“But the white rose cannot reign,” said Ardram, rather bewildered.
“Not now, but wait till the sun rises,” cried the fairy. “Ah, here is the first yellow beam! Now look.”
Every one looked at the white rosebud lying on the floor, and then a yellow beam which struck through a painted window, creeping nearer and nearer till it shone on the white bud. In an instant that vanished, and in its place stood the Rose-Princess, looking tall and beautiful. On seeing Ardram, she bounded towards him and put her arms round his neck.
ON SEEING ARDRAM SHE BOUNDED TOWARD HIM AND PUT HER ARMS ROUND HIS NECK
“Good morning, my Prince,” she said sweetly.
“But I am no prince,” cried Ardram, clasping her to his breast.
“Yes, you are,” said the Rose-Princess merrily; “you are the great-grandson of the King who was deposed.”
“Is this true, mother?” asked Ardram.
“Perfectly true,” she replied, producing the crown. “Here is the royal crown; you are the real King, but I did not dare to tell you till the Faery Rosina gave me permission.”