CHAPTER V.

THE SPELL IS BROKEN, AND THE WICKED QUEEN’S DESIGNS ARE FRUSTRATED.

The following morning the sun shone out bright and clear, and every one declared no happier omen could usher in so auspicious a day.

But when the queen went to her daughter’s room to waken her, in place of dark Isolde, there lay a hideous dwarf in the bed.

“Oh, Isolde!” cried the queen, wringing her hands, “what can we do? How was it possible that we both forgot that this is the one morning in the year on which you must resume your own form? Oh, this is terrible! We must put off the wedding, and say that you are ill!”

“No, no,” croaked the misshapen figure; “if we once let Fertram off, I know he will never marry me.”

The queen remained lost in thought for a few minutes. Then she exclaimed—

“I know what we will do! I will get Näfra Kolla, the sewing girl. She is just your height and size. I will dress her as the bride, and under the thickly embroidered veil no one will notice the difference. Then, after the whole party come back from their ride, you will have resumed your own pretty face and figure. You can then change with Näfra Kolla, and none will be any the wiser.”

“But will not Näfra Kolla talk about it or object?” asked the dwarf.

“Neither she herself nor any one else will know anything about it,” replied the queen, “You leave it all to me.”

In a short time the queen went to Näfra Kolla’s room, and brought her a hot cup of coffee.

“Drink this,” she said; “I am sure you must be wearied out with all the work you have done, and this will be a tiring day for you.”

Though Näfra Kolla was not thirsty, she did not like to refuse the queen, thinking she really meant it kindly; but no sooner had she swallowed the coffee than she seemed to fall into a sort of trance. It seemed to her as if she were Isolde again, and that this was her own wedding-day. She was dressed in the bridal garments, and the richly embroidered veil was thrown over her; then, after the wedding ceremony was over, the whole bridal party went for a ride through the forest. It all seemed like a strange dream to the girl.

As they passed the blackened ruins of Isolde’s tower, Näfra Kolla murmured—

“Once thou wert bright and fair, Now thou art burnt, oh chamber mine.”

Fertram bent forward on his horse, and asked her what she had said. But she gave him no answer.

Shortly after they came to a big lime tree, whose sweet blossoms scented the whole air, and Näfra Kolla murmured—

“Behold this giant linden tree Beneath whose shade Fertram and Isolde Plighted their troth for ever and aye. And he will hold to it yet!”

After riding some little distance further, they came to the deep trench.

Looking down into it, Näfra Kolla murmured—

“But for my dear mother’s golden gifts, Here would my life have ended.”

Once again Fertram asked her what she had said; but still she remained silent.

At last, just as the sun was setting, they returned to the palace. Näfra Kolla dismounted and went up to her own room; but scarcely had she sat down, than a sudden giddiness seized her, all grew dark before her eyes, and she lost consciousness.

Then the queen, who had been waiting for her, came forth from behind a screen where she had been hidden, and, taking off the bridal garments, she hastened with them to dark Isolde’s room. The latter had now regained her fair form, and was quickly robed in the rich garments of the bride, after which the queen returned to Näfra Kolla and dressed her in her usual dress.

Presently Fertram came for Isolde, and, sitting down beside her, asked her what she had said during the ride, when they passed the ruins of her tower.

“I really cannot remember what I said,” replied Isolde.

“But you must tell me,” said Fertram.

Then Isolde went to her mother and asked her what Näfra Kolla could have said. So the queen told her, and Isolde returned to Fertram and repeated the words.

But he felt strangely dissatisfied.

“I should also like to know what it was you said when we passed beneath the great lime tree, and when we came to that deep trench in the forest.”

“I really cannot recollect all I said,” replied dark Isolde, crossly. “I am sure it was nothing of any importance.”

“Nay, but I insist upon knowing,” said Fertram, “you seemed so strange and not at all like yourself; you must tell me!”

