"This was your godmother's gift," he said, "and it might aid you."
But, though Gando urged Florimel not to take the time, the latter printed something on a card which he tacked upon the outside of the door before they left the place.
As they fled toward a secret exit they heard down the corridor the stealthy tread of feet.
The duke snarled like a wild beast as he read the lines:
"FAREWELL, DEAR UNCLE! KEEP YOUR EDGED TOOL FOR FATTED SWINE!"
"Fly!" old Gando cried, as he thrust Florimel out into the lonely, starlit night. "Oh, my dear young master, fly for your life!"
It was a sad and sudden change indeed for the youth, from the pleasant dreams of guardian Brownies surrounding his bed, to the uncertainty of an unknown way before, and the certainty of a cruel enemy behind. Snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance had a forbidding look and, as though in league with his old uncle, seemed to extend to him but a cool welcome. The wakeful and observing beasts of the wood and wild saw in him a new character never before met in the open country, and were shaken with wonder and agitation while they watched the hastening little traveller striding along the lonely road, his only burden the bow and supply of arrows.
Now in another part of the same country there was a race of fairies who never grew old and always remained beautiful.
Their loveliness of face and form was beyond all description.
Just try to think of the prettiest young girl you ever saw. Well, even the plainest of these fairies were ever so much prettier. That is to say, all were very beautiful with one exception. In her case the fairy charm was an utter failure.
She was little and old, with a queer, wrinkled face like a dried-up crab-apple. But, because no one else looked like her, she was firmly convinced she was the most beautiful of them all. They wore clinging gowns made of the texture of roses, lilies, and other flowers. She who wore fragrant rose-petals called herself Rose, she who called herself Lily one of lilies, and so on. There were Violet, Daffodil, Bluebell, Daisy, Jassamine, Hyacinth, and ever so many others. You could find the names of all the rest in a seed-catalogue--that is, all but the little old wrinkled one who was known as Dame Drusilda. The fairies had a republic. Because they were all so very much alike, and equally beautiful, gifted, and clever, it would have been an extremely awkward matter to select a queen from among them. If any one had been chosen, all the others would have felt greatly slighted. Dame Drusilda believed she should be the queen, simply because no one else looked like her, but she was quite alone in her opinion.