The Lady sat in a storm of sighs Raised by her own heart-searching.

"To-morrow must I in the churchyard lie Because love is an urchin."

So she sent her la.s.s for her sable frock, But the silly la.s.s brought a silken smock So fair to be seen With a rosy shade And a lavender sheen, That was only made For a bride to come from church in.

Now as Martin sang, Gillian got first on her elbow, and then on her knees, and last upright on her two feet. And her face was turned full on the duckpond, and her eyes gazed as though she could see more and further than any other woman in the world, and her two hands held her heart as though but for this it must follow her eyes and be lost to her for ever.

"So far as I can see," said Joscelyn, "there's nothing to choose between the foolishness of the maid and that of the mistress. But since Gillian appears to have risen to some sense in it, for goodness' sake, before she sinks back on her own folly, tell us your tale and be done with it!"

"It is ready now," said Martin, "from start to finish. Gla.s.s is not clearer nor daylight plainer to me than the conclusion of the whole, and if you will listen for a very few instants, you shall see as certainly as I the ending of The Imprisoned Princess."

THE IMPRISONED PRINCESS

There was once, dear maidens, a Princess who was kept on an island.

(Joscelyn: There are no islands in Suss.e.x.

Martin: This didn't happen in Suss.e.x.

Joscelyn: But I thought it was a true story.

Martin: It is the only true story of them all.)

She was kept on the island locked up in a tower, for the best of all the reasons in the world. She had fallen in love. She had fallen in love with her father's Squire. So the King banished him for ever and locked up his daughter in a tower on an island, and had it guarded by six Gorgons.

(Joscelyn: It's NOT a true story!

Martin: It IS a true story! If you don't say so at the end I'll give you--

Joscelyn: What?--I don't want you to give me anything!

Martin: All right then.

Joscelyn: What will you give me?

Martin: A yellow shoe-string.)

By six Gorgons (repeated Martin) who had the sharpest claws and the snakiest hair of any Gorgons there ever were. And their faces--

(Joscelyn: Leave their faces alone!

Martin: You're being a perfect nuisance!

Joscelyn: I simply HATE this story!

Martin: Tell it yourself then!

Joscelyn: What ABOUT their faces?)

Their faces (said Martin) were as beautiful as day and night and the four seasons of the year. They were so beautiful that I must stop talking about them or I shall never talk about anything else. So I'd better talk about the young Squire, who was a great deal less interesting, except for one thing: that he was in love. Which is a big advantage to have over Gorgons, who never are. The only other noteworthy thing about him was that his voice was breaking because he was merely fifteen years old. He was just a sort of Odd Boy about the King's court.

(Martin: Mistress Joscelyn, if you keep on wiggling so much you'll get a nasty tumble. Kindly sit still and let me get on. This isn't a very long story.)

One morning in April this Squire sat down at the end of the world, and he sobbed and he sighed like any poor soul; and a sort of wandering fellow who was going by had enough curiosity to stop and ask him what was the matter. And the Squire told him, and added that his heart was breaking for longing of the flower that his lady wore in her hair. So this fellow said, "Is that all?" And he got into his boat, which had a painted prow, and a light green pennon, and a gilded sail, and called itself The Golden Truant, and he sailed away a thousand leagues over the water till he came to the island where the princess was imprisoned; and the six Gorgons came hissing to the sh.o.r.e, and asked him what he wanted. And he said he wanted nothing but to play and sing to them; so they let him. And while he did so they danced and forgot, and he ran to the tower and found the Princess with her beautiful head bowed on the windowsill behind the bars, weeping like January rain. And he climbed up the wall and took from her hair the flower as she wept, in exchange for another which--which the Squire had sent her. And she whispered a word of sorrow, and he another of comfort, and came away. And the Gorgons suspected nothing; except perhaps the littlest Gorgon, and she looked the other way.

So in the summer the Squire told the Wanderer that he would surely die unless he had his lady's ring to kiss; and the fellow went again to the island. The Gorgons were not sorry to see him, and were willing to dance while he played and sang as before; and as before he took advantage of their pleasure, and stole the gold ring from the Princess's hand as she lay in tears behind her bars. But in place of the gold ring he left a silver one which had belonged to--to the Squire. And the voice of her despair spoke through her tears, and he answered it as best he could with the voice of hope. And went away as before, leaving the Gorgons dancing.

Then in the autumn the Squire said to the Wanderer, "Who can live on flowers and rings? If you do not get me my lady herself, let me lie in my grave." So the Wanderer set sail for the third time, though he knew that the dangers and difficulties of this last adventure were supreme; and once more he landed on the island of the Imprisoned Princess. And this time the Gorgons even appeared a little pleased to see him, and let him stay with them six days and nights, telling them stories, and singing them songs, and inventing games to keep them amused. For he was very sorry for them.

(Joscelyn: Why? Why? Why?

Martin: Because he discovered that they were even unhappier than the Princess in her tower.

Joscelyn: It isn't true! It isn't true!

Martin: Look out! you're losing your slipper.)

Of course the Gorgons were unhappier than the Princess. She was only parted from her lover; but they were parted from love itself.

But as the week wore on, miracles happened; for every night one of the Gorgons turned into the beautiful girl she used to be before the G.o.ddess of Reason, infuriated with the Irrational G.o.d who bestows on girls their quite unreasonable loveliness, had made her what she was.

And night by night the Wanderer rubbed his eyes and wondered if he had been dreaming; for the guardians of the tower no longer hissed, but sighed at love, and instead of claws for the destructions of lovers had beautiful kind hands that longed to help them. Until on the sixth night only one remained this fellow's enemy. But alas! she was the strongest and fiercest of them all.

(Joscelyn: How dare you!)

And her case (said Martin) was hopeless, because she alone of them all had never known what love was, and so had nothing to be restored to.

(Joscelyn: How DARE you!)

And without her (said Martin) there was nothing to be done. She had always had the others under her thumb, and by this time she had the Wanderer in exactly the same place. And so--and so--

And so here is your shoe-string, Mistress Joscelyn; and I am sorry the want of it has been such an inconvenience to you all day, so that you could not make merry with us. But I must forfeit it now, for the story is ended, and I think you must own it is true.

(Joscelyn: I won't take it! The story is NOT true! The story is NOT ended! Finish it at once! None of the others ended like this.