Presently appears another, in workman’s garb, which proves to be only a disguise, for, as he nears the entrance to the valley, on a sudden behold him a warrior clad in armor! And this armor is like nothing that Rudolph, the Czar, has seen. The various pieces of which it is composed are of different hues; the helmet white as snow, and so dazzling that he turns his eyes from it as he would turn them from the burning sun of noonday; the breastplate like gold, only brighter; the sword red like flame; the shield is as if it were of adamant, and the device upon it is an anchor. As the warrior gives his pass to the sentinel, the Czar, unseen, recognizes his own father!
But the sentinel does not look at the pass. “I know thee by thine armor!” he cries, with a smile of welcome, and immediately blows a bugle which he carries, and the sound rings through the valley—sweetly, sweetly! winding among the hills, sending back a thousand echoes on its way. Then the people pour out of the hamlets, and come down in myriads to meet the warrior, strewing the way with flowers and greeting him with music—oh, so marvelous! oh, so thrilling! that the very light moves to and fro in little waves, as if keeping time, and the flashing, gurgling waters join the chorus, and the overhanging branches swing a slow accompaniment.
Among the people who surround the warrior, just one glimpse has Rudolph, the Czar, of her who was once his mother, arrayed in garments the beauty of which is only surpassed by the beauty of her face, and her face surpasses in loveliness all that he ever imagined could be; just one glimpse, too, of another face he has known; then the people close about them and they are lost sight of; and while he reaches out his hands, crying, “Oh, my mother! Oh, my brother! Oh, my father!” the radiant throng moves backward up the valley and into one of those other valleys, and disappears, and the music grows fainter and fainter. As he lies weeping and listening to that faint, far melody, one from the valley, mantled in white and mounted upon a snowy steed, rides into the dark defile, and as he passes by where Rudolph, the Czar, lies, the latter questions:
“Where have they taken the warrior who entered just now?”
“They are leading him to the royal city, to receive from our King’s own hands the unfading crown of laurels which is given to the victors.”
“But I was once well acquainted with this one, and I never knew that he was a warrior, nor did I guess that he wore armor.”
“There are many who wear armor unsuspected, and fight their battles unseen.”
“But how did he procure his pass?”
“Hast thou not heard how our King sends forth spies into all lands to search for those who will make good, loyal subjects, ever willing to obey and carry out his commands? To all such are given passes, signed by the King himself, that when they come hither they may be allowed to enter. All others are excluded, lest, entering, they annoy the peaceful citizens, and stir up strife and discord.”