“I seek the heart of Princess Joan; I beg you to give it to me.”
To this the seeming child answered nothing, but still pressed on him the food and wine. Then Michael took from his bosom the magic glass and looked through it, and saw no lovely child, but the same yellow hag with shrivelled face and evil eyes. With a cry of rage she disappeared, and though Michael searched everywhere, he could not find the way by which she went.
Now indeed he began to feel that unless he ate he could not live much longer, and wept from very weakness.
“Still I will neither eat nor drink,” he said, “till I have found what I came to seek, and the fairy cannot refuse me much longer.”
Night passed and day came, and he lay upon a couch quite still, too weak to move, yet he feared to sleep lest some spell should be thrown upon him.
So he lay all day, and as evening again drew near he began to feel despair, for he knew that in another day he would be dead of hunger.
“Oh! Why have I toiled for seven years,” he cried aloud, “and at last won my way into the castle, if now I am to be starved to death, and Joan will never know how I have laboured for her sake?”
“And why should you be starved to death, my Prince?” said a voice; and at once the lights lit themselves, and into the room stepped the figure of the Princess Joan just as he had seen her last, dressed in white and gold, and in one hand bearing a golden goblet filled with clear ruby-coloured wine.
Michael gave a cry of joy and held out his arms to clasp her in them, but as he did so the sword sprang as it hung at his side, and he remembered his vow and drew back and gazed at her without speaking.
She knelt down beside him and raised the goblet to his lips, saying softly, “My poor love, how long you have worked for me! Pray drink now, that you may be refreshed ere we two start for our home.”
Then as he looked at her face and saw how beautiful she was his heart wavered, and he thought, “Can it be my Joan, and that I have truly won her?” and almost had he let her place the wine at his lips, while with one hand she stroked his hair and murmured to him the while in a soft voice, when the cup struck against the magic glass in his bosom, and he drew it forth and looked at her, and he trembled with horror and disgust, for there he saw no lovely Princess Joan, but the same yellow hag, who held in one skinny hand a goblet, formed from a skull, from which she would have him drink.
Michael sprang to his feet and dashed it from him, and the ruby wine poured on the floor, and there followed an awful noise like a peal of thunder, and the room was full of smoke, and wild cries were heard.
He grasped the sword and sat still, trembling all over; but when the smoke cleared away the whole aspect of the room was changed; the silken hangings, and gold, and pearls, and flowers, were all gone, and he was sitting in a grim gray chamber like a vault, and in front of him stood the yellow hag, whose eyes shone spitefully and her lips laughed wickedly; but in one hand she held what it made Michael rejoice to see. It was a soft pink feathery thing, with wings, but shaped like a heart, and it trembled and quivered in her hand.
“Take it,” she cried, “for well have you won it. Take it, and tell the Queen how many years of toil and labour her proud words and boasting have cost. Then when you see her, from whom it was stolen, let it fly, but first say over it these words:—
“Heart of Joan
Lost and won
Fly back home,
Thy journey’s done.
Take back joy
Take back pain
Heart of Joan,
Fly home again.”
and it will fly to her side, and you will see it no more; and now begone.”
Michael seized the heart with a cry of joy and exultation, and then turned and fled from the room through an open iron door, and passed through the passages, no longer softly carpeted and hung with silk, but dreary and bare, made of cold stone, down which his footsteps echoed and clashed.
He hurried from the castle as quickly as might be, and once outside did not stop to look for the old man or the monster, but swam the moat, and went straight to where his boat lay moored as he had left it, nearly seven years before, and never paused till he had rowed so far that the gray castle and the shore had almost passed from view. At last he came again to the shore where he had bought his boat of the fishermen, and here he went on land, and started to walk till he had reached Joan’s country, and her father’s castle.
He had no money, and his clothes were rags, his hair was thin and gray, and his shoulders bent. He looked like a poor beggar, and he had to beg food as he went, or he would have been starved. Still, he was ready to cry for joy, because he took with him the little soft heart he had gone so far to