So Isolde once again went to her mother, and the queen said that when they came to the great linden tree, Näfra Kolla had said—

“Behold the giant linden tree Beneath whose shade Fertram and Isolde Plighted their troth for ever and aye. And he will hold to it yet!”

and that when they arrived at the deep trench, she murmured—

“But for my dear mother’s golden gifts, Here would my life have ended.”

When dark Isolde returned to Fertram with these answers, she thought, “Surely now, he must be satisfied.”

But all these replies had just the opposite effect, for the more he heard, the more strange and startling did it all appear to him.

“Oh, my lost fair Isolde,” he cried, “would that I could learn the truth of all this!”

Then suddenly it seemed as if a veil were lifted from his memory, he recollected all his love for his cousin fair Isolde, and how different she was in every way to the dark maiden beside him.

“Oh, Isolde, my own fair princess,” he cried, “would that I could see you once again and hold you to my heart! But as you are dead, and this is not possible, may I also die, and so be with you!”

Scarcely had these words passed his lips, when a soft light suddenly filled the room, and lo! in the open doorway stood his own fair cousin, more sweet and beautiful than ever.

Stretching out her arms towards him, she said—“Oh, Fertram, your love and faithfulness have conquered and overcome the wicked spells of my stepmother. If you indeed are still true to me, we may yet defeat her, and all will be well!”

“Isolde, my own Isolde,” cried Fertram, “can it really be you, or is it only your spirit; and are you not dead, as they solemnly assured me?” And he drew her lovingly towards him.

At this moment, the queen rushed into the room, speedily followed by the king.

When she saw that her wicked scheme had fallen through, she gave a great scream, which shook the whole palace. In an instant she was changed back into the wicked giantess she had originally been, and her daughter, who was behind her, became again the ugly little dwarf.

The king, in his anger at the terrible deception that had been practised on him, wanted then and there to order them to be instantly killed; but, at fair Isolde’s petition, they were sent back to their own island, and bound never to quit it on pain of instant death.

Then a fresh, and, this time, a very merry wedding-feast was ordered, which was much more magnificent than the last one. The tables were laden

“With peacocks roasted And peacocks spiced, With fishes boiled And fishes fried, With mimjam and pimjam And multum salve; The wine that was drank Was primat and claret, As well as the wine of Garganus.”

Then all the guests, ere their departure, were laden with presents from the king’s treasure-house; and when, after some years, the old king was gathered to his fathers, Fertram and Isolde reigned jointly, and lived long and happily, seeing their children and great-great-grandchildren around them.

PRINCE HLINI

In a far country, there once lived a king and a queen. They had an only son, called Hlini, who even as a child showed wonderful talents, and grew up the handsomest, cleverest, and bravest man in all the land.

One day, the prince went out hunting with some of the courtiers. It was a beautiful morning; the sun shone with unusual brilliancy, birds and game of all kinds were plentiful; and, well pleased with their good day’s sport, the whole party turned homewards as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, when suddenly a thick fog arose, which soon completely surrounded them. They lost sight of the prince, and it was only with great difficulty that they made their way back to the castle.

When the king heard that his son had not returned, he became very anxious; and the fog having somewhat lifted, he at once sent out messengers to try and find him. But although they searched in all directions for three days and nights, they could find no trace of him,—no one had heard of or seen Prince Hlini.

This sudden disappearance of his son greatly grieved the king; and when, on the evening of the third day, the messengers returned without any news of him, the king retired to his room, and, throwing himself on his bed, gave way to the deepest grief. In vain the queen tried to cheer him, telling him that Hlini was so brave and clever, he would be sure to return safely. The king would not be consoled, and said he would gladly give the half of his kingdom to any one who would bring him back his son.

Now, not far from the palace, in the middle of a wild moor, covered with yellow gorse and purple heather, there lived an old man in a little cottage with his only child, a daughter called Signy, who was both beautiful and clever. They were very poor, but lived happily and contented on wild honey and the berries that grew on the moors. When Signy heard from the shepherds that the prince had disappeared and that the king had offered the half of his kingdom to whoever should find him, she begged her father to let her go in search of him. At first he was very unwilling to part with her, dreading the dangers she might have to encounter; but Signy said she felt quite sure she would succeed in her search. All she wanted was a pair of new shoes and some food. And so, after a little more persuasion, her father gave her his blessing and started her on her journey.

