“Wake up! wake up!” he cried, and pushed and pulled, now this one, now that.
But soon he began to look troubled, and turned to me with misty eyes.
“They will not wake!” he said. “And why are they so cold?”
“They too are waiting for the princess,” I answered.
He stretched across, and laid his hand on her face.
“She is cold too! What is it?” he cried—and looked round in wondering dismay.
Adam went to him.
“Her wake is not ripe yet,” he said: “she is busy forgetting. When she has forgotten enough to remember enough, then she will soon be ripe, and wake.”
“And remember?”
“Yes—but not too much at once though.”