XI.
After Prince was gone, the princess, by degrees, fell back into some ofher bad old ways, from which only the presence of the dog, not her ownbetterment, had kept her. She never grew nearly so selfish again, butshe began to let her angry old self lift up its head once more, untilby and by she grew so bad that the shepherdess declared she should notstop in the house a day longer, for she was quite unendurable.
"It is all very well for you, husband," she said, "for you haven't herall day about you, and only see the best of her. But if you had her inwork instead of play hours, you would like her no better than I do. Andthen it's not her ugly passions only, but when she's in one of hertantrums, it's impossible to get any work out of her. At such timesshe's just as obstinate as--as--as"--
She was going to say "as Agnes," but the feelings of a mother overcameher, and she could not utter the words.
"In fact," she said instead, "she makes my life miserable."
The shepherd felt he had no right to tell his wife she must submit tohave her life made miserable, and therefore, although he was reallymuch attached to Rosamond, he would not interfere; and the shepherdesstold her she must look out for another place.
The princess was, however, this much better than before, even inrespect of her passions, that they were not quite so bad, and after onewas over, she was really ashamed of it. But not once, ever since thedeparture of Prince had she tried to check the rush of the evil temperwhen it came upon her. She hated it when she was out of it, and thatwas something; but while she was in it, she went full swing with itwherever the prince of the power of it pleased to carry her. Nor wasthis all: although she might by this time have known well enough thatas soon as she was out of it she was certain to be ashamed of it, shewould yet justify it to herself with twenty different arguments thatlooked very good at the time, but would have looked very poor indeedafterwards, if then she had ever remembered them.
She was not sorry to leave the shepherd's cottage, for she felt certainof soon finding her way back to her father and mother; and she would,indeed, have set out long before, but that her foot had somehow gothurt when Prince gave her his last admonition, and she had never sincebeen able for long walks, which she sometimes blamed as the cause ofher temper growing worse. But if people are good-tempered only whenthey are comfortable, what thanks have they?--Her foot was now muchbetter; and as soon as the shepherdess had thus spoken, she resolved toset out at once, and work or beg her way home. At the moment she wasquite unmindful of what she owed the good people, and, indeed, was asyet incapable of understanding a tenth part of her obligation to them.So she bade them good by without a tear, and limped her way down thehill, leaving the shepherdess weeping, and the shepherd looking verygrave.
When she reached the valley she followed the course of the stream,knowing only that it would lead her away from the hill where the sheepfed, into richer lands where were farms and cattle. Rounding one of theroots of the hill she saw before her a poor woman walking slowly alongthe road with a burden of heather upon her back, and presently passedher, but had gone only a few paces farther when she heard her callingafter her in a kind old voice--
"Your shoe-tie is loose, my child."
But Rosamond was growing tired, for her foot had become painful, and soshe was cross, and neither returned answer, nor paid heed to thewarning. For when we are cross, all our other faults grow busy, andpoke up their ugly heads like maggots, and the princess's old disliketo doing any thing that came to her with the least air of advice aboutit returned in full force.
"My child," said the woman again, "if you don't fasten your shoe-tie,it will make you fall."
"Mind your own business," said Rosamond, without even turning her head,and had not gone more than three steps when she fell flat on her faceon the path. She tried to get up, but the effort forced from her ascream, for she had sprained the ankle of the foot that was alreadylame.
The old woman was by her side instantly.
"Where are you hurt, child?" she asked, throwing down her burden andkneeling beside her.
"Go away," screamed Rosamond. "YOU made me fall, you bad woman!"
The woman made no reply, but began to feel her joints, and soondiscovered the sprain. Then, in spite of Rosamond's abuse, and theviolent pushes and even kicks she gave her, she took the hurt ankle inher hands, and stroked and pressed it, gently kneading it, as it were,with her thumbs, as if coaxing every particle of the muscles into itsright place. Nor had she done so long before Rosamond lay still. Atlength she ceased, and said:--
"Now, my child, you may get up."
"I can't get up, and I'm not your child," cried Rosamond. "Go away."
Without another word the woman left her, took up her burden, andcontinued her journey.
In a little while Rosamond tried to get up, and not only succeeded, butfound she could walk, and, indeed, presently discovered that her ankleand foot also were now perfectly well.
"I wasn't much hurt after all," she said to herself, nor sent a singlegrateful thought after the poor woman, whom she speedily passed oncemore upon the road without even a greeting.
Late in the afternoon she came to a spot where the path divided intotwo, and was taking the one she liked the look of better, when shestarted at the sound of the poor woman's voice, whom she thought shehad left far behind, again calling her. She looked round, and there shewas, toiling under her load of heather as before.
"You are taking the wrong turn, child." she cried.
"How can you tell that?" said Rosamond. "You know nothing about where Iwant to go."
"I know that road will take you where you won't want to go," said thewoman.
"I shall know when I get there, then," returned Rosamond, "and nothanks to you."
She set off running. The woman took the other path, and was soon out ofsight.
