“No, never!” answered the king in that awful tone which the poor queen knew too well meant something like a decree of Fate.
“Oh, father!” remonstrated Hafrydda—and Dromas loved her for the remonstrance—“not even if he is cured?”
“Well, of course, if he is cured, my child, that alters the case. But how am I to know that he is cured?—who is to judge? Our court doctor knows as much about it as a sucking pig—perhaps less!”
“Perhaps the Hebrew knows,” suggested Hafrydda—and Dromas loved her for the suggestion!
“Ah, to be sure! I forgot the Hebrew. You may call at his hut in passing and take him with you, if he has come home yet. He’s an amiable old man, and may consent to go. If not—make him. Away! and cease to worry me. That’s the way to get rid of business, my queen; isn’t it?”
“Certainly—it is one way,” answered the queen, turning to the two commanders. “Go, and my blessing go with you!”
“Success attend you!” murmured the princess, glancing timidly at Dromas—and as Dromas gazed upon her fair face, and golden curls, and modest mien, he felt that he loved her for herself!
Success did not, however, attend them at first, for on reaching the Hebrew’s hut they found it empty, and no amount of shouting availed to call Beniah from the “vasty deep” of the chasm, or the dark recesses of the secret chamber.
Pursuing their way, therefore, the small army was soon lost to view in the forest.