Signy wandered on for several days, resting in the evenings in some sheltered nook, and ever going towards the north. It was now mid-summer, the days were long—in fact, there was scarcely any night; and on the fourth evening, just as the sun, like a huge red ball, was setting in a bed of crimson and gold, only to rise again, Signy saw some rocks in front of her, in one of which was a huge cave. Listening carefully for a few minutes and hearing no sound, Signy entered very softly, and there she saw two beds: one was covered with a beautiful blue silk quilt, embroidered with gold; the other had a crimson velvet quilt, embroidered with silver. Going cautiously forward, she saw the prince, lying fast asleep on the bed with the golden quilt.

Signy was delighted with her discovery, and went up to him to waken him; but though she shook him, at first gently and then more roughly, she found she could not rouse him. Looking up, she saw some strange letters, or runes, cut into the wooden headboard of the bed.

Now, though her father, who was a learned old man, had taught Signy to read runes, she could make nothing of these. She therefore determined to wait and see who the owner of the cave was, and discovering a narrow recess near the opening, she crept quietly in.

Hardly had she got safely into her hiding-place, than she heard a terrible noise, like a peal of thunder. The earth began to quake, and presently two frightful giantesses entered the cave.

As they came in, the taller and elder of the two cried out angrily, “Pah! I smell the smell of a human being here!”

“Of course you do,” replied her sister, “seeing that Hlini the king’s son is asleep here.”

They then went to the bed on which Hlini was lying, and moving the headboard, on which the runes were carved, to one side, out came two beautiful silver swans.

“Sing, my beautiful swans, sing, and waken Hlini,” cried the giantesses.

And as the swans, obeying, sang a lovely sweet song, the prince awoke.

The younger giantess then brought him a silver tray laden with delicious fruit and wine; but the prince would not touch anything.

“Will you marry me now?” then asked the giantess.

“No, no, and again no!” cried the prince.

“Then sing, sing, my beautiful swans, that Hlini may go to sleep again,” she called out angrily.

And as the swans raised their voices in a sad, plaintive melody, the prince fell back on the bed, and was soon in his magic sleep again.

The two sisters then lay down on the other couch with the silver-embroidered quilt.

In the morning they again wakened Hlini in the same manner, and offered him food, which, however, he angrily refused; whereupon the younger giantess again asked him if he would marry her; and when he refused, as before, the sisters put him to sleep by the song of the swans, and then left the cave, closing it as they went out.

After waiting a little while to make sure that the wicked sisters were not coming back again, Signy came out of her hiding-place, and moving the headboard of the bed, as she had seen the sisters do, she called to the swans, and as they sang their song, the prince awoke.

He was greatly surprised to see Signy in place of the hideous giant sisters, and thanked her warmly for her help, asking how she had come there.

Then Signy told him how much his father sorrowed at his mysterious disappearance, and that she had determined to try and find him.

Hlini was very grateful, and told Signy that, after he had got separated from his friends in the fog, he had suddenly encountered the giant sisters, who, having their swans with them, put him to sleep before he had time to fight them or get away, and that they had then forcibly carried him off to their cave; and that the younger sister, as she had no doubt heard, wanted to marry him. But this he had steadily refused to do. As long as he remained firm, they could only keep him there asleep; but, he added, he would rather remain thus for ever than marry the ogress.

When he had finished his tale, Signy said, “Now the first thing we must do, is to find out the meaning of the runes on the headboard. When, therefore, the sisters come in this evening, do not refuse their food (for you will want all your strength to get away), but be friendly with them, and then ask them what the letters mean, and also what they do all day while they are away.”

Hlini said he would certainly follow Signy’s advice. Then, finding a chessboard and some men on a shelf, they sat down and amused themselves playing and chatting, till they thought it was drawing near the time when the giantesses usually returned; then Signy called the swans and put the prince to sleep, as she had seen the sisters do, after which she hid herself in her dark corner.

