“Oh no, we won’t,” said his mother quickly. “If the people won’t have their present King, perhaps the exiled Prince of the old royal family will be found.”
“I’m afraid not,” replied her son, smiling; “but if he is, I hope he’ll rule wisely.”
“I hope so too,” said his mother pointedly. “Who gave you that beautiful rose, Ardram?”
“I picked it up in the palace, mother,” he answered, and, taking it out of his button-hole, he gave it to her to smell. Then he told her all about the beautiful Princess, and his mother was very much astonished that the poor lady had left the safe shelter of his room, and perhaps been torn to pieces by the angry people in the street.
At last Ardram went away, leaving the rosebud with his mother, who laid it on her pillow and went to sleep. Next morning, when the beams of the sun were shining into her chamber, she awoke, and found the Rose-Princess sleeping beside her.
“Are you not the Rose-Princess?” she asked, for of course she recognised the King’s daughter at once by her crown.
“Yes,” answered the Rose-Princess quickly; “but how did I get here? The last thing I remember before I went to sleep, was standing in Ardram’s room.”
“You must have walked here in your sleep, then,” said the sick woman, looking at her, “because he has been searching for you everywhere.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” said the Rose-Princess, rising. “I would not like him to think I’d run away, because I am so fond of him.”