‘I am,’ said the Prince. ‘And I suppose you are the King of this country?’
The King was just about to say ‘I am,’ when another voice sounded through the room so clear and commanding that each of them looked towards the window from which it came; but nothing was to be seen there.
‘The road is made,’ it said, ‘and now perhaps you’ll give me the feather.’
‘Certainly,’ said the Princess. ‘Here it is,’ and she held it out in the direction of the Goddess. ‘Only, you might let us see you before you go for ever.’
‘Oh, certainly,’ said the Goddess, for, to tell the truth, Diana—like others besides goddesses—was very fond of being admired; and immediately she appeared in the middle of the room with her silver bow and quiver slung over her back, and the star that she always wore shining on her forehead.
She took the feather and, smiling, put it to her hair, and on the moment passed away; so that, where she had seemed to be, they saw the thin circlet of the moon hanging silvery and pale over the flush of the sun’s departure.
‘It really was Diana,’ Treblo said.
‘Yes, of course it was, you sceptical boy,’ Ernalie answered; and then, with a little sigh, ‘I wish I had the feather still, it makes me feel just like any other girl being without it.’