The Princess and the Goblin
creature running up those long ascents after her, and pursuing her
through the dark passages--which, after all, might lead to no tower!
That thought was too much. Her heart failed her, and, turning from the
stair, she rushed along to the hall, whence, finding the front door
open, she darted into the court pursued--at least she thought so--by
the creature. No one happening to see her, on she ran, unable to think
for fear, and ready to run anywhere to elude the awful creature with
the stilt-legs. Not daring to look behind her, she rushed straight out
of the gate and up the mountain. It was foolish indeed--thus to run
farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been
seeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in his leisure;
but that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing we
are afraid of.
The princess was soon out of breath with running uphill; but she ran
on, for she fancied the horrible creature just behind her, forgetting
that, had it been after her such long legs as those must have overtaken
her long ago. At last she could run no longer, and fell, unable even
to scream, by the roadside, where she lay for some time half dead with
terror. But finding nothing lay hold of her, and her breath beginning
to come back, she ventured at length to get half up and peer anxiously
about her. It was now so dark she could see nothing. Not a single
star was out. She could not even tell in what direction the house lay,
and between her and home she fancied the dreadful creature lying ready
to pounce upon her. She saw now that she ought to have run up the
stairs at once. It was well she did not scream; for, although very few
of the goblins had come out for weeks, a stray idler or two might have
heard her. She sat down upon a stone, and nobody but one who had done
something wrong could have been more miserable. She had quite
forgotten her promise to visit her grandmother. A raindrop fell on her
face. She looked up, and for a moment her terror was lost in
astonishment. At first she thought the rising moon had left her place,
and drawn nigh to see what could be the matter with the little girl,
sitting alone, without hat or cloak, on the dark bare mountain; but she
soon saw she was mistaken, for there was no light on the ground at her
feet, and no shadow anywhere. But a great silver globe was hanging in
the air; and as she gazed at the lovely thing, her courage revived. If
she were but indoors again, she would fear nothing, not even the
terrible creature with the long legs! But how was she to find her way
back? What could that light be? Could it be--? No, it couldn't. But
what if it should be--yes--it must be--her great-great-grandmother's
lamp, which guided her pigeons home through the darkest night! She
jumped up: she had but to keep that light in view and she must find the
house. Her heart grew strong. Speedily, yet softly, she walked down
the hill, hoping to pass the watching creature unseen. Dark as it was,
there was little danger now of choosing the wrong road. And--which was
most strange--the light that filled her eyes from the lamp, instead of
blinding them for a moment to the object upon which they next fell,
enabled her for a moment to see it, despite the darkness. By looking
at the lamp and then dropping her eyes, she could see the road for a
yard or two in front of her, and this saved her from several falls, for
the road was very rough. But all at once, to her dismay, it vanished,
and the terror of the beast, which had left her the moment she began to
return, again laid hold of her heart. The same instant, however, she
caught the light of the windows, and knew exactly where she was. It
was too dark to run, but she made what haste she could, and reached the
gate in safety. She found the house door still open, ran through the
hall, and, without even looking into the nursery, bounded straight up
the stair, and the next, and the next; then turning to the right, ran
through the long avenue of silent rooms, and found her way at once to
the door at the foot of the tower stair.
When first the nurse missed her, she fancied she was playing her a
trick, and for some time took no trouble about her; but at last,
getting frightened, she had begun to search; and when the princess
entered, the whole household was hither and thither over the house,
hunting for her. A few seconds after she reached the stair of the
tower they had even begun to search the neglected rooms, in which they
would never have thought of looking had they not already searched every
other place they could think of in vain. But by this time she was
knocking at the old lady's door.
CHAPTER 15
Woven and Then Spun
'Come in, Irene,' said the silvery voice of her grandmother.
The princess opened the door and peeped in. But the room was quite
dark and there was no sound of the spinning-wheel. She grew frightened
once more, thinking that, although the room was there, the old lady
might be a dream after all. Every little girl knows how dreadful it is
to find a room empty where she thought somebody was; but Irene had to
fancy for a moment that the person she came to find was nowhere at all.
She remembered, however, that at night she spun only in the moonlight,
and concluded that must be why there was no sweet, bee-like humming:
the old lady might be somewhere in the darkness. Before she had time
to think another thought, she heard her voice again, saying as before:
'Come in, Irene.' From the sound, she understood at once that she was
not in the room beside her. Perhaps she was in her bedroom. She
turned across the passage, feeling her way to the other door. When her
hand fell on the lock, again the old lady spoke:
'Shut the other door behind you, Irene. I always close the door of my
workroom when I go to my chamber.'
Irene wondered to hear her voice so plainly through the door: having
shut the other, she opened it and went in. Oh, what a lovely haven to
reach from the darkness and fear through which she had come! The soft
light made her feel as if she were going into the heart of the milkiest
pearl; while the blue walls and their silver stars for a moment
perplexed her with the fancy that they were in reality the sky which
she had left outside a minute ago covered with rainclouds.