Soon she heard the sisters returning, and presently they entered the cave.

“I certainly do smell the smell of a human being,” said the elder sister, sniffing angrily round the cave.

“Nonsense!” replied the younger one, who, having lit the fire, was anxious to get their supper cooked. “Of course you smell it when Hlini is here.”

“But this is a different smell,” persisted the elder sister; and Signy, seeing her peering about, feared she would discover her.

But the younger sister, having plucked and cleaned the birds they had caught, told her elder sister she must cook them at once, as she was about to waken Hlini; and, going up to the couch with the gold-embroidered quilt, on which Hlini was lying asleep, she called forth the swans, and wakened him.

By this time the birds were cooked; and when she asked him if he would take any food, instead of refusing, Hlini said he felt hungry, and would join them at their supper.

The younger giantess was greatly pleased, and after helping him to fruit and wine, asked him whether he would not now make her his wife.

But Hlini said he must first know more about her and her sister before he could decide.

“What, for instance, is the meaning of those runes carved on the bedhead?” he asked.

“Oh,” replied the giantess graciously, “the words are—

“‘Fly, fly, oh bedstead mine, And carry me whither I will.’

You have only to sit down on the bed and repeat those words, and immediately you are carried to whatever place you wish to go.”

The prince was delighted when he heard this, as he hoped it would enable him and Signy to escape.

“And what do you and your sister do all day when you are out?” he asked.

“Well, we roam about, looking for some man, woman, or child, for our dinner, for we always prefer them to birds or animals; and then, when we get tired, we sit down under a tree and play with our ‘life egg.’” replied the giantess.

“I suppose you have to be very careful when you are playing with your life egg?” asked the prince.

“Yes, indeed we have to be,” answered the giantess, “for if it were broken, we should both die. But there is no fear of that,” and she gave a loud laugh, “we are much too careful; it can only be broken by a human being; and whenever one of them comes near us, we soon catch him and eat him.”

The prince now declared that he felt so tired, he really must go to sleep; and though, before calling the swans, the giantess again asked him to marry her, he said he could say nothing till the morning, so he was put to sleep as before.

The next morning, after the sisters had wakened him and given him some food, they asked him if he would go to the woods with them; but Hlini said he still felt very tired, and would prefer to rest, so the sisters put him to sleep again and went away, closing the cave after them.

Waiting a short time, so as to make quite sure that the giantesses would not return, Signy presently came forth from her hiding-place and awakened the prince.

“Get up quickly,” she said, “for we will follow the giantesses into the wood. Take with you your hunting spear which stands beside the bed, and when they begin to play at ‘throw and catch’ with their life ball, you must throw your spear at the egg; but keep a clear eye and a firm hand, for, remember, if you miss, both your life and mine will be forfeited.”

“Never fear,” said Hlini; “there is too much at stake. I will be careful.” Then they seated themselves on the couch, and both repeated the rune.

“Fly, fly, oh bedstead mine, And carry me whither I will.”

And immediately the bed rose up, the wall of the cave opened, and passing swiftly through the air, it landed them amid the leafy branches of a huge oak tree.

Peeping cautiously down, they saw the two giantesses sitting at the foot of the tree; one was holding the golden life egg in her hand, ready to throw it at her sister, and both were laughing loudly, as the egg flew backwards and forwards between them.

Watching his opportunity, Hlini threw his spear just as one sister was poising it in her hand, and as the point of the spear hit the egg, it broke in half.

At the same instant, both giantesses fell back dead, a stream of dark-coloured poison poured from their lips, and huge deadly black and yellow fungi sprang up and speedily covered them completely.

Hlini then seated himself beside Signy on the couch, and immediately they were carried back to the cave.

Here they found, on searching round, an immense quantity of gold, silver, and jewels; and having laden both beds with these and the two silver swans, they each sat down on one, and, repeating the runes, were speedily transported to the hut of Signy’s father, who was delighted at his daughter’s safe return, and made Hlini very welcome.

