“Very soon,” said he to himself, “she will have neither father nor mother. I can very well manage that. I will then provide for her a beautiful abode, and give her many pretty things, gay toys, fine clothes, and she shall call me father. And when I come home she will run with outstretched arms, and with a shining face, and will say, ‘Dear, dear father!’”
Rosebud, therefore, was not sent away with the rest, but was placed on a bed, in an upper chamber, all by herself, with the door locked.
And in the middle of the night there came a stout man into the chamber, who lifted her from the bed, saying:—
“I am sent by the great Magnus. You need not struggle, for I am strong; nor cry aloud, for there are none to hear you; and you need not fear, for no harm will befall you.”
So Rosebud lay quite still in his arms, like a wounded bird, while he trudged stoutly on, till they came to a place in the woods where stood three men by a litter. Into this litter Rosebud was placed, and the four men, each bearing one end of a pole, went on as rapidly as the path would admit.
On they travelled, day after day, a weary, weary way. But Rosebud cared little for weariness. She mourned for her father, whose fate was not known to her, and for her mother in the power of that cruel man.
But so tender and so full of love was her little heart, that she could not help pitying the men who had to carry her so far. And she spoke so gently, and smiled so sweetly, in the midst of her grief, that even those wild robbers were softened. They moved her tenderly, they placed soft furs about her, and plucked, now and then, some pretty flower which grew by the wayside, well pleased if she but smiled in return.
And one of these, the guide, whose name was Rupert, resolved that Rosebud should not be taken to Magnus, but that he himself would keep her for his own. He had once been a simple-minded, laboring man, and had joined the robbers only from being pressed by poverty. What though outwardly rough and ungainly, his heart was kind, and so wholly drawn to Rosebud, that he could not see her come to harm. He was weary of roving, weary of strife. He would quit the castle, and in some other kingdom would lead an honest life; and Rosebud should be his own child, his pleasant little companion. He would go forth mornings, to work for food; she would tidy up the house and welcome him back with smiles.
Now this fine little plan was not fully carried out. A beginning, however, was made, as will now be related.
One night, after weeks of weary journeying,—not in the direction of the castle, however, Rupert had seen to that,—after weeks of weary journeying, they stopped by the edge of a wood for a few hours’ sleep. Rosebud was lying in her litter, upon the ground. A lion-skin was thrown over her, as a protection from the night dews.