“Stop!” screamed the other. “I will tell you everything! Only let me go and I will promise never to offer the fruit to anyone again.”
“Lie still,” said the King. “You will tell me the cure before you move and then I will cut down the tree. Go to the nearest hut and borrow an axe,” he added, turning to one of his men.
“No! no!” cried the old man again; “cut it down and all will be lost! Only unbind my hands and I vow I will make the mischief right.”
“You will be loosed when you have spoken,” replied the King.
“Tell your soldiers to go away,” said the prisoner at last; “for the thing is a secret.”
The King told his men to raise him, and when they were alone the old man began.
“You will need patience,” said he. “The winter must come and go before the tree whitens again, for it is only the blossom that can cure the poison of the fruit. When spring comes you must make a crown of the white flowers and take it as a gift to the Princess. If you can persuade her to wear it—if only for a few moments—her heart will change, and she will once more be the woman she was.”
The King’s face fell. It was full six months of waiting and it seemed like an eternity.
“Now let me go!” cried the old man again.
“I will unbind you, as I promised,” said the King, “but from now till the day we return together to pluck the flowers I will not lose sight of you—no, not for an hour—until your words are proven. Come, hold out your hands and feet, and I will cut the cords. Then we will turn our faces to my kingdom.”