The Hot Swamp

is--rightly or wrongly--believed to be a peculiarcharacteristic of the fair sex. Theology, speculative and otherwise,vanished, she leaped up and, forgetting her host's warning, began toinspect the goods.

  At first conscience--for she had an active little one--remonstrated.

  "But," she replied, silently, with a very natural tendency toself-justification, "although Beniah told me not to touch things, I didnot _promise_ not to do so?"

  "True, but your silence was equivalent to a promise," said somethingwithin her.

  "No, it wasn't," she replied aloud.

  "Yes, it was," retorted the something within her in a tone ofexasperating contradiction.

  This was much too subtle a discussion to be continued. She brushed itaside with a laugh, and proceeded to turn over the things with eageradmiration on her expressive face. Catching up a brightblue-and-scarlet shawl, large enough to cover her person, she threw itover her and made great, and not quite successful, efforts to see herown back. Suddenly she became motionless, and fixed her lustrous browneyes on the roof with almost petrified attention.

  A thought had struck her! And she resolved to strike it back in thesense of pursuing it to a conclusion.

  "The very thing," she said, recovering from petrification, "and I'll_do_ it!"

  The preliminary step to doing it seemed to be a general turn over of theHebrew's shawls, all of which, though many were beautiful, she rejectedone after another until she found an old and considerably worn grey one.This she shook out and examined with approving nods, as if it were thefinest fabric that ever had issued from the looms of Cashmere. Tyingher luxuriant hair into a tight knot behind, and smoothing it down oneach side of her face, and well back so as not to be obtrusive, sheflung the old shawl over her head, induced a series of wrinkles tocorrugate her fair brow; drew in her lips so as to conceal her teeth,and, by the same action, to give an aquiline turn to her nose; bowed herback, and, in short, converted herself into a little old woman!

  At court, Branwen had been celebrated for her powers of mimicry, and hadbeen a source of great amusement to her companions in the use--sometimesthe abuse--of these powers; but this was the first occasion on which shehad thought of personating an old woman.

  Having thus metamorphosed herself, she looked eagerly round as if insearch of a mirror. It need scarcely be said that glass had not beenheard of by the natives of the Tin Islands or of Albion at that time,nevertheless, mirrors were not unknown. Espying in a corner, a greatbronze shield, that might once have flashed terror at the siege ofTroy--who knows--she set it up against the wall. It was oval in shape,and presented her face with such a wide expanse of cheeks, that shelaughed lightly and turned it the other way. This arrangement gave hervisage such lengthened astonishment of expression, that she laughedagain, but was not ill pleased at her appearance on the whole.

  To make the illusion perfect, she sought and found an article of dress,of which the Albionic name has been forgotten, but which is known tomodern women as a petticoat. It was reddish brown in colour, and, sofar, in keeping with the grey old shawl.

  While she was busy tying on this garment, and otherwise completing hercostume, almost quite forgetful in her amusement of the danger which haddriven her to that strange place, she heard voices in the outer cave,and among them one which turned her cheeks pale, and banished everythought of fun out of her heart. It was the voice of Gunrig!

  That doughty warrior--after having partially regained the equanimitywhich he had sat down on the fallen tree to recover--arose, and returnedto his apartment in the palace for the double purpose of feeding andmeditation. Being a robust man, he did not feel much the worse for theevents of the morning, and attacked a rib of roast beef with gusto.Hearing, with great surprise, that his late antagonist was no other thanBladud, the long-lost son of the king, he comforted himself with anotherrib of roast beef, and with the reflection that a prince, not less thana man-at-arms, is bound to fight a duel when required to do so. Havingfinished his meal, he quaffed a huge goblet of spring water, and wentout to walk up and down with his hands behind his back.

  Doubtless, had he lived in modern days, he would have solaced himselfwith a glass of bitter and a pipe, but strong drink had not beendiscovered in those islands at the time, and smoking had not beeninvented. Yet it is generally believed, though we have no authenticrecord of the fact, that our ancestors got on pretty well without thesecomforts. We refrain, however, from dogmatising on the point, but it isour duty to state that Gunrig, at all events, got on swimmingly withoutthem. It is also our duty to be just to opponents, and to admit that apipe might possibly have soothed his wrath.

