We need scarcely say that there was joy at the court of King Hudibras when Bladud returned home, cured of his terrible disease.
The first person whom the prince hurried off to visit, after seeing his father, and embracing his mother and sister, was the northern chief Gadarn. That jovial character was enjoying a siesta after the mid-day meal at the time, but willingly arose on the prince being announced.
“Glad to see you, Gadarn,” said Bladud, entering the room that had been apportioned to the chief, and sitting down on a bench for visitors, which, according to custom, stood against the inner wall of the apartment. “I hope your head is clear and your arm strong.”
“Both are as they should be,” answered Gadarn, returning the salutation.
“I thank you,” replied the prince, “my arm is indeed strong, but my head is not quite as clear as it might be.”
“Love got anything to do with it?” asked Gadarn, with a knowing look.
“Not the love of woman, if that is what you mean.”
“Truly that is what I do mean—though, of course, I admit that one’s horses and dogs have also a claim on our affections. What is it that troubles you, my son?”
The affectionate conclusion of this reply, and the chief’s manner, drew the prince towards him, so that he became confidential.
“The truth is, Gadarn, that I am very anxious to know what news you have of Cormac—for the fate of that poor boy hangs heavy on my mind. Indeed, I should have refused to quit the Swamp, in spite of the king’s commands and my mother’s entreaties, if you had not sent that message by the Hebrew.”
“Ah, Bladud, my young friend, that is an undutiful speech for a son to make about his parents,” said the chief, holding up a remonstrative forefinger. “If that is the way you treat your natural parents, how can I expect that—that—I mean—”
Here the chief was seized with a fit of sneezing, so violent, that it made the prince quite concerned about the safety of his nose.
“Ha!” exclaimed Gadarn, as a final wind up to the last sneeze, “the air of that Swamp seems to have been too strong for me. I’m growing old, you see. Well—what was I saying?—never mind. You were referring to that poor lad Cormac. Yes, I have news of him.”
“Good news, I hope?” said the prince, anxiously. “O yes—very good—excellent! That is to say—rather—somewhat indefinite news, for—for the person who saw him told me—in fact, it is difficult to explain, because people are often untrustworthy, and exaggerate reports, so that it is not easy to make out what is true and what is false, or whether both accounts may be true, or the whole thing false altogether. You see, Bladud, our poor brains,” continued the chief, in an argumentative tone, “are so—so—queerly mixed up that one cannot tell—tell—why, there was once a fellow in my army, whose manner of reporting any event, no matter how simple, was so incomprehensible that it was impossible to—to—but let me tell you an anecdote about him. His name was—”
“Forgive my interrupting you, chief, but I am so anxious to hear something about my lost friend that—”
“Ha! Bladud, I fear that you are a selfish man, for you have not yet asked about my lost daughter.”
“Indeed I am not by any means indifferent about her; but—but, you know, I have never seen her, and, to tell the plain truth, my anxiety about the boy drove her out of my mind for the moment. Have you found her?”
“Ay, that I have; as well and hearty as ever she was, though somewhat more beautiful and a trifle more mischievous. But I will introduce her to you to-morrow. There is to be a grand feast, is there not, at the palace?”
“Yes; something of the sort, I believe, in honour of my return,” answered the prince, a good deal annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.
“Well, then, you shall see her then; for she has only just arrived, and is too tired to see any one,” continued Gadarn, with a suppressed yawn; “and you’ll be sure to fall in love with her; but you had better not, for her affections are already engaged. I give you fair warning, so be on your guard.”
The prince laughed, and assured his friend that there was no fear, as he had seen thousands of fair girls both in East and West, but his heart had never yet been touched by one of them.
At this the chief laughed loudly, and assured Bladud that his case had now reached a critical stage: for when young men made statements of that kind, they were always on the point of being conquered.
“But leave me now, Bladud,” he continued, with a yawn so vast that the regions around the uvula were clearly visible; “I’m frightfully sleepy, and you know you have shortened my nap this afternoon.”
The prince rose at once.
“At all events,” he said, “I am to understand, before I go, that Cormac has been seen?”
“O yes! Certainly; no doubt about that!”
“And is well?”
“Quite well.”
Fain to be content with this in the meantime, Bladud hurried to the apartment of his sister.
“Hafrydda!” he exclaimed, “has Gadarn gone out of his mind?”
“I believe not,” she replied, sitting down beside her brother and taking his hand. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he talks—I say it with all respect—like an idiot.”
Hafrydda laughed; and her brother thereupon gave her a full account of the recent interview.
“Now, my sister, you were always straightforward and wise. Give me a clear answer. Has Cormac been found?”
“No, he has not been found; but—”
“Then,” interrupted Bladud, in a savage tone that was very foreign to his nature, “Gadarn is a liar!”
“Oh, brother! say not so.”
“How can I help it? He gave me to understand that Cormac has been found—at least, well, no, not exactly found, but seen and heard of. I’m no better than the rest of you,” continued Bladud, with a sarcastic laugh. “It seems as if there were something in the air just now which prevents us all from expressing ourselves plainly.”
