Chapter XVI: A Discovery

Years passed by, and happy years they were. Rosebud, as she grew older, was the same sweet-voiced, kindly maiden, winning love from all. People gazing at her beaming face asked themselves often what it was that so charmed them there. This which they could not name was the love-light, which shone through her eyes and lighted up her countenance; for the holy fire burned always in her heart, making her whole life pure and bright. The idol of the court, praised, petted, flattered, still was she not spoiled. Ah, Rosebud was far too modest, too humble for that. Real love not only brightens, but purifies, keeping away all evil.

As King Brondé had no son, he adopted Myrtle for his own. He provided for him the best instructors, and treated him in all things as if he were really his child.

And the youth grew up, stately and handsome as a young prince. He mingled freely with the young nobles of the court, and, by his gentle bearing and his true manliness, became a favorite with every one.

Bess and Judy were established in a handsome house of their own, and every day had cause to bless the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.

Thus, as was before observed, the years flew happily on. But when years fly on, though never so happily, they carry us along with them. And the happy years that were flying on at the palace were taking King Brondé and his queen towards old age, were taking Myrtle out of his childhood, and changing our Rosebud to a full-blown rose.

And when Myrtle was no longer a child, he began to think. And when he began to think, he thought how wonderful it was that he should have thus been brought from a hut to a palace, changed from a fisher-boy to the son of a king.

And he thought, also, that he should like to be still more a son to him, and to marry Rosebud for his wife, if King Brondé were willing, but was afraid to ask. For were there not plenty of young lords, and also real princes, who came to visit the court? King Brondé might prefer one of these. Rosebud herself might. He was not sure, after all, that he would not rather they two were still living at the hut, for when they were children of the shore she liked him better than any. But these, he felt, were selfish thoughts, and must never come again.

Still, if selfish thoughts might be kept away, serious, anxious thoughts could not; and these came often to cloud his face, and to make Rosebud wonder why Myrtle appeared so thoughtful, so troubled.

Now it happened, one lovely afternoon, when the king and his court were at the summer palace, near Long Forest, that Myrtle was walking in the gardens with Rosebud. These same anxious thoughts were present in his mind. They clouded his face, and gave to his voice a sorrowful tone.

“Where are your thoughts?” asked Rosebud, “and why are you so troubled?”

“I will tell you,” said Myrtle, after a few moments of silence,--“I will tell you, first, where are my thoughts, and next, why I am so troubled. My thoughts are far away at the sea-shore, by a little spring, where a little girl once declared that the rose and the myrtle went well together. I fear she may not think so always. That is why I am so troubled.”

Rosebud looked down, and walked silently on by his side, until they came to a rosebush, bearing a rose, not quite fully blown, which she plucked. A little farther on they passed the queen’s fine myrtle-arbor. From this she cut a sprig and intwined it with the rose. The two, thus joined, she placed in his hand. He knew then that the little girl still believed that the rose and the myrtle went well together.

At a little distance they saw, walking towards them, the king and his queen. As they met, Myrtle held out to the king the pretty token he had just received from Rosebud,--held it out doubtfully, as if fearing his displeasure.

But the king smiled, remembering, no doubt, the long ago when he himself had loved a king’s daughter; and the queen smiled; and Rosebud smiled. Why, then, should not Myrtle smile, too? And then the good King Brondé opened wide his arms, clasped them both to his heart, gave them his blessing, and wished they might live as happily together as had he and his beloved Lily Queen.

* * * * *

Not long after this came the wedding. And such a wedding was surely never known before.

The kings of all the countries round about came with their queens, and their courts, and their mounted guards, and their bands of music, and their waving banners. There were illuminations in the cities, and fires blazed upon the mountain-tops. Prisoners were released, and gold and silver thrown by handfuls to the poor. Tables were spread in the streets, that everybody might feast.

Happy they who could obtain entrance into the palace. Happier still they who were admitted into that grand apartment where the marriage rites were performed. Happiest of all they who obtained a glimpse of the charming bride.

She wore, at Myrtle’s request, a robe of the very palest green, which was besprinkled with diamonds. Upon her fair curls rested a coronet of rosebuds, every leaf of which was a separate jewel.

But nothing was so lovely, so charming to all, as her own sweet face, expressing, as might plainly be seen, the most perfect love and the most perfect happiness.

