“I thank you, my good man,” said Florimel, “but I must leave you.”
“Whither would you go?”
“To that strange country of which your good wife spoke.”
“Say not so, young master,” implored the woman earnestly. “There are wild beasts there waiting to devour you.”
“And there are wild beasts of men sometimes even more terrible,” said Florimel. “I will take my chances with the beasts. All that I have loved I have lost, so there is naught to keep me. Each moment I tarry but adds to the danger that encompasses me.”
“Master, can it be?—yes, it must be!” cried the man, with a great light breaking upon him. “You are the prince!”
“Yes, I am indeed he!” said Florimel. “Convey word to my uncle that I am gone, and that the child of the brother who trusted in him will never trouble him again. If the people choose him for their ruler, let the consequences be on their own heads. And now farewell!”
With this last word on his lips he broke into a run. The man with the best of intentions tried to follow in the hope of dissuading him from his rash purpose, while his wife frantically shouted for the young prince to come back.
But with the bow and arrows that might mean so much to him Florimel only increased his pace, so that the other was soon distanced. Finally the man in despair gave up the chase, and stood watching until Florimel turned, waved his hand, and disappeared into the heavy growth of forest. And on and on he went, though nothing extraordinary befell him. So for three days he continued, suffering neither from hunger nor from thirst, for there were plenty of pure brooks at which he could lave and drink, and it was the time of the delicious tomtom, a juicy fruit everywhere in great abundance, which tasted like a banana flavored with vanilla ice cream, and which had all the sustaining qualities of beefsteak.
Of this Florimel partook heartily and at will, as well as of berries and nuts, and when weary slept for precaution’s sake in the forked branches of trees, with his rest broken only by the crashing of some skulking animal through thick, tangled underbrush in quest of prey or a long, drawn-out, shuddering night-cry that would chill his blood and cause his heart for a moment to cease its beat.