Part 6 (2/2)

The thought was as death to him, and he looked broodingly down at the poor woman. ”I am bidden to a feast, Mother,” he said, ”the porter of this castle will give you shelter for the night, and in the morning I will convey you through the Dark Wood to your home.”

”The morning may be too late, Sir Knight,” she said sadly.

Then without a word Sir G.o.dfrey turned his horse, and though his heart was like lead, he bent a cheerful countenance to the stranger, and a.s.sisted her to the place behind the saddle, and off they rode together through the night and storm.

Sir G.o.dfrey spoke but little, since his thoughts were with the Lady Beatrice and the empty chair at the feast which should have been his. He saw her face imprinted on the night's dark veil and heard her voice calling him on the whistling wind. The old woman behind him muttered of the storm while on and on they rode.

At last they entered the Dark Wood, and here they made slower progress, for the light of Sir G.o.dfrey's little lantern was feeble and the trees cast confusing shadows. By and by the old woman began to moan that she was cold, that she felt herself dying of the cold. ”O would that we could reach the Tree which sheds warmth and bears fruit even in this bitter weather,” she cried. ”O Knight, hasten forward to the Tree.”

But Sir G.o.dfrey made no answer, for he was now sure that he should never be holy enough to behold the Tree; and he, too, felt the sorrow and cold of death creep upon him, and a dreadful fear that never again should he leave the Dark Wood alive, but would perish there miserably. He could no longer see the path, and the arms of the old woman clinging to him were like the touch of ice. ”O Mother!” he cried, ”Pray for our deliverance, for I have lost the road.”

At that moment his lantern went out, and he gave a cry of despair, for he had nothing wherewith to relight it.

”Fear not,” cried the old woman, ”but press on.”

So through the dark he urged his horse, seeing nothing and feeling more dead than alive; for he now knew that both he and his pa.s.senger must perish of the cold.

But even as he was resigning his heart to the will of heaven, he saw afar off a beautiful, clear, rosy light shedding long rays over the snow, and where the light lay the snowflakes fell no more, but a delicate breeze, soft and caressing, issued like a breath of spring from that circle. The old woman cried, ”The Tree! the Tree!”

Sir G.o.dfrey's heart leaped with joy. He could not believe that he was at last worthy to behold the Tree, yet there it rose, oh, so glorious!

its trunk glowing with a sweet, warm fire, its branches covered with lights and heavy with delicious fruit. He laughed with joy, while the old woman softly wept. Even the horse saw the fine sight, for he whinnied his pleasure.

Then the knight dismounted and turned to lift the old woman down, when suddenly she threw back her hood, and straightened herself; and there, smiling into his eyes, was his own love, the Lady Beatrice. ”O my true Knight,” she cried. ”For the sake of a stranger thou didst brave death.

Now with thy love shalt thou live.”

Then Sir G.o.dfrey cried out with joy and took her in his arms and kissed her many times, while from behind the Tree came running all the true-hearted n.o.bles and peasants who had been able to see its wonders, and they all circled Sir G.o.dfrey and the Lady Beatrice while they plighted their troth. Then all ate the fruit, and made merry in the rosy warmth until the Christmas morning dawned, when they went back in the suns.h.i.+ne to celebrate the marriage of Sir G.o.dfrey and the Lady Beatrice, who lived happily ever afterwards; for how otherwise could it be with lovers that had together beheld the Tree in the Dark Wood?

THE CAT THAT WINKED

Once there was an old woman who lived on the edge of the Dark Wood in a small cottage all covered with thick thatch and over the thatch grew a honeysuckle vine; but at the gable where the chimneys cl.u.s.tered, the wisteria flung purple flowers in May.

On the topmost chimney was a stork's nest, and there dear grandfather stork stood on one leg, unless he was wanted to carry a little baby to some house in the village; when he flapped his wings and flew away over the tree-tops to the Land of Little Souls.

Now the old woman loved her home, because she had lived there many years with her husband. She loved the two worn chairs on each side of the great hearth, and her pewter dishes, and her big china water-pitcher with flowers s.h.i.+ning on it--not for themselves, but for the reason that once someone had used them and admired them with her.

Into the little latticed windows the roses peeped, and these Mother Huldah loved too, and tended carefully all through the sweet-smelling summer-time. But perhaps she liked best the long winter evenings when she spun by the fire and sang little songs like these:

”My heart as a bird has flown away, (Princess, where? Princess, where?) Into the land that is always gay, Out of the land of care.

”But no bird flies alone to bliss, (Princess, why? Princess, why?) I have no answer but a kiss, And then the open sky.”

n.o.body listened but Tommie, who was an immense black cat, held in great reverence by the villagers, for he had the greenest eyes and the longest whiskers and the heaviest fur of any cat in the kingdom. Moreover, he had hundreds of mice to his credit and no birds, for he was a good and wise grimalkin. Sometimes he talked with his tail and sometimes he opened his pink mouth and said just as plain as words that he had been stalking through the moonlight and had seen old Egbert go limping home as if he had the rheumatism.

So next day Mother Huldah with her little bag of medicines and ointments would go to old Egbert's hut, and sure enough, find him bedridden; or Tommie would tell her that Charlemagne the stork had carried a baby to a poor mother who had no clothes for it. Then Mother Huldah would go to her great cedar chest and take out linen that smelled all sweetly of lavender, and carry it with some good food to the poor woman.

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