Lower and lower sank the solemn voice of the Princess. Slower and slower rocked the little lean body. The birds themselves stopped singing at the end. In the Secret Place it was very still.
'Oh, no, no, no,—not verily!' breathed the Princess, in soft awe. For the wonder of it took her breath away. She had never in her life been loved, and now, at this moment, it seemed so near! She thought she heard the footsteps of the Prince.
They came nearer. The crisp twigs snapped under his feet. He was whistling.
'Oh, I can’t look!—I can’t!' gasped the little Princess, but she turned her face to the west,—she had always known it would be from the west,—and lifted closed eyes to his coming. When he got to the Twisted Willow she might dare to look—to the Little Willow Twins, anyway.
'And I shall know when he does,' she thought. 'I shall know the minute!'
Her face was rapt and tender. The miracle she had made for herself,—the gold she had coined out of her piteous alloy,—was it not come true at last?—Verily, verily?
Hush! Was the Prince not coming through the willows? And the sunshine was trickling down on his hair! The Princess knew, though she did not look.
'He is at the Twisted Willow,' she thought. 'Now he is at the Little Willow Twins.'
But she did not open her eyes. She did not dare. This was a little different, she had never counted on being afraid.
The twigs snapped louder and nearer—now very near. The merry whistle grew clearer, and then it stopped.