Zovanin was a bold boy, and never seemed to be afraid of any thing. When other children were afraid lest Orco86 should play them some of his malicious tricks, when people cried out to him, “Take care, and don’t walk in those footprints, they may be those of Orco!” he would only laugh, and say, “Let Orco come; I should like to see him!” When he was sent out upon the mountains with the herds, and had to be alone with them through the dark nights, and his mother bid him not be afraid, he used to stare at her with his great round eyes as if he wondered what she meant. If a lamb or a goat strayed over a difficult precipice, and the neighbours cried out to him, “Let be; it is not safe to go after it down that steep place,” he would seem to think they were making game of him, and would swing himself over the steep as firmly and as steadily as if he were merely bestriding a hedge. He saw people shun passing through the churchyards by dark, and so he used to make it his habit to sleep every night on the graves; and as they said they were afraid of being struck blind if they slept in the moonlight, he would always choose to lie where the moonbeams fell. Nor thunder, nor avalanche, nor fire, nor flood, nor storm seemed to have any terror for him; so that at last people set him to do every kind of thing they were afraid to do themselves, and he got so much wondered at, that he said, “I will go abroad over the world, and see if I can find any where this same Fear that I hear people talk of.”

So he went out, and walked along by the most desolate paths and through frightful stony wildernesses, till he came to a village where there was a fair going on. Zovanin was too tired to care much for the dance, so instead of joining it he asked for a bed.

“A bed!” said the host; “that’s what I can give you least of all. My beds are for regular customers, and not for strollers who drop down from the skies;” for, being full of business at the moment, he was uppish and haughty, as if his day’s prosperity was to last for ever.

While Zovanin was urging that his money was as good as another’s, and the host growing more and more insolent while repeating that he could not receive him, a terrific shouting of men, and screeching of women made itself heard, and pell-mell the whole tribe of peasants, pedlars, and showmen came rushing towards the inn, flying helter-skelter before a furious and gigantic maniac brandishing a formidable club. Every one ran for dear life, seeking what shelter they could find. The inn was filled to overflowing in a trice, and those who could not find entrance there hid themselves in the stables and pig-styes and cellars. But no one was in so great a hurry to hide himself as mine host, who had been so loud with his blustering to a defenceless stranger anon. Only, when he saw the baffled madman breaking in his doors and windows with his massive oaken staff, he put his head dolefully out of the topmost window, and piteously entreated some one to put a stop to the havoc.

Zovanin was not quick-witted: all this noisy scene had been transacted and it had not yet occurred to him to move from the spot where he originally stood; in fact, he had hardly apprehended what it was that was taking place, only at last the host’s vehement gesticulations suggested to him that he wanted the madman arrested.

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Zovanin. “All right, I’m your man!” and walking up coolly to the cause of all this disturbance, he said, in the tone of one who meant to be obeyed, “Give me your club.”

The poor imbecile was usually harmless enough; he lived in an out-of-the-way hut with his family, where he seldom saw a stranger. They had incautiously brought him up to the fête, where he had first become excited by the sight of the unwonted number of people; then some thoughtless youths had further provoked him by mocking and laughing at him; and when the people ran away in fear of his retaliation, he had only yielded to a natural impulse in running after them. But when Zovanin stood before him, fearless and collected, and said, in his blunt, quiet way, “Give me your club,” his habitual obedience prevailed over the momentary ebullition, and he yielded himself up peaceably to the guidance of the young giant. Zovanin first secured the club, and then desired the madman to bestow himself in an empty shed, of which he closed and made fast the door. When the landlord and people saw the coast clear they all came out again, the latter losing no time in going back to their games, the former to resume his preparations for the entertainment of his guests.

“Well,” said Zovanin, “I suppose now you’ll make no difficulty in providing me a bed? I think that’s the least you can do for me, after my befriending you as I have. I have earned it, if any one has.”

