“Oh, Father,” she said, “don’t let him go like that. He ought to be at the banquet. We couldn’t have done anything without him.”
“True,” said the King, “but I thought he had been invited, and refused.”
“Refused?” said the Princess, “oh, call him back!”
“I’ll run if I may,” said Mavis, slipping out of her place and running down the great hall.
“If you’ll sit a little nearer to me, Father,” said Maia obligingly, “the young man can sit between you and my sister.”
So that is where Ulfin found himself, and that was where he had never dared to hope to be.
The banquet was a strange as well as a magnificent scene—because, of course, the Mer-people were beautiful as the day, the five children were quite as pretty as any five children have any need to be, and the King and Queen of the Under Folk were as handsome as handsome. So that all this handsomeness was a very curious contrast to the strange heavy features of the Under Folk who now sat at table, so pleasant and friendly, toasting their late enemies.
The contrast between the Princess Freia and Ulfin was particularly marked, for their heads bent near together as they talked.
“Princess,” he was saying, “tomorrow you will go back to your kingdom, and I shall never see you again.”
The Princess could not think of anything to say, because it seemed to her that what he said was true.
“But,” he went on, “I shall be glad all my life to have known and loved so dear and beautiful a Princess.”
And again the Princess could think of nothing to say.
“Princess,” he said, “tell me one thing. Do you know what I should say to you if I were a Prince?”
“Yes,” said Freia; “I know what you would say and I know what I should answer, dear Ulfin, if you were only a commoner of Merland … I mean, you know, if your face were like ours. But since you are of the Under Folk and I am a Mermaid, I can only say that I will never forget you, and that I will never marry anyone else.”
“Is it only my face then that prevents your marrying me?” he asked with abrupt eagerness, and she answered gently, “Of course.”
Then Ulfin sprang to his feet. “Your Majesties,” he cried, “and Lord High Astrologer, has not the moment come when, since we are at a banquet with friends, we may unmask?”
The strangers exchanged wondering glances.
The Sovereigns and the Astrologers made gestures of assent—then, with a rustling and a rattling, helmets were unlaced and corselets unbuckled, the Under Folk seemed to the Mer-people as though they were taking off their very skins. But really what they took off was but their thick scaly armor, and under it they were as softly and richly clad, and as personable people as the Mer Folk themselves.
“But,” said Maia, “how splendid! We thought you were always in armor—that—that it grew on you, you know.”
The Under Folk laughed jollily. “Of course it was always on us—since—when you saw us, we were always at war.”
“And you’re just like us!” said Freia to Ulfin.
“There is no one like you,” he whispered back. Ulfin was now a handsome dark-haired young man, and looked much more like a Prince than a great many real Princes do.
“Did you mean what you said just now?” the Princess whispered. And for answer Ulfin dared to touch her hand with soft firm fingers.
“Papa,” said Freia, “please may I marry Ulfin?”
“By all means,” said the King, and immediately announced the engagement, joining their hands and giving them his blessing in the most businesslike way.
Then said the Queen of the Under Folk:
“Why should not these two reign over the Under Folk and let us two be allowed to remember the things we have forgotten and go back to that other life which I know we had somewhere—where we had a child.”
“I think,” said Mavis, “that now everything’s settled so comfortably we ought perhaps all of us to be thinking about getting home.”
“I have only one charm left, unfortunately,” said the Mer King, “but if your people will agree to your abdicating, I will divide it between you with pleasure, dear King and Queen of the Under Folk; and I have reason to believe that the half which you will each of you have, will be just enough to counteract your memories of this place, and restore to you all the memories of your other life.”
“Could not Reuben go with us?” the Queen asked.
“No,” said the Mer King, “but he shall follow you to earth, and that speedily.”
The Astrologer Royal, who had been whispering to Reuben, here interposed.
“It would be well, your Majesties,” he said, “if a small allowance of the cup of oblivion were served out to these land children, so that they may not remember their adventures here. It is not well for the Earth People to know too much of the dwellers in the sea. There is a sacred vessel which has long been preserved among the civic plate. I propose that this vessel should be presented to our guests as a mark of our esteem; that they shall bear it with them, and drink the contents as soon as they set foot on their own shores.”
He was at once sent to fetch the sacred vessel. It was a stone ginger beer bottle.
“I do really think we ought to go,” said Mavis again.
There were farewells to be said—a very loving farewell to the Princesses, a very friendly one to the fortunate Ulfin, and then a little party left the Palace quietly and for the last time made the journey to the quiet Iswater where the King of Merland had so long professed Conchology.
Arrived at this spot the King spoke to the King and Queen of the Under Folk.
“Swallow this charm,” he said, “in equal shares—then rise to the surface of the lake and say the charm which I perceive the Earth
