heard the news?" she asked, with a gladsome smile.
"Not I," replied Branwen, in a rather sharp tone.
"Whatever it is, it seems to have made you happy."
"Truly it has. But let us go in with the bandages first. The news istoo good to be told in a hurry."
The sound of their voices as they entered aroused Gunrig completely, andhe rose up as they approached.
"My father sent us," said the princess in some confusion, "to see thatyou are well cared for. Your wounds, I hope, are not dangerous?"
"Dangerous, no; and they will not prevent me from speedily avengingmyself on the young upstart who has appeared so suddenly to claim youfor a bride. Stay, you need not go so quickly, or toss your head inpride. I will stand by my word, and let him keep who wins. But I havea word to say to you, Branwen. Come along with me."
Wooers among the ancient Albionites were not, it would seem, celebratedfor politeness--some of them, at least! The chief seized the shrinkinggirl by the wrist as he spoke, and led her out of the house and into aneighbouring thicket, where he bade her sit down on a fallen tree.
"Now," he said, sitting down beside her, and putting his arm round herwaist, despite her objections, "this young turkey-cock has fairly wonHafrydda, and he is welcome to her for all that I care--that is, if helives to claim her hand after our next meeting, for, since I've seenyour pretty face, Branwen, I would rather wed you than the fairest lassthat ever owned to Norland blood. What say you to take the princess'splace and become my wife?"
"Oh! no, no," exclaimed Branwen, in great distress, trying to disengagehis arm, "you love Hafrydda, and it is impossible that you can love usboth! Let me go."
"I'm not so sure that I ever really cared for the princess," replied thechief; "but of this I am quite sure, that I never loved her half as muchas I love you, Branwen."
The girl tore herself away from him, and, standing up with flushed faceand flashing eyes, exclaimed--
"Shame would crush you, if you were a brave man, for uttering such aspeech. But you are _not_ brave; you are a coward, and your lateopponent will teach you that. Be sure that I will never consent to wedone who is a disgrace to manhood."
A fierce scowl crossed Gunrig's swarthy countenance, but it passed in amoment, and a look of admiration replaced it as he looked up with asmile.
"I like maids with your temper," he said, still keeping his seat, "butyou forget that if the king so wills it, you shall be compelled toaccept me, and I think the king will scarce dare to thwart my wishes,especially now that another man has a right to the princess."
"I defy you," returned the girl, still at a white heat of indignation,"and if the king tries to force me to wed you, I will defy him too! Theyoung stranger will be my champion--or, if he should refuse, there areother ways by which a helpless girl may escape from tyrants."
She turned with these words and fled. Gunrig sprang up to pursue, but,fortunately for the girl, a modest bramble, that scarce ventured toraise its branches above the ground, caught his foot and sent himheadlong into a rotten stump, which seemed only too ready to receivehim. Extracting his head from its embrace, he stood up in a bewilderedframe of mind, found that the light-footed Branwen had escaped him, andsat down again on the fallen tree to recover his equanimity.
Meanwhile the poor girl ran back to the palace, rushed into Hafrydda'sroom, threw herself on a couch, and burst into tears.
This was such an unwonted exhibition of weakness in Branwen that theprincess stood looking at her for a few moments in silent surprise.Then she sought to comfort her, and made her relate, bit by bit, withmany a sob between, what had occurred.
"But why do you cry so bitterly?" asked Hafrydda. "It is so unlike youto give way to despair. Besides, you defied him, you say, and you wereright to do so, for my dear father will never force you to wed againstyour wishes."
"I know better," returned the other, with some bitterness. "Did he notintend to make _you_ wed against your wishes?"
"That is true," replied the gentle Hafrydda, with a sigh. "But I amsaved from that now," she added, brightening up suddenly, "and thatreminds me of the good news. Do you know who the handsome youth is whorescued me from this monster?"
"No, I don't; and I'm sure I don't care," answered Branwen, with a touchof petulance. "At all events, I suppose you will be glad of the changeof husbands."