“What! you think that such a great feat, do you?” said the landlord, who, deeming the madman well secured, felt no compunction in disowning Johnny’s service. “Do you suppose any other couldn’t have said, ‘Give me your club,’ just as well as you?”

“Perhaps you would like to try,” replied our hero; and he went to unbar the shed-door.

“For heaven’s sake, no!” screamed the cowardly landlord, preparing to run away. “Don’t let him loose on any account; I’ll do any thing for you sooner than that!”

“Well, you know what I want; it’s not much, and reasonable enough,” replied Fearless Johnny, relaxing his hold of the door.

“But that’s just the one thing I can’t do,” lamented the host. “My beds are bespoken to customers who come every year to the fair, and if I disappoint any of them I’m a ruined man.”

“Very well then, here goes!” and Zovanin once more prepared to open the shed-door.

“Oh, no; stop!” roared the landlord. “Perhaps there is a way, after all.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Johnny; “I thought as much.”

“There is a room, in fact a whole suite of rooms, and a magnificent suite of rooms, I daren’t give to any one else, but I think they will do for you, as you are such a stout-hearted chap.”

“Where are they?” said Johnny.

“Do you see that castle on the tip of the high rock yonder, that looks like an eagle perched for a moment and ready to take flight?”

“I should rather think I did, seeing it’s one of the most remarkable sights I have met with in all my travels.”

“Well, that castle was built by a bad giant who lived here in former times; and he balanced it like that on the tip of the rock, and only he had the secret of walking into it. If any one else steps into it, they are pretty sure of stepping on the wrong place, and down will go the whole castle overbalanced into the abyss. When he was once inside it, he had an iron chain by which he made it fast to the rock; and when he went out he used to set it swinging as you see, so that no one might dare to venture in and take back possession of the booty which he seized right and left from all the country round. If you don’t mind trying your luck at taking possession of the castle, you can lodge there like a prince, for there are twelve ghosts, who come there every night, who will supply you with every thing you can ask for. So there is all you desire to have, and more, provided only the idea does not strike you with fear.”

“Fear, say you?” said Zovanin, opening his great round eyes; “do you say I shall find ‘Fear’ in yonder castle?”

“Most assuredly. Every body finds it in merely listening to the story.”

“Then that’s what I came out to seek; so show me the way, and there I will lodge.”

The host stared at his crack-brained guest, but, glad to be rid of his importunity for a night’s lodging in the inn, made no delay in pointing out the path which led to the giant’s castle.

Zovanin trudged along it without hesitation, nor was he long in reaching the precariously balanced edifice. Once before the entrance, he had little difficulty in seeing what was required in order to take possession. Just in the centre of the building a large stone stood up prominently, and though at a great distance from the threshold, was probably not more than a stride for the giant of old—as a further token, it was worn away at the edge, evidently where he had stepped on to it. Zovanin saw it could be reached by a bold spring, and, having no fear of making a false step, he was able to calculate his distance without disturbance from nervousness. Having balanced himself successfully on the stone, he next set himself to fix the chain which attached his airy castle to the rock, and then made his way through its various apartments. Every thing was very clean and in good order, for the twelve ghosts came every night and put all to rights. Zovanin had hardly finished making his round when in they came, all dressed in white.

“Bring me a bottle of wine, and some bread and meat, candles and cards,” said Fearless Johnny, just as if he had been giving an order to the waiter of an inn; for he remembered that the landlord had said they would supply him, and he felt no fear which should make him shrink from them.

“I wonder where this same Fear can be?” he said, as the ghosts were preparing his supper; “I have been pretty well all over the castle already, and can see nothing of him. Oh, yes! I will just go down and explore the cellars, perhaps I shall find him down there.”

“Yes; go down and choose your wine to your own taste, and you will find him there, sure enough,” said the twelve ghosts.

“Shall I, though?” said John, delighted; and down he went.