'I've lighted a fire for you, Irene: you're cold and wet,' said her
grandmother.
Then Irene looked again, and saw that what she had taken for a huge
bouquet of red roses on a low stand against the wall was in fact a fire
which burned in the shapes of the loveliest and reddest roses, glowing
gorgeously between the heads and wings of two cherubs of shining
silver. And when she came nearer, she found that the smell of roses
with which the room was filled came from the fire-roses on the hearth.
Her grandmother was dressed in the loveliest pale blue velvet, over
which her hair, no longer white, but of a rich golden colour, streamed
like a cataract, here falling in dull gathered heaps, there rushing
away in smooth shining falls. And ever as she looked, the hair seemed
pouring down from her head and vanishing in a golden mist ere it
reached the floor. It flowed from under the edge of a circle of
shining silver, set with alternated pearls and opals. On her dress was
no ornament whatever, neither was there a ring on her hand, or a
necklace or carcanet about her neck. But her slippers glimmered with
the light of the Milky Way, for they were covered with seed-pearls and
opals in one mass. Her face was that of a woman of three-and-twenty.
The princess was so bewildered with astonishment and admiration that
she could hardly thank her, and drew nigh with timidity, feeling dirty
and uncomfortable. The lady was seated on a low chair by the side of
the fire, with hands outstretched to take her, but the princess hung
back with a troubled smile.
'Why, what's the matter?' asked her grandmother. 'You haven't been
doing anything wrong--I know that by your face, though it is rather
miserable. What's the matter, my dear?'
And she still held out her arms.
'Dear grandmother,' said Irene, 'I'm not so sure that I haven't done
something wrong. I ought to have run up to you at once when the
long-legged cat came in at the window, instead of running out on the
mountain and making myself such a fright.'
'You were taken by surprise, my child, and you are not so likely to do
it again. It is when people do wrong things wilfully that they are the
more likely to do them again. Come.'
And still she held out her arms.
'But, grandmother, you're so beautiful and grand with your crown on;
and I am so dirty with mud and rain! I should quite spoil your
beautiful blue dress.'
With a merry little laugh the lady sprung from her chair, more lightly
far than Irene herself could, caught the child to her bosom, and,
kissing the tear-stained face over and over, sat down with her in her
lap.
'Oh, grandmother! You'll make yourself such a mess!' cried Irene,
clinging to her.
'You darling! do you think I care more for my dress than for my little
girl? Besides--look here.'
As she spoke she set her down, and Irene saw to her dismay that the
lovely dress was covered with the mud of her fall on the mountain road.
But the lady stooped to the fire, and taking from it, by the stalk in
her fingers, one of the burning roses, passed it once and again and a
third time over the front of her dress; and when Irene looked, not a
single stain was to be discovered.
'There!' said her grandmother, 'you won't mind coming to me now?'
But Irene again hung back, eying the flaming rose which the lady held
in her hand.
'You're not afraid of the rose--are you?' she said, about to throw it
on the hearth again.
'Oh! don't, please!' cried Irene. 'Won't you hold it to my frock and
my hands and my face? And I'm afraid my feet and my knees want it too.'
'No, answered her grandmother, smiling a little sadly, as she threw the
rose from her; 'it is too hot for you yet. It would set your frock in
a flame. Besides, I don't want to make you clean tonight.
I want your nurse and the rest of the people to see you as you are, for
you will have to tell them how you ran away for fear of the long-legged
cat. I should like to wash you, but they would not believe you then.
Do you see that bath behind you?'
The princess looked, and saw a large oval tub of silver, shining
brilliantly in the light of the wonderful lamp.
'Go and look into it,' said the lady.
Irene went, and came back very silent with her eyes shining.
'What did you see?' asked her grandmother.
'The sky, and the moon and the stars,' she answered. 'It looked as if
there was no bottom to it.'
The lady smiled a pleased satisfied smile, and was silent also for a
few moments. Then she said:
'Any time you want a bath, come to me. I know YOU have a bath every
morning, but sometimes you want one at night, too.'
'Thank you, grandmother; I will--I will indeed,' answered Irene, and
was again silent for some moments thinking. Then she said: 'How was
it, grandmother, that I saw your beautiful lamp--not the light of it
only--but the great round silvery lamp itself, hanging alone in the
great open air, high up? It was your lamp I saw--wasn't it?'
'Yes, my child--it was my lamp.'
'Then how was it? I don't see a window all round.'
'When I please I can make the lamp shine through the walls--shine so
strong that it melts them away from before the sight, and shows itself
as you saw it. But, as I told you, it is not everybody can see it.'
'How is it that I can, then? I'm sure I don't know.'
'It is a gift born with you. And one day I hope everybody will have
it.'
'But how do you make it shine through the walls?'