The knight’s love for the little page was greatly increased after this, and the little page, too, seemed to love his master more and more. He was only happy when in his master’s presence or when doing some errand for him.
A short time after this happy escape from death the knight’s beautiful wife became suddenly ill. The knight loved her as he loved his own life, and was in great sorrow for fear that she might die.
Many wise doctors were called to her bedside, but they could do nothing. They declared that there was only one thing that would cure her--the milk of a lioness. That could not be obtained because there were no lions in the country.
The rumor of this strange remedy spread rapidly through the castle. It came to the ears of the faithful little page. He at once sprang to his feet and rushed out of the hall. An hour later, before any change had taken place in the lady’s condition, the page returned to the castle.
He went directly to the bedside of his mistress and sat down, flushed and panting. But in his hand he bore a cup full of the milk of a lioness, which was given to the patient at once. In a few moments the color crept back into the lady’s pale cheeks. A new light came into her eyes and she sank into a sweet sleep. When she awoke she was fully cured. All her strength had come back, and she was very happy.
Then the good knight went to seek the little page. He poured out to him his thanks. He could not say enough to express what he felt for his faithful servant. He wished to know all about it.
“Tell me, my sweet, faithful page,” he urged, “how you were able to get this remedy, which all my wealth could not procure.”
“My noble master,” replied the page, “I knew that a lioness was lying with her cubs in an Arabian den, and so I--”
“Arabia!” exclaimed the knight, interrupting the page, “Arabia! Did you find your way there and back in one short hour?”
“Yes, my dear master,” replied the little page, “that is the truth.” And he fixed his beautiful, truthful eyes on his master’s pale, wondering face.
“My lad, who are you then?” suddenly asked the knight, a nameless fear gnawing at his heart. “Who are you? Speak; tell me everything.”
“Master, my noble master, ask not who I am nor whence I came,” cried the little page, sinking down at the knight’s feet, and raising his beseeching hands. “Do not ask me. Let me remain by your side, my good master. Remember that no harm has come to you since I have been in your service.”