“Well, then, brother,” said Hafrydda, with a smile, “if he told you that Cormac has been seen and heard of, and is well, surely that may relieve your mind till to-morrow, when I know that some one who knows all about the boy is to be at our festival. We begin it with games, as usual. Shall you be there?”
“I’d rather not,” replied the prince almost testily; “but, of course, it would be ungracious not to appear. This, however, I do know, that I shall take no part in the sports.”
“As you please, brother. We are only too glad to have you home again, to care much about that. But, now, I have something of importance to tell you about myself.”
Bladud was interested immediately; and for the moment forgot his own troubles as he gazed inquiringly into the fair countenance of the princess.
“I am going to wed, brother.”
“Indeed! You do not surprise me, though you alarm me—I know not why. Who is the man?—not Gunrig, I hope.”
“Alas! no. Poor Gunrig is dead.”
“Dead! Ah, poor man! I am glad we met at the Swamp.”
Bladud looked sad for a moment, but did not seem unduly oppressed by the news.
“The man who has asked me to wed is your friend Dromas.”
“What!” exclaimed the prince, in blazing surprise, not unmingled with delight. “The man has been here only a few hours! He must have been very prompt!”
“It does not take many hours to ask a girl to wed; and I like a prompt man,” returned the princess, looking pensively at the floor.
“But tell me, how came it all about? How did he manage it in so short a time?”
“Well, brother dear—but you’ll never tell any one, will you?”
“Never—never!”
“Well, you must know, when we first met, we—we—”
“Fell in love. Poor helpless things!”
“Just so, brother; we fell, somehow in—whatever it was; and he told me with his eyes—and—and—I told him with mine. Then he went off to find you; and came back, having found you—for which I was very grateful. Then he went to father and asked leave to speak to me. Then he went to mother. What they said I do not know; but he came straight to me, took my hand, fixed his piercing black eyes on me, and said, ‘Hafrydda, I love you.’”
“Was that all?” asked Bladud.
“Yes; that was all he said; but—but that was not the end of the interview! It would probably have lasted till now, if you had not interrupted us.”
“I’m so very sorry, sister, but of course I did not know that—”
They were interrupted at that moment by the servitor, to whom the reader has already been introduced. He entered with a brightly intelligent grin on his expressive face, but, on beholding Bladud, suddenly elongated his countenance into blank stupidity.
“The old woman waits outside, princess.”
“Oh, send her here at once.” (Then, when the servitor had left.) “This is the person I mentioned who knows about Cormac.”
Another moment and the little old woman in the grey shawl was ushered in. She started visibly on beholding Bladud.
“Come in, granny. I did not expect you till to-morrow.”
“I thought I was to see you alone,” said the old woman, testily, in her hard, metallic voice.
“That is true, granny, but I thought you might like to see my brother Bladud, who has just returned home safe and well.”
“No, I don’t want to see your brother. What do I care for people’s brothers? I want to see yourself, alone.”
“Let me congratulate you, at all events,” interposed the prince, kindly, “on your having recovered your hearing, grannie. This is not the first time we have met, Hafrydda, but I grieve to see that my old friend’s nerves are not so strong as they used to be. You tremble a good deal.”
“Yes, I tremble more than I like,” returned the old woman peevishly, “and, perhaps, when you come to my age, young man, and have got the palsy, you’ll tremble more than I do.”
“Nay, be not angry with me. I meant not to hurt your feelings; and since you wish to be alone with my sister, I will leave you.”
When he was gone Branwen threw back the grey shawl and stood up with flashing, tearful eyes.
“Was it kind—was it wise, Hafrydda, to cause me to run so great a risk of being discovered?”
“Forgive me, dear Branwen, I did not mean to do it, but you arrived unexpectedly, and I let you come in without thinking. Besides, I knew you could easily deceive him. Nobody could guess it was you—not even your own mother.”
“There must be some truth in that,” returned the maiden, quickly changing her mood, and laughing, “for I deceived my own father yesterday. At the Swamp he found me out at once as Cormac, for I had to speak in my natural voice, and my full face was exposed; but the grey shawl and the metallic voice were too much for him. Dear, good, patient, old man, you have no notion what a fearful amount of abuse he took from me, without losing temper—and I gave him some awful home-thrusts too! I felt almost tempted to kiss him and beg his pardon. But now, Hafrydda, I am beginning to be afraid of what all this deceiving and playing the double-face will come to. And I’m ashamed of it too—I really am. What will Bladud think of me when he finds out? Won’t he despise and hate me?”
“Indeed he will not. I know his nature well,” returned the princess, kissing, and trying to reassure her friend, whose timid look and tearful eyes seemed to indicate that all her self-confidence and courage were vanishing. “He loves you already, and love is a preventive of hate as well as a sovereign remedy for it.”
“Ay, he is fond of Cormac, I know, but that is a very different thing from loving Branwen! However, to-morrow will tell. If he cares only for the boy and does not love the girl, I shall return with my father to the far north, and you will never see Branwen more.”
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