  Of course, on hearing of Branwen's flight, the indignant king summonedhis hunters at once, and, putting the enraged Gunrig himself at the headof them, sent him fuming into the woods in search of the runaway. Theydid not strike the trail at once, because of, as already explained, theinnumerable footprints in the neighbourhood of the town.

  "We can't be long of finding them now," remarked the chief to theprincipal huntsman, as they passed the entrance to Beniah's retreat.

  "It may be as well to run up and ask the old man who lives here if hehas seen her," replied the huntsman. "He is a man with sharp eyes forhis years."

  "As you will," said Gunrig sternly, for his wrath had not yet beenappreciably toned down by exercise.

  They found the Hebrew reading at his door.

  "Ho! Beniah, hast seen the girl Branwen pass this way to-day?" criedGunrig as he came up.

  "I have not seen her pass," replied the Hebrew, in a tone so mild thatthe angry chief suspected him.

  "She's not in your hut, I suppose?" he added sharply.

  "The door is open, you may search it if you doubt me," returned theHebrew with a look of dignity, which he knew well how to assume.

  The chief entered at once, and, after glancing sharply round the outerroom entered the kitchen. Here Beniah showed him the chimney, pointedout the yawning chasm below, and commented on the danger of falling intoit in the dark.

  "And what is there beyond, Hebrew?" asked the chief.

  Beniah held up the lamp.

  "You see," he said, "the rock against which my poor hut rests."

  Then the old man referred to the advantages of the situation forsupplying himself with food by hunting in the forest, as well as bycultivating the patch of garden beside the hut, until his visitor beganto show signs of impatience, when he apologised for intruding hisdomestic affairs at such a time, and finally offered to join and aid thesearch party.

  "Aid us!" exclaimed Gunrig in contempt. "Surely we need no aid fromyou, when we have the king's head-huntsman as our guide."

  "That may be true, chief, nevertheless in the neighbourhood of my ownhut I could guide you, if I chose, to secret and retired spots, which itwould puzzle even the head-huntsman to find. But I will not thrust myservices upon you."

  "You are over-proud for your station," returned the chief angrily, "andwere it not for your years I would teach you to moderate your languageand tone."

  For a moment the eyes of the old man flashed, and his brows contracted,as he steadily returned the gaze of Gunrig. In his youth he had been aman of war, and, as we have said, his strength was not yet much abatedby age, but years and deep thought had brought wisdom to some extent.With an evident effort he restrained himself, and made no reply. Thechief, deeming his silence to be the result of fear, turnedcontemptuously away, and left the hut with his followers.

  During this colloquy, poor Branwen had stood in the dark passage,listening and trembling lest her hiding-place should be discovered. Shewas a strange compound of reckless courage and timidity--if such acompound be possible. Indignation at the man who had slighted her bosomfriend Hafrydda, besides insulting herself, caused her to feel at timeslike a raging lion. The comparative weakness of her slight and gracefulframe made her at other times feel like a helpless lamb. It was anexasperating condition! When she thought of Gunrig, she wished with allher heart and soul that she had
been born a big brawny man. When shethought of Bladud, nothing could make her wish to be other than a woman!

  As she stood there listening, there occurred a slight desire to clearher throat, and she almost coughed. The feeling came upon her like ashock--what if she had let it out! But a sneeze! It was well knownthat sneezes came even to people the most healthy, and at moments themost inopportune, and well she knew from experience that to repress asneeze would ensure an explosion fit to blow the little nose off herface. If a sneeze should come at that moment, she was lost!

  But a sneeze did not come. The olfactory nerves remained placid, untilthe visitors had departed. Then she retreated to the inner cave, drewthe grey shawl over her head, and awaited the development of her plans.

  Presently she heard footsteps, and the voice of the Hebrew calling toher softly, but she took