The next morning Signy went to the king’s palace and demanded an audience, and the king, having admitted her, asked her who she was and what she wanted.

“I am the daughter of the old man who lives in the little hut on the moor near your palace,” replied Signy, “and I have come to ask what reward you would give me if I bring your son back to you safe and well?”

The king laughed good-naturedly. “I do not think I need trouble to answer that,” he said. “There is not much chance of your finding him, when so many others have failed.”

“But if I succeed,” persisted Signy, “will you give me the same reward as you have promised to others?”

“Certainly,” replied the king; “if you succeed in bringing back my son safe and well, I will not go back from my word.”

Then Signy returned to the hut, and begged the prince to return with her to the palace; and together they entered the great audience hall.

When the king beheld his son, whom he had mourned as dead, alive and well, he was greatly rejoiced, and made him sit down on his right hand and relate the story of all that had happened to him since the day he became separated from his friends during the chase.

When Hlini seated himself beside the king, he begged Signy to take the seat on his other hand, and then began the relation of all his adventures—telling of his imprisonment in the cave, and how Signy had freed him, and saved his life by rescuing him from the hands of the wicked giantesses.

When he had finished, he rose from his seat, and standing before his father, asked his permission to take Signy as his wife. To this the king willingly assented, saying that no reward could be too great for her, who had restored his son to him. So orders were at once issued for the preparation of a magnificent wedding-feast; all the great nobles of the kingdom were invited, neither were the poor forgotten. There was ample provision made for all, and every one praised the king for his right royal hospitality, for each one received rich gifts ere they returned home. Signy’s father was made the king’s librarian, and put in charge of the royal manuscripts; and Hlini and Signy lived long and happily together, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.

FERTRAM AND HILDUR

Long, long ago, in a distant land, there lived a king and queen, who were quite happy, save for one thing—they had no children. Some years passed, and then, to their great joy, a little baby girl arrived, who was named Hildur. When the christening feast came to an end, the king, who was devoted to hunting, set out with his courtiers for a long day in the great forest which surrounded the castle. Nothing unusual happened until the hunting party began to turn homewards. The king was riding alone, a little in front of his gaily dressed retinue, when he suddenly saw an enormous dragon flying swiftly through the air towards him, holding a small child in his talons. In an instant the king drew his bow; the arrow, shot by his practised hand, sped to its mark, and the monster fell to the ground, pierced through the heart. The king leapt from his horse, and by the time his courtiers reached his side, he was holding in his arms the rescued child, a beautiful boy of about a year old, quite unhurt.

There were plenty of willing arms ready to carry the little fellow; but the King refused.

“I rescued him; and now he shall be a playmate for my little daughter,” he said. And the whole party went back to the castle.

Years passed on. The children grew up together, and loved each other dearly. The king and queen had named the little boy Fertram, and they treated him in all respects like their own child. If one of the little ones had a present, the other had the same, and at last they were never happy if they parted even for a day.

Now, Hildur’s grandmother was deeply versed in all kinds of magic arts, and even when the young princess was still quite a girl, she taught her many of her secrets. The child was the one being whom she loved. On the other hand, she had an unreasoning dislike to the boy who had so strangely become part of the family, and when she saw the affection of the young people for one another, she determined to poison Fertram.

“Never shall my beloved grandchild wed this foundling boy,” she said to herself. “The son of one of our rich neighbours is the mate I destine for her.”

So she waited for an opportunity.

One day Fertram came in very hungry from a long day’s hunting. The grandmother caused a dainty dish to be set before him, and begged him to partake of it. But Hildur, who had noticed her grandmother’s dislike to the young prince, came in at the moment, and, seeing the dish was poisoned, prevented his eating it.

Another time the grandmother attempted to kill him as he lay asleep in his bed, but Hildur again divined her intentions. She warned Fertram, and they placed a log of wood in the bed. When night came, the old woman entered, and with a dagger pierced the figure in the bed, as she thought; but, to her surprise, the weapon remained firmly fixed in the log, whilst her hands were fastened to the handle, and she had to remain thus until morning broke, when the spell gave way.