The bottles were all in order, labelled with the names of various choice vintages in such tempting variety that he was puzzled which to choose. At last, however, he stretched his hand out to reach down a bottle from a high shelf, when lo and behold a grinning skull showed itself in the place where the bottle had stood, and asked him how he dared meddle with the wine! Without being in the least disconcerted at its horrid appearance, Fearless Johnny passed the bottle into his left hand, and with his right taking up the skull, flung it over his shoulder to the farthermost corner of the cellar. He had no sooner done so, however, than a long bony arm was stretched out from the same place, and made a grab at the bottle. But Fearless John caught the arm and flung it after the skull. Immediately another arm appeared, and was treated in the same way; then came a long, lanky leg, and tried to kick him on the nose, but Johnny dealt with it as with the others; then came another leg, which he sent flying into the corner too; and then the ribs and spine, till all the bones of a skeleton had severally appeared before him, and had all been cast by him on to the same shapeless heap.

Now he turned to go, but as he did so a great rattling was heard in the corner where he had thrown the bones. It was all the bones joining themselves together and forming themselves into a perfect skeleton, which came clatter-patter after him up the stairs.

Zovanin neither turned to look at it nor hurried his pace, but walked straight back, bottle in hand, into the room where the supper was laid ready, and the pack of cards by the side, as he had ordered. All the while that he was supping, the skeleton kept up a wild dance round him, trying to excite him by menacing gestures, but Fearless Johnny munched his bread and meat and drank his wine, and took no more notice than of the insects buzzing round the sconces.

When he had done he called to the ghosts in the coolest way imaginable to clear away the things, and then dealt out the cards, with one hand for a “dummy” and one for himself. He had no sooner done this than the skeleton sat down, with a horrid grimace of triumph, and took up the “dummy’s” hand!

“You needn’t grin like that,” said Johnny; “you may depend on it I shouldn’t have let you take the cards if it hadn’t pleased me. If you know how to play, play on—it is much better fun than playing both hands oneself. Only, if you don’t know how to play, you leave them alone—and you had better not give me reason to turn you out.”

The skeleton, however, understood the game very well, and with alternate fortune they played and passed away the hours till it was time to go to bed. Johnny then rose and called the twelve ghosts to light him up to bed, which they did in gravest order. He had no sooner laid himself to sleep than, with a great clatter, the skeleton came in and pulled the bedclothes off him. In a great passion Fearless Johnny jumped up, and brandishing a chair over his head, threatened to break every one of his bones if he didn’t immediately lay the clothes straight again. The skeleton had no defence for his bones, and so could not choose but obey; and Johnny went quietly to bed again.

“It was a pity I didn’t ask the poor fellow what ailed him, though,” said Johnny, when he was once more alone. “Perhaps he too is tormented by this ‘Fear’ that every one thinks so much of, and wanted me to help him. Ah, well, if he comes again I will ask him;” and with that he rolled himself up in the quilt, and went to sleep again. An hour had hardly passed before the skeleton came in again, and this time he shook the bedpost so violently that he woke Johnny with a start.

“Ah! there he is again!” cried Johnny; “now I’ll ask him what he wants;” so he jumped out of bed once more, and addressed the skeleton solemnly in these words:—

Then the skeleton made a sign to him to follow it, and led him down to the foundations of the castle, where there was a big block of porphyry.

“Heave up that block,” said the skeleton.

“Not I!” replied Johnny; “I didn’t set it there, and so I’m not going to take it up.”

So the skeleton took up the block itself, and under it lay shining two immense jars full of gold.

“Take them, and count them out,” said the skeleton.

“Not I!” said Johnny; “I didn’t heap them up, and so I’m not going to count them out.”

So the skeleton counted them out itself, and they contained ten thousand gold pieces each.

When it had done, it said, “I am the giant who built this castle. I have waited here these hundreds of years till one came fearless enough to do what you have done to-night, and now I am free, because to you I may give over the castle; so take it, for it is yours, and with it one of these jars of gold, which is enough to make you rich, but take the other jar of gold and build a church, and let them pray for me, and learn to be better men than I.”

