exactness, as former compatriots, you will appreciate that such behavior is out of all reason.'
'Messire,' says the male ghost, and he oozed to his full height, 'you are guilty of impertinence in harboring such a suspicion. I can only hope it proceeds from ignorance.'
'For I am sure,' put in the lady, 'that I always disliked cats, and we never had them about the castle.'
'And you must pardon my frankness, messire,' continued the male ghost, 'but you cannot have moved widely in noble company if you are indeed unable to distinguish between members of the feline species and of the reigning family of Glathion.'
'Well, I have seen dowager queens who justified some such confusion,' observed Jurgen. 'Still, I entreat the forgiveness of both of you, for I had no idea that I was addressing royalty.'
'I was King Smoit,' explained the male phantom, 'and this was my ninth wife, Queen Sylvia Tereu.'
Jurgen bowed as gracefully, he flattered himself, as was possible in his circumstances. It is not easy to bow gracefully while sitting erect in bed.
'Often and over again have I heard of you, King Smoit,' says Jurgen. 'You were the grandfather of Gogyrvan Gawr, and you murdered your ninth wife, and your eighth wife, and your fifth wife, and your third wife too: and you went under the title of the Black King, for you were reputed the wickedest monarch that ever reigned in Glathion and the Red Islands.'
It seemed to Jurgen that King Smoit evinced embarrassment, but it is hard to be quite certain when a ghost is blushing. 'Perhaps I was spoken of in some such terms,' says Smoit, 'for the neighbors were censorious gossips, and I was not lucky in my marriages. And I regret, I bitterly regret, to confess that, in a moment of extreme yet not quite unprovoked excitement, I assassinated the lady whom you now behold.'
'And I am sure, through no fault of mine,' says Sylvia Tereu.
'Certainly, my dear, you resisted with all your might. I only wish that you had been a larger and a brawnier woman. But you, messire, can now perceive, I suppose, the folly of expecting a high King of Glathion, and the queen that he took delight in, to sit upon your bed and howl?'
So then, upon reflection, Jurgen admitted he had never had that experience; nor, he handsomely added, could he recall any similar incident among his friends.
'The notion is certainly preposterous,' went on King Smoit, and very grimly he smiled. 'We are drawn hither by quite other intentions. In fact, we wish to ask of you, as a member of the family, your assistance in a delicate affair.'
'I would be delighted,' Jurgen stated, 'to aid you in any possible way. But why do you call me a member of the family?'
'Now, to deal frankly,' says Smoit, with a grin, 'I am not claiming any alliance with the Duke of Logreus —'
'Sometimes,' says Jurgen, 'one prefers to travel incognito. As a king, you ought to understand that.'
—'My interest is rather in the grandson of Steinvor. Now you will remember your grandmother Steinvor as, I do not doubt, a charming old lady. But I remember Steinvor, the wife of Ludwig, as one of the loveliest girls that a king's eyes ever lighted on.'
'Oh, sir,' says Jurgen, horrified, 'and what is this you are telling me!'
'Merely that I had always an affectionate nature,' replied King Smoit, 'and that I was a fine upstanding young king in those days. And one of the results of my being these things was your father, whom men called Coth the son of Ludwig. But I can assure you Ludwig had done nothing to deserve it.'
'Well, well!' said Jurgen: 'all this is very scandalous: and very upsetting, too, it is to have a brand-new grandfather foisted upon you at this hour of the morning. Still, it happened a great while ago: and if Ludwig did not fret over it, I see no reason why I should do so. And besides, King Smoit, it may be that you are not telling me the truth.'
'If you doubt my confession, messire my grandson, you have only to look into the next mirror. It is precisely on this account that we have ventured to dispel your slumbers. For to me you bear a striking resemblance. You have the family face.'
Now Jurgen considered the lineaments of King Smoit of Glathion. 'Really,' said Jurgen, 'of course it is very flattering to be told that your appearance is regal. I do not at all know what to say in reply to the implied compliment, without seeming uncivil. I would never for a moment question that you were much admired in your day, sir, and no doubt very justly so. None the less—well, my nose, now, from such glimpses of it as mirrors have hitherto afforded, does not appear to be a snub-nose.'