Twice had Hildur thus been able to save Fertram, but they both saw that he was no longer safe. At any moment the old woman might exercise some magic art, and prevent Hildur saving him again. They decided that they must take some other course.

One morning early, before even the sleepy guards at the gate were awake, the young princess and Fertram passed through, and turned their steps towards the unknown world lying beyond their own grounds. At first they wandered through fields, and found the way easy.

“It was the only way, Fertram,” said Hildur, when the young man regretted leaving without a word of thanks or love to those who had cared for him through the long years since his childhood—“it was the only way. Nowhere in my father’s castle would you have been safe, and my grandmother would only have vented her anger upon my parents, if they had known of our flight.”

At length a small river stopped their way. In an instant Hildur changed herself and Fertram into trout, and, glittering in the sunlight, they leaped into the water. Hardly had they got below the surface when they saw the grandmother walking along the bank of the river. She had tracked them at once, and now used her spells to try and catch them in their present form. The day wore on, but her art was useless—nothing would entrap the wary trout; and at last, filled with rage, she retraced her steps to the castle.

It was sunset now, and the two young people, having resumed their natural shape, pursued their way into the forest.

“We must no longer take the form of fish,” Hildur said. “Even now grandmother will be weaving a magic net, out of which no fish can possibly escape.”

And up in her tower, the grandmother went on weaving, weaving. At first the work went smoothly; but soon the netting became entangled, the knots no longer held together, and her spells showed her that the fugitives were no longer fish, but had resumed their own forms.

“Go forth immediately,” she said to her servants. “Take every one who can be spared. Search all through the forest, and kill every living thing that you see.”

So the servants searched all day in every direction, but not a creature was to be seen. At last, as night drew on, they met two beautiful dogs; they were the most magnificent animals they had ever seen. But, although they were quite friendly with the servants, they did not allow themselves to be touched. The men therefore returned to the castle and told what had happened.

The wrath of the grandmother was terrible to see. She knew at once that the dogs were Fertram and Hildur, and she commanded the servants to be thrown into the dungeons for not carrying out her orders.

Hildur, by her magic power, knew what had taken place.

“We must not stay here, Fertram,” she said sadly; “my grandmother will never rest now until she kills us. Even her love for me seems to have turned to hatred.”

“But what can we do?” Fertram asked. “Better let me go by myself out into the world, and do you return. Then all will be well.”

But Hildur made no answer. Presently she unfolded a square of green cloth.

“Sit on this beside me,” she said.

In a moment they were floating high up in the air. The day wore on. Sometimes they were borne along swiftly by a strong breeze, then a soft gentle wind would come and seem almost to rock them to sleep, till just as the sun was setting, and the sky was one blaze of gold and crimson, Hildur made the cloth descend slowly to the earth again, and they found themselves in a great flowery plain. Magnificent trees shaded it here and there. A beautiful river wound its way gently through luxuriant banks covered with ferns, and in the distance rose the tower of a great city, surmounted by a magnificent castle, standing out distinctly against the sky.

“Fertram,” Hildur said, in a low voice, laying her hand on his arm, “this is your native land. You are the son of the king who once reigned here. Now he has been dead for some years. When you were only a year old, your mother carried you into the beautiful orchard which lies at the foot of the castle, when suddenly a great dragon swooped down, tore you from her arms, and she saw you no more. Your father grieved even more for you than your mother; you were his only child, and the loss preyed upon him, till at length he died of grief. The kingdom will soon have no ruler, for your mother, who hid her grief for your father’s sake, is now pining away, and they fear for her life too. Now, Fertram, you must go to her, tell her your history, and receive the kingdom from her hands.”

“Hildur, dear Hildur, can it be true? Have I really a mother of my own, as you have? It is almost too delightful to believe. Come, let us hasten to her!” cried Fertram.

“No,” Hildur answered; “I must not go with you. You must go alone. But I will remain quietly in that small hut which is under the great tree yonder, until you come for me. But, oh, Fertram,” and she clasped his arm with her two white hands, “remember I am alone in a strange country; do not forget me.”