"He will never be my husband," returned the princess, somewhat amused byher friend's tone, for she suspected the cause. "He is my brotherBladud--my long-lost brother!"
The change that came over Branwen's pretty face on hearing this wasremarkable.
"Your brother!" she exclaimed. "No wonder that he is beautiful, as wellas brave!"
A merry laugh broke from the princess as she kissed her friend. "Well,but," she said, "what will you do? You know that always, when I havebeen perplexed or in trouble, I have come to you for help and advice.Now that things are turned the other way, I know not what advice to giveyou."
"I have settled what to do," answered Branwen, drying her eyes, andlooking up with the air of one whose mind has been suddenly and firmlymade up. "Your father, I know, will consent to Gunrig's wishes. If hedid not, there would be war again--horrible war--between the tribes. Iwill never be the cause of that if I can help it. At the same time, itwould kill me to wed with Gunrig. I would rather die than that;therefore--I will run away."
"And leave me?" exclaimed the princess anxiously.
"Well, I should have to leave you, at any rate, if I stay and amcompelled to marry Gunrig."
"But where will you run to?"
"That I will not tell, lest you should be tempted to tell lies to yourfather. Just be content to know that I shall not be far away, and thatin good time you shall hear from me. Farewell, dear Hafrydda, I darenot stay, for that--that monster will not be long in hatching andcarrying out some vile plot--farewell."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
PLOTS AND PLANS.
About three miles beyond the outskirts of King Hudibras' town--the nameof which has now, like many other things, been lost in the proverbialmists of antiquity--an old man dwelt in a sequestered part of theforest. His residence was a dry cave at the foot of a cliff, or,rather, a rude hut which, resting against the cliff, absorbed the cave,so to speak, into its rear premises.
The old man had a somewhat aquiline nose, a long white beard, and agrave, but kindly, expression of countenance. He was one of the sons ofIsrael--at that time _not_ a despised race. Although aged he wasneither bowed nor weak, but bore himself with the uprightness and vigourof a man in his prime. When at home, this man seemed to occupy his timechiefly in gathering firewood, cooking food, sleeping, and reading in asmall roll of Egyptian papyrus which he carried constantly in his bosom.
He was well known, far and near, as Beniah the merchant, who traffickedwith the Phoenician shipmen; was a sort of go-between with them and thesurrounding tribes, and carried his wares from place to place far andwide through the land. He was possessed of a wonderful amount ofcurious knowledge, and, although he spoke little, he contrived in thelittle he said to make a favourable impression on men and women. Beingobliging as well as kind, and also exceedingly useful, people not onlyrespected Beniah, but treated him as a sort of semi-sacred being who wasnot to be interfered with in any way. Even robbers--of whom there werenot a few in those days--respected the Hebrew's property; passed by hishut with looks of solemnity, if not of awe, and allowed him to come andgo unchallenged.
Most people liked Beniah. A few feared him, and a still smallernumber--cynics, who have existed since the days of Adam--held him to bein league with evil spirits. He was a tall, stalwart man, and carried astaff of oak about six feet long, as a support during his travels. Ithad somehow come to be understood that, although Beniah waspre-eminently a man of peace, it was nevertheless advisable to treat himwith civility or to keep well out of the range of that oaken staff.Possibly this opinion may have been founded on the fact that, on oneoccasion, three big runaway Phoenic
ian seamen, who thought they wouldprefer a life in the woods to a life on the ocean wave, had one eveningbeen directed to Beniah's hut as a place where strangers were neverrefused hospitality when they asked it with civility. As those threeseamen made their appearance in the town that same evening, in a verysulky state of mind, with three broken heads, it was conjectured thatthey had omitted the civility--either on purpose or by accident. Bethis as it may, Beniah and his six-foot staff had become objects ofprofound respect.
Evening was drawing on and Beniah was sitting on a stool beside his opendoor, enjoying the sunshine that penetrated his umbrageous retreat, andreading the papyrus scroll already referred to, when the figure of awoman
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