No voice answered. The uncle called again in a louder voice. Still no answer came. He peered down into the blackness by the light of a long torch he had brought, but he could see nothing except the bed of leaves, the rude bench and the chair.
“She lies dead under the leaves,” the uncle whispered to himself with chattering teeth. A bat flew against his face. Shaking with fear, he let the trap-door fall and hurried away, back through the winding, cobwebby passages, to the state rooms of the palace.
But there more fears awaited him. His three wicked counsellors rushed up and drew him to the front window, crying: “See!” “A foe is marching upon us!” “A great and mighty army!”
The false king saw in the distance an army of hundreds of men, all in glistening armour, with waving plumes and gleaming shields, line after line stretching far into the distance. At the head of the army, upon a magnificent black war-horse, rode the neighbouring king, clad in a suit of mail, with a glittering helmet on his head, surmounted by a flowing white plume. Behind the king, each upon a beautiful white horse, rode Prince Edward and Princess Katrina; and upon the shoulder of the princess perched a large gray squirrel.
“Then what happened?” questioned Betty, breathlessly.
Miss Ruth, glancing at the clock, saw that the hands pointed closely to five, so she told the rest of the story very fast:
The wicked uncle was a coward before danger. When he found that the princess was with this great army, he made no resistance, but at once ordered the white flag of surrender to be flung out from the tower, for he knew that the powerful neighbouring king would not fail to avenge Katrina’s wrongs.
The conquering king made the wicked uncle a prisoner, and had him put into the same dungeon where Katrina had been imprisoned. Prince Edward and Princess Katrina were married soon after, and ruled happily for many, many years. Behind their thrones hung the splendid scarlet-and-gold tapestry upon which the princess had worked during those dreary days in the dungeon. When the wicked uncle was an old man, grown thin and white-haired, Katrina had him set free from prison, and he spent his last days at the court, playing with a feeble, old gray squirrel.
“Is that all?” sighed Betty, when Miss Ruth stopped talking.
“Thank you ever so much,” said Elsa, as she sat looking into the fire: “I like Prince Gray Owl,” she added soberly.