“Forget you, when you have been everything to me all these years! Hildur, how could I? Such a thing could never happen. I love you better than myself.”

“Yes, I know,” Hildur answered; “but I fear some evil. I know not what.”

Then, to prevent her grandmother’s spells taking effect, she rubbed some salve out of a small box she carried, over his hands and face, and bade him a sorrowful farewell.

Fertram embraced her tenderly, laughed away her fears, and then took his way towards the town. He looked very handsome, as he turned once more to wave his cap to her, and the sun’s rays lit up his fair hair. She watched him till she could see him no longer, and then went on to the little hut she had destined for her temporary abode.

Fertram only stopped once on his way to the city. Feeling tired with the long journey, he sat down under an oak tree, on a grassy mound. While he was resting, a beautiful dog came up, and as he patted and stroked it, the dog licked his face and hands. Immediately Fertram forgot all his past life, and that Hildur was waiting for him in the hut under the trees.

Having rested, he rose up and pursued his way into the town.

“Can I see the queen?” he inquired. “I have news for her, which will give her joy.”

At first no one paid any heed, but the youth’s noble appearance struck the courtiers, and at length he was admitted into the palace.

There he was brought before the queen, who was lying, pale and languid, on a great couch of rich silks and cloth of gold. When he bowed before her, she rose to a sitting position, startled out of her apathy and weakness by his likeness to the dead king.

“Who is this youth? Where does he come from?” she asked.

“Madam,” the courtiers answered, “he is a stranger, who craves admittance as a bearer of good tidings to your majesty.”

Then, in a few words, Fertram told his tale. Before it was done he was clasped in the loving arms of his mother, who felt it was indeed her long-lost son. The court was summoned together to hear the glad tidings, the news was proclaimed in the streets of the city, the queen gave the government at once into the hands of her son, and the young king was crowned amid universal rejoicings.

Day after day went by, Fertram was absorbed with the affairs of his kingdom, and his love for his mother. All thought of Hildur had gone like a dream.

One day the city was roused to great excitement by the appearance of a most beautiful maiden. No one knew whence she had come, but all agreed that her loveliness could not be surpassed, and when the queen saw her, she sent for her to the palace, treated her like a daughter, and besought Fertram to marry her. This, however, he steadily refused to do.

After a time, whispers went abroad that the beautiful girl was not as good as she was lovely. Her fair face was constantly disfigured by an ugly frown if things were not arranged as she liked, and the courtiers began to think that the king was right, after all, in preferring to seek another wife.

Just then one of the royal swineherds happened to lose his way in the forest, and he wandered on until he came to a little hut. There he found an old man and his wife, and with them a fair maiden, whom they called their daughter. Never had the swineherd seen any one so beautiful, and he determined to stay the night with these people, and if possible carry off the maiden. He found that her name was Hildur; and when the old people had gone up to bed, while Hildur was closing the windows, and putting things straight before following their example, he suggested that they should go out and look at the beautiful moon rising. But Hildur said—

“I must first make up the fire on the hearth.”

The man offered to do it for her; but no sooner had he knelt down, than his hands became fastened to the hearth. In vain he struggled to get away, it was all of no avail. Hildur was nowhere to be seen, and it was not until morning that he felt free once more. Then, rising to his feet, he fled from the uncanny place without once looking back.

When he reached the castle, his fellow servants soon heard the whole tale, and the report of the beauty of the woodcutter’s daughter was circulated from one to the other. The royal huntsman thought he, too, would like to see her. So, setting off at once, he reached the hut, and begged for a night’s rest. The old people granted it willingly. The beautiful girl was still there, and the huntsman in his turn planned to carry her off that night. He begged Hildur to come for a walk, as it was such a beautiful night. But she refused.

“My time is too fully occupied for idle wanderings,” she said. “Will you help me by locking up the door for the night?”

“Willingly,” said the huntsman, intending to put the key in his pocket, and carry her off later on.

