She wandered and wandered and wandered till she came to the village where she was born, and to the little house by the bridge where she had lived.
She went into the garden where the yew-tree stood, and where she had seen Love before, but no Love was there now, and when she asked the neighbours if he had passed that way they stared at her and thought her mad. So she went on and on, night and day, till her feet were sore and her face burnt with the sun. She was so weary that she could scarcely walk, but still she pressed on, looking everywhere for Love, but seeing him nowhere. At last she came to a church in which a grand wedding was taking place. “Here shall I surely find him,” she said, and she quickened her steps, and went into the church and sat down among the people. She waited till the wedding was over, and then watched the bridal procession coming out to see if Love was amongst them. The bride was grandly dressed, and there were many smart carriages and finely dressed people, but nowhere amongst them did she see the figure of Love, and she turned from the church with a heavy heart. As she went along the road, she came to a large tree under which sat a couple of lovers courting. “Ah, here will Love surely be,” she said, and she drew near the tree, and stood silently watching the young people as they whispered and laughed together; but Love was not there, and Queen Blanchelys sought him in vain. Then she went on again till she came to a green, on which were playing a number of children.
“Now among these little ones shall I find him,” she said, and she waited and looked on at their games, but still she saw no trace of Love. So she went on and on and on, till she was so weary that she could toil no farther, and stopped on a desolate barren plain on which stood a few miserable cottages, and near them an old church and churchyard. Close by, the sea roared loud, and wild seabirds flew all about. Queen Blanchelys dropped exhausted on a little mound in front of a cottage door, and overheard two women who were talking together as they sat spinning.
“He made her work for him day and night,” said one, “and never gave her a kind word.”
“He beat and kicked her,” said the other; “it’s very well for her that he is dead.”
“They are beginning to toll the bell for the funeral now,” said the first, “but there’ll be very few mourners there, I expect. He was the wickedest man for miles round.”
Then Queen Blanchelys looked across to the church, and heard the bell tolling, and saw a small dark procession winding towards the churchyard.
She raised herself from the ground and turned towards the churchyard.
“Poor woman! she is unhappy; so am I,” she said with tears in her eyes.
The priest was already reading the service beside the grave when she reached it. Only one woman stood beside it, but when she looked at her, Queen Blanchelys’ heart beat high, for close by her was Love dressed as a mourner. She waited till the service was over, and the woman and the priest had turned away, and then she sprang forward and caught Love by the cloak, and sank at his feet.
“Help me, sweet Love!” she cried, and then began to weep.
“Poor Queen Blanchelys!” said Love, “your rose-tree is dead, then.” His face looked sad, and his cheeks were pale and thin.
“My tree is dead,” sobbed Queen Blanchelys, “and the King loves me no more. Ah, tell me who has killed my tree?”
“Your cousin Zaire has killed it,” said Love. “She asked Envy to help her, and Envy has given her a viper, which she laid at the tree’s roots, and it has spat its deadly venom on to the red heart which is in the centre of the trunk and killed it.”
“Tell me, then, how to make it live again,” gasped the Queen.
“There is only one thing in the world that can do that!” said Love.
“And what is that?” asked the Queen.
“The blood from your own heart,” said Love. “You must pierce your heart with a thorn from the tree, and let it flow to the tree’s roots. Then, when it touches the snake it will shrivel and die, and the tree will bloom out afresh.”
When Queen Blanchelys heard this she turned very pale, but she rose and left the churchyard, and turned homeward. She walked for many days, for it was far to the palace, and as she drew near to it she saw that it was all decorated with flags as if for some great rejoicing. So she stopped and asked a countrywoman what it was for.
“You must indeed be a stranger, that you do not know that,” answered the good woman. “Tomorrow the King marries the Princess Zaire, the late Queen’s cousin. Queen Blanchelys has now been dead many years, so tomorrow the marriage will take place, and all the decorations are in honour of the wedding.”
Then Queen Blanchelys asked the woman if the late Queen had not left a little son, and where it now was.
“It is always with the King, and he is so fond of it, that people say Princess Zaire is jealous of it, and would send it away if she dared,” said the woman.
Queen Blanchelys thanked her and then sat down by the roadside, and waited till night came and everyone was asleep in bed. Then she rose and stole quietly into the palace, when no one heard her, and first she took a piece of paper, and on it she wrote how she had gone away because the King did not love her, and how Love had told her that Zaire had killed her rose-tree