All her old friends were present. Bess and Judy were there, side by side with her own sisters. The wood-cutter’s children were there, the little boy and girl whom Rosebud saved from the boat. The wood-cutter himself was there. For his services on the day and night of the lion hunt, in Long Forest, he had been well rewarded, and he now lived on a fine estate, with gold in plenty, and servants to command.

Even Rupert was present. For when released from prison, he sought the old woman’s hut, and after learning from the fishermen all that had happened, he went immediately to King Brondé’s dominions, and obtained employment in the grounds of the palace, that he might be always near Rosebud. At her request, he was made head-gardener of her flower-beds, and brought her every morning a fresh nosegay; and was welcomed with smiles, which, it may be remembered, was a part of the nice little plan he had laid when acting as guide.

Bertha, too, was there, the dark-eyed, bright-faced Bertha; and charming enough she looked too, in her bright colors, and her little jewelled cap. And happy enough, too; for the lover came safely back from the wars, and that same lover, now her husband, was by her side, and as happy as herself.

The Green Fairy, too, was there, though no one knew it, in the form of a fine-feathered bird, perched high on the top of a marble column. Somebody else, too, was there, who will shortly speak for herself.

After the marriage ceremony had been performed, the whole company repaired to the most spacious hall in the palace, where was served up a sumptuous banquet. The tables were loaded with dishes of solid gold, and with crystal ornaments. Sweetmeats, cordials, and spices of richest fragrance were brought from the remotest corners of the earth. Players of musical instruments, hidden from sight, sent forth their softest, sweetest strains.

Roses were everywhere,--roses and myrtle; in rich vases upon the table, among the decorations of the walls, in hanging-baskets, in the hands of marble statues, festooned from the ceiling, wreathed about the white columns. Roses and myrtle everywhere. The air was filled with their fragrance. And everybody said, how beautiful were the myrtle and the rose together.

At the close of the banquet, King Brondé observed that the great king who sat at his left hand appeared sad and downcast; that, although striving to be gay with the rest, yet he often turned aside to wipe away a tear.

“What is your grief?” asked King Brondé; “what great sorrow dwells in your heart, that will make itself felt, even at this bridal feast?”

“I can tell you that!” cried a strange voice at his side.

King Brondé turned and saw, standing quite near him, a little old woman, holding a staff, and wearing a blue blanket pinned over her head.

“And who are you?” cried King Brondé. “By what means gained you entrance here? And what should one like you know of the troubles of a great king?”

“The great king has but one trouble,” she replied, “and that shall soon be taken away. Listen, now, and you shall hear a true story.

“Many years ago I lived, with my grandchildren, in a cabin by a lonely wood. One stormy night a woman, a coarse-featured woman, came to my door, bringing a young child, which she had stolen for the sake of the jewels he wore.

“This woman offered me one half, provided I would allow them to remain hidden there, until her strength returned, when she would go on with her journey.

“I accepted this offer, thinking she would soon be gone, and that the jewels would make me rich.”

“You thief! wretch!” cried King Brondé.

“True, both true,” answered the old woman; “but permit me to go on with the story; for not many days are left me, and I would do one good act before I die.

“The woman never recovered her strength. She died there, in my cabin. Before her death she confessed to me that this stolen child was the son of the king. She had enticed him from his attendants, while they were walking with him, in the grounds belonging to the palace.

“I dared not remain in the country with the child, for if he were found in my hands it would be certain death to me. I therefore fled with him and my two grandchildren into another kingdom, where I dwelt in a little hut by the sea.

“The boy grew up, fair, and with a true princely look. I compelled him, until all danger of pursuit was over, to go meanly clad and dirty, lest his beauty should attract the notice of some passing traveller.

“And now, when all are making bridal presents, I come also with a gift to the bridegroom. I present to him a father. Great king, you have no longer a trouble: this is your lost boy.”

* * * * *

After the rejoicing, the happy weeping, the embracing, and all the deep excitement caused by the old woman’s story, had somewhat abated, orders were given to bring forth the jewels, which were brought from the hut, that she might declare who were their rightful owners.

And among these was the king’s signet ring, which he had heedlessly given his boy to play with on the morning of the day when he was stolen. This signet ring the old woman had never dared offer for sale.