With that he disappeared, and Fearless Johnny slept quietly for the rest of the night.

In the morning, when the sun was up, and the birds began to sing cheerily on the branches, the landlord began to feel some compunction for having abandoned such a fine young Bursch to a night by himself among the unquiet spirits; so he summoned all his courage, and all his servants, and all his neighbours, and, thus prepared, he led the way up to the haunted castle. Finding that it was firmly fixed by the chain, they all entered in a body, for none durst be the first; and the entrance, having been made for the giant, was big enough for all.

Zovanin having had such a disturbed night was still fast asleep, but their footsteps and anxious whisperings woke him. In answer to all their questionings he gave an account of what had happened to him, but still complained that, after all, he had not been able to find Fear!

Zovanin was now a rich man, and had a mighty castle to live in where he might have ended his days in peace, but he was always possessed by the desire of finding out what Fear was, and this desire was too strong to let him rest.

The neighbours, however, told him he might find Fear out hunting; and many were the hunting-parties he established, and wherever the wild game was shyest, there he sought it out. Once, as he sprang over a chasm his horse made a false start, and was plunged into the abyss, but Fearless Johnny caught at the bough of a birch-tree that waved over the mountain-side. The branch cracked, and it seemed as if nothing could save him, but Fearless Johnny only swung himself on to another on the ledge below, and climbed back by its means to the path. Another time, as he was pursuing a chamois up a precipitous track, a great mass of loose rock, detached from the height above, came thundering down upon him. An ordinary hunter, scared at the sight, would have given himself up for lost, but Fearless Johnny stood quite still and let it bound over his head, and he came to no harm.

So he still was unable to find Fear. After some years, therefore, he once more went abroad to seek it. This time, however, he provided himself with a fine suit of armour and a prancing charger, and a noble figure he cut as he ambled forth.

After a long journey, with many adventures, he came one hot day, as he was very thirsty, to a fountain of water in the outskirts of a town, and as he dismounted to drink he observed that the whole place looked sad and deserted; the road was grass-grown, and the houses seemed neglected and empty. As he went up to the fountain to drink, a faint voice called to him from the wayside, “Beware, and do it not! Think you that we all should be lying here dying of thirst if you could drink at that fountain?”

Then he looked round, and saw that, as far as eye could reach, the banks of the wayside were covered with dying people heaped up one on the other, and all gazing towards the fountain!

“Know you not,” continued the weary voice, “that a terrible dragon has taken possession of all the fountains; and that the moment one goes to drink of them he appears, as though he would eat you up, so that you are bound to run away for very fear?”

“‘Fear!’” cried Zovanin; “is Fear here at last?” and he joyfully ran to the side of the well.

All the weary, dying people raised themselves as well as they could, to see what should befall him who was not afraid of the terrible dragon.

But Fearless Johnny went up to the fountain’s brim to dip his hand into the cooling flood. Before he could do so, however, the terrible dragon put his head up through the midst, with a frightful howl, and spueing fire out of his nostrils. Zovanin, instead of drawing back, instantly took out his sword and, with one blow, severed the monster’s head from the trunk! Then all the people rushed to the fountain, hailing him as their deliverer. But ere they had slaked their thirst, the dragon, which had sunk back into the depth of the water, reappeared with a new head, already full grown, and more terrible than the last, for it not only spued out fire from its nostrils, but darted living sparks from its eyes.

When the people saw this they all ran away screaming, and Zovanin was left alone; but, as usual, he did not lose heart, and with another well-aimed blow sent the second head of the monster rolling by the side of the first!

The people came back, and began to drink again when they saw the huge trunk disappear beneath the surface; but it was not many minutes before another head cropped up, more terrible than either of the preceding, for it not only spued fire from its nostrils and darted living sparks from its eyes, but it had hair and mane of flames, which waved and rolled abroad, threatening all within reach. All the people fled at the sight, and Zovanin was once more left alone with the monster. Once more he severed the terrible head; and after this the dragon was seen no more.

