assuming the cat form in play or as a disguise; but vast numbers of our subjects of the inferior order retain the cat form altogether, and as such live unsuspected among men.

“As for me, I never was degraded from the human form until in an unhappy hour I wandered from my father’s kingdom into that of our neighbor, the Gold King. Here I met his daughter Oriphera, who is an enchantress, and of a very bad disposition. She hated me beside, because she had heard that I was more beautiful than she. So snatching from my head the crown which I always wore as a badge of my rank, she threw some water in my face and said:

“‘Take your cat form, you miserable Pussy, and retain it for the rest of your life, except during the half hour between twelve and one o’clock on Halloween. You never shall be released from this spell unless you can find a young man twenty-five years of age, who has never looked on woman’s face, although free to go wherever he chooses, and who shall be able to take from me this crown, and replace it on your head before two years from this day.’

“As she finished she threw some more water upon me (I never _could_ bear to be wet), and with a mew of grief and anger I ran away as fast as I could go. Of course I could not present myself at my father’s court in such a disguise,--I, who had always taken pride in being as un-cat-like in my demeanor as possible; and so I wandered uneasily about the world, looking for the wonderful youth, who, although at perfect liberty to do so, had never looked upon a woman’s face. Fortunately I was not to be mistaken for a common cat. Oriphera, although she stole my crown, could not deprive me of its light, which is my birthright, and by that I have always been recognized among cats as one of the royal family, although no one knew me as the unhappy Phelia.

“You may be sure I never omitted to ask every cat with whom I met if they had ever heard of a young man such as I described, but every one answered no, and I began to despair, for in one month more, the two years will be gone, and after that all aid is vain. But a few weeks ago I fell in with a seafaring cat, just returned from a whaling voyage, and he, in answer to my inquiries turned two somersets backward (which is equivalent among cats to clapping the hands among men), and said,

“‘I know the very man. My master, who is a sailor, was shipwrecked four years ago, and rescued by the very youth you want to find. I have often heard him speak of him.’

“My friend, the seafaring cat, then proceeded to tell me minutely where to find you; and, not to be tedious, I arrived very tired and discouraged at your window this evening.” Here the princess, overcome by her feelings, covered her face with her hands and made a long pause,--at last looking up and smiling sweetly upon Ernest, she said, “Now tell me, will you recover my crown from that ---- Oriphera, and make me the happiest of princesses”

“Can you ask, revered princess? My life is yours; only tell me how and where to find her,” exclaimed Ernest.

“The kingdom of Aura, her father, is in the centre of the earth. You will find the entrance in the forest of Gnomes; but you can never get the crown unless you have the flute from the Cave of the Four Winds, to lull the Gnomes to sleep.”

“And where is the Cave of the Four Winds, most beautiful of princesses?” asked Ernest, eagerly.

“It is on the top of ---- m-e-w!” This last word was uttered in a very angry voice, for just as Phelia had said “top of,” her half hour of freedom closed, and she was suddenly retransformed into a cat, without even power to add the one word which would have directed Ernest to the Cave of the Four Winds.

The young man was as much disappointed as the princess, but consoled himself by promising her that he would use so much diligence and make so many inquiries, that he did not doubt to soon meet with some one who could direct him to the cave where the magic flute was to be found.

To this, however, the cat only shook her head with a melancholy air, and Ernest felt quite discouraged again. Suddenly, as he sat thinking of every possible way in which to gain the desired information, a thought flashed into his head which made him clap his hands for joy.