But no sooner had his hands touched the lock, than they remained fastened to it. A mocking laugh behind him made him look round, and he saw Hildur disappearing up the stairs to her room.

When the sun was well up in the sky, and the old couple beginning to stir, the huntsman found he could remove his hands, and he hurried off shamefaced to his home.

Shortly after this, the king was out hunting in the forest, when suddenly a thick black fog enveloped everything. He lost his way completely, and became separated from his people. At length, after some hours, he arrived at a little hut, knocked joyfully at the door, and on its being opened by an old man, craved leave to rest. He was at once invited to enter; and then the old man, recognizing the king, begged him to excuse the poverty of the place.

The king sat down, wearied with his long wandering, and the old man waited upon him, bringing food and drink of the best he had. Just as the meal was ended Hildur came in, and the king thought he had never seen any one so beautiful before. She was dressed as a simple peasant, but she looked like a royal princess. The king begged leave to stay the night, as it was still too foggy for him to find his way, and the old man acceded, only apologizing for the poorness of the accommodation.

“I will not disturb you,” the king said. “Let me only rest in this room for the night, as I have been doing now.”

So it was arranged.

After the old couple had gone to bed, the king begged Hildur to stay and talk with him; but she said she must see to the calves in the stable.

“That I can do for you,” he answered; and, rising, he went out into the stable, put the straw and hay right for the calves, and had made everything tidy, when one of them got out. After great trouble he caught hold of it by the tail; but, alas! his hands remained fastened to it, and he was found in this plight by Hildur just before dawn.

She laughed merrily when she saw him.

“It hardly suits a king, my lord,” she said, “to be hanging on to the tail of a calf!”

But Fertram humbly begged her to release him. As she did so, she looked up at him.

“Do you not recognize me?” she said.

“No,” replied Fertram, much astonished. “I have never seen you before, I am certain.”

“Perhaps, then, I remind you of some one?” she asked again. “Of Hildur, the king’s daughter, who brought you back to your kingdom?”

“No,” he said again, more puzzled still; “I never even remember hearing the name of Hildur.”

Then Hildur went and fetched the little box of ointment, and directly she rubbed it on his hands and face, his past life came back to him. He embraced Hildur again and again, thanking her for all she had done for him, and asking her to forgive his apparent coldness and forgetfulness.

“You, and you alone, have had my love all this time, at any rate,” he said; “for I could love no one else. And you alone shall be my queen.”

Sitting down together in the early morning sunshine under one of the great forest trees, Hildur told him what he did not know; namely, that the beautiful girl whom his mother had taken into the palace was really her old grandmother. She had followed them, and transformed herself so that Fertram should marry her. Then she meant to kill him and his mother, and seize the kingdom.

“So far I have guarded you from her wicked schemes,” Hildur said, laying her hand on his; “but, knowing that the past was no longer in your mind, I have feared each day that she might succeed in winning you. For had you been unfaithful to me, I could no longer have done anything for you against her wiles.”

Again and again Fertram thanked her; then he bade her a tender farewell, and went straight back to the city. The great council of the kingdom was summoned, and to them the young king disclosed the real history of the wicked grandmother. But she was too cunning to be caught and punished. Divining what had happened, she disappeared amid a cloud of fire and smoke.

Then Fertram, accompanied by a magnificent retinue, with glittering dresses, splendid horses, and all the nobles of the kingdom, went to fetch his bride. She was still in her simple peasant’s dress, but her beauty made all forget what she wore. Mounting the beautiful steed brought for her, she rode back beside Fertram to the palace; and on the steps, waiting to receive her, was Fertram’s mother. This was indeed a joyful day for her. The wish of her heart was granted, in the loveliness and goodness of her son’s bride.

The wedding was celebrated with the utmost pomp and magnificence, and Fertram and Hildur lived happily together, surrounded, as years passed on, by their beautiful children and grandchildren.

THE END.

NOTES

[1] The Norse Vulcan.

[2] This is a small bar of iron, about the size of a walking-stick, with a cross-piece at one end, still in use in Iceland.