On they travelled, for days and weeks. Many gave up all hope, and spoke of returning. Beautiful lakes had they passed, but thus far not one bearing the name Silver Lake had been found. And the king said one day:—
“My dear Lily Queen, this Silver Lake, with its stream flowing to the sea,—was it not all a dream? Shall we chase a vision? Let us return, and no longer cherish vain hopes.”
The queen, however, would not be persuaded. A little farther, she said, and yet a little farther; but at last agreed, that if, by the morrow’s sunset, no Silver Lake was found, they would then return.
The morrow was past. Bravely had they travelled on, and, just as the sun went down, were ready to halt in a poor little village.
The sky was all aglow with the brilliant hues of sunset. In the west lay clouds of purple and gold, and of all radiant colors. The Lily Queen gazed mournfully at this fine show. For the morrow was now past, the sunset hour had come, and she could no longer ask to continue the journey. This last hope, then, was gone.
But while her gaze was fixed upon a broad, high hill, which stood darkly up against the western sky, she perceived, advancing steadily over it, a long procession or company of people. Perhaps, thought she, a troop of hostile soldiers, or perhaps some robber band to waylay us. She distinctly saw plumes waving, also banners streaming, and heard the sound of music.
She hastened to the king. He and his attendants were already alarmed, and were watching, with some anxiety, the oncoming of this host. The soldiers, well armed, stood ready to receive them.
Nearer and nearer they come. Now down the sides of the hill; now along the plain; and now they enter the streets of the village. Troops of horsemen ride in advance. In the midst of these is a grand chariot, decked out with costly trappings.