'Ah, but appearances are proverbially deceitful,' observed King Smoit.
'And about the left hand corner,' protested Queen Sylvia Tereu, 'I detect a distinct resemblance.'
'Now I may seem unduly obtuse,' said Jurgen, 'for I am a little obtuse. It is a habit with me, a very bad habit formed in early infancy, and I have never been able to break myself of it. And so I have not any notion at what you two are aiming.'
Replied the ghost of King Smoit: 'I will explain. Just sixty-three years ago to-night I murdered my ninth wife in circumstances of peculiar brutality, as you with rather questionable taste have mentioned.'
Then Jurgen was somewhat abashed, and felt that it did not become him, who had so recently cut off the head of his own wife, to assume the airs of a precisian. 'Of course,' says Jurgen, more broad-mindedly, 'these little family differences are always apt to occur in married life.'
'So be it! Though, by the so-and-sos of Ursula's eleven thousand traveling companions, there was a time wherein I would not have brooked such criticism. Ah, well, that time is overpast, and I am a bloodless thing that the wind sweeps at the wind's will through lands in which but yesterday King Smoit was dreaded. So I let that which has been be.'
'Well, that seems reasonable,' said Jurgen, 'and to be a trifle rhetorical is the privilege of grandfathers. Therefore I entreat you, sir, to continue.'
'Two years afterward I followed the Emperor Locrine in his expedition against the Suevetii, an evil and luxurious people who worship Gozarin peculiarly, by means of little boats. I must tell you, grandson, that was a goodly raid, conducted by a band of tidy fighters in a land of wealth and of fine women. But alack, as the saying is, in our return from Osnach my loved general Locrine was captured by that arch-fiend Duke Corineus of Cornwall: and I, among many others who had followed the Emperor, paid for our merry larcenies and throat-cuttings a very bitter price. Corineus was not at all broadminded, not what you would call a man of the world. So it was in a noisome dungeon that I was incarcerated,—I, Smoit of Glathion, who conquered Enisgarth and Sargyll in open battle and fearlessly married the heiress of Camwy! But I spare you the unpleasant details. It suffices to say that I was dissatisfied with my quarters. Yet fain to leave them as I became, there was but one way. It involved the slaying of my gaoler, a step which was, I confess, to me distasteful. I was getting on in life, and had grown tired of killing people. Yet, to mature deliberation, the life of a graceless varlet, void of all gentleness and with no bowels of compassion, and deaf to suggestions of bribery, appeared of no overwhelming importance.'
'I can readily imagine, grandfather, that you were not deeply interested in either the nature or the anatomy of your gaoler. So you did what was unavoidable.'
'Yes, I treacherously slew him, and escaped in an impenetrable disguise to Glathion, where not long afterward I died. My dying just then was most annoying, for I was on the point of being married, and she was a remarkably attractive girl,—King Tyrnog's daughter, from Craintnor way. She would have been my thirteenth wife. And not a week before the ceremony I tripped and fell down my own castle steps, and broke my neck. It was a humiliating end for one who had been a warrior of considerable repute. Upon my word, it made me think there might be something, after all, in those old superstitions about thirteen being an unlucky number. But what was I saying?—oh, yes! It is also unlucky to be careless about one's murders. You will readily understand that for one or two such affairs I am condemned yearly to haunt the scene of my crime on its anniversary: such an arrangement is fair enough, and I make no complaint, though of course it does rather break into the evening. But it happened that I treacherously slew my gaoler with a large cobble-stone on the fifteenth of June. Now the unfortunate part, the really awkward feature, was that this was to an hour the anniversary of the death of my ninth wife.'
'And you murdering insignificant strangers on such a day!' said Queen Sylvia. 'You climbing out of jail windows figged out as a lady abbess, on an anniversary you ought to have kept on your knees in unavailing repentance! But you were a hard man, Smoit, and it was little loving courtesy you showed your wife at a time when she might reasonably look to be remembered, and that is a fact.'
'My dear, I admit it was heedless of me. I could not possibly say more. At any rate, grandson, I discovered