By and by, Rosamond found herself in the midst of a peat-moss--a flat,lonely, dismal, black country. She thought, however, that the roadwould soon lead her across to the other side of it among the farms, andwent on without anxiety. But the stream, which had hitherto been herguide, had now vanished; and when it began to grow dark, Rosamond foundthat she could no longer distinguish the track. She turned, therefore,but only to find that the same darkness covered it behind as well asbefore. Still she made the attempt to go back by keeping as direct aline as she could, for the path was straight as an arrow. But she couldnot see enough even to start her in a line, and she had not gone farbefore she found herself hemmed in, apparently on every side, byditches and pools of black, dismal, slimy water. And now it was so darkthat she could see nothing more than the gleam of a bit of clear skynow and then in the water. Again and again she stepped knee-deep inblack mud, and once tumbled down in the shallow edge of a terriblepool; after which she gave up the attempt to escape the meshes of thewatery net, stood still, and began to cry bitterly, despairingly. Shesaw now that her unreasonable anger had made her foolish as well asrude, and felt that she was justly punished for her wickedness to thepoor woman who had been so friendly to her. What would Prince think ofher, if he knew? She cast herself on the ground, hungry, and cold, andweary.
Presently, she thought she saw long creatures come heaving out of theblack pools. A toad jumped upon her, and she shrieked, and sprang toher feet, and would have run away headlong, when she spied in thedistance a faint glimmer. She thought it was a Will-o'-the-wisp. Whatcould he be after? Was he looking for her? She dared not run, lest heshould see and pounce upon her. The light came nearer, and grewbrighter and larger. Plainly, the little fiend was looking for her--hewould torment her. After many twistings and turnings among the pools,it came straight towards her, and she would have shrieked, but thatterror made her dumb.
It came nearer and nearer, and lo! it was borne by a dark figure, witha burden on its back: it was the poor woman, and no demon, that waslooking for her! She gave a scream of joy, fell down weeping at herfeet, and clasped her knees. Then the poor woman threw away her burden,laid down her lantern, took the prince
ss up in her arms, folded hercloak around her, and having taken up her lantern again, carried herslowly and carefully through the midst of the black pools, windinghither and thither. All night long she carried her thus, slowly andwearily, until at length the darkness grew a little thinner, anuncertain hint of light came from the east, and the poor woman,stopping on the brow of a little hill, opened her cloak, and set theprincess down.
"I can carry you no farther," she said. "Sit there on the grass tillthe light comes. I will stand here by you."
Rosamond had been asleep. Now she rubbed her eyes and looked, but itwas too dark to see any thing more than that there was a sky over herhead. Slowly the light grew, until she could see the form of the poorwoman standing in front of her; and as it went on growing, she began tothink she had seen her somewhere before, till all at once she thoughtof the wise woman, and saw it must be she. Then she was so ashamed thatshe bent down her head, and could look at her no longer. But the poorwoman spoke, and the voice was that of the wise woman, and every wordwent deep into the heart of the princess.
"Rosamond," she said, "all this time, ever since I carried you fromyour father's palace, I have been doing what I could to make you alovely creature: ask yourself how far I have succeeded."
All her past story, since she found herself first under the wisewoman's cloak, arose, and glided past the inner eyes of the princess,and she saw, and in a measure understood, it all. But she sat with hereyes on the ground, and made no sign.
Then said the wise woman:--
"Below there is the forest which surrounds my house. I am going home.If you pledge to come there to me, I will help you, in a way I couldnot do now, to be good and lovely. I will wait you there all day, butif you start at once, you may be there long before noon. I shall haveyour breakfast waiting for you. One thing more: the beasts have not yetall gone home to their holes; but I give you my word, not one willtouch you so long as you keep coming nearer to my house."
She ceased. Rosamond sat waiting to hear something more; but nothingcame. She looked up; she was alone.
Alone once more! Always being left alone, because she would not yieldto what was right! Oh, how safe she had felt under the wise woman'scloak! She had indeed been good to her, and she had in return behavedlike one of the hyenas of the awful wood! What a wonderful house it wasshe lived in! And again all her own story came up into her brain fromher repentant heart.
"Why didn't she take me with her?" she said. "I would have gonegladly." And she wept. But her own conscience told her that, in thevery middle of her shame and desire to be good, she had returned noanswer to the words of the wise woman; she had sat like a tree-stump,and done nothing. She tried to say there was nothing to be done; butshe knew at once that she could have told the wise woman she had beenvery wicked, and asked her to take her with her. Now there was nothingto be done.
"Nothing to be done!" said her conscience. "Cannot you rise, and walkdown the hill, and through the wood?"
"But the wild beasts!"
"There it is! You don't believe the wise woman yet! Did she not tellyou the beasts would not touch you?"
"But they are so horrid!"
"Yes, they are; but it would be far better to be eaten up alive by themthan live on--such a worthless creature as you are. Why, you're not fitto be thought about by any but bad ugly creatures."
This was how herself talked to her.