“That must be very wonderful blood out of which three heads can spring,” thought Fearless Johnny; and he filled a vial with the dragon’s blood, and journeyed farther.

After a time he came to the outskirts of another town. It was not deserted like the last. The streets were full of people making merry—in fact, every one was so very merry that they seemed a whole community of madmen. Another might have been afraid to encounter them at all; but not so Fearless Johnny, he spurred his horse and rode right through their midst. But for all his seeming so fearless and self-possessed, the people got round him, and seized his horse’s bridle, and dragged him from the saddle.

“What do you want with me, good people?” cried Zovanin; “let me hear, before you pull me to pieces.”

When they found him so cool, spite of the wild way in which they had handled him, they began to respect him, and loosed their hold.

“If you want to know,” answered one, “it is soon told. We are all in this town wholly given up to amusement. We have done with work and toil, and do nothing but dance, and drink, and sing, and divert ourselves from morning to night. But after enjoying all this a long time, we begin to find it rather wearisome, and we are almost as tired of our pastime as we used to be of our labour. So the king has decreed that every stranger who comes by this way shall be caught, and required to find us a quite new diversion, and if he cannot do that, we will make him dance on red-hot stones, and flog him round the town, and get some fun out of him that way, at all events; as you don’t look very likely to find us a new pastime, we may as well begin with putting you on your death-dance.”

“Don’t make too sure of that!” said Fearless Johnny, not at all disconcerted; “take me to your king, and I’ll show you a diversion you never heard of before.”

When he came to the king, the king laughed, and would hardly listen to him, because he looked so broad and heavy, and not at all like one who could invent a merry game.

But Johnny protested that if they would let him cut off any one’s head, he would stick it on just as before, and the man should be never the worse.

The king was greatly delighted with the idea, and most anxious to see the performance, promising that he would not only let him go free if he succeeded, but would load him with honours and presents into the bargain. Zovanin professed himself quite ready to prove his skill, but no one could be found who was willing to let the experiment be tried on him.

This angered the king greatly; and at last he called forward his jester, and ordered Zovanin to make the trial on him.

The jester, however, objected as much as any one else, only, as he belonged entirely to the king, he could not disobey him. “But think, your majesty,” said the poor hunchback, “what will your majesty do without his jester, if this quack does not succeed in his promises?”

“But I shall succeed!” thundered Fearless Johnny; and he spoke with such assurance, that the king and all the people were more desirous than ever to see the feat, and cried to him to commence. When the jester found that all hope of wriggling out of the cruel decree was vain, he threw himself on his knees, and begged so earnestly that the king would grant him two favours, that he could not resist. The two favours were, that he should have the satisfaction of repeating the trick on Johnny, if he allowed him to try his skill on him, and also that he should first give proof of what he could do on the ape, with whose pranks he was wont to amuse the king.

The king and Zovanin both agreed to the two requests, and the poor ape was brought forward, and delivered over to make the first essay.

Zovanin did not keep the breathless multitude long in suspense; with one blow he severed its head, threw it up high in the air, that all might see it was well cut off, and then placed it on again, smearing in some drops of the dragon’s blood by way of cement. The head and trunk were scarcely placed together again, with the dragon’s blood between, than the ape bounded up as well as before, and just as if nothing had been done to him; but, on the contrary, finding himself the object of great attention, and excited by the shouts of the people, he sprang and gambolled about from side to side with even greater alacrity than his wont.

“Now, Sir Hunchback!” cried Zovanin, “it is your turn. You see it’s not very bad; so come along, and no more excuses.”

“Go it, hunchback!” said the king; and all the people shouted, “The hunchback’s head! the hunchback’s head!” with such vehemence that it was evident there was no means of getting out of the trial. It was true, Zovanin had proved he could put a head on again; but the jester shrank from the cold steel nevertheless, and it was only with a look which concentrated all his venom that he yielded himself up. Fearless Johnny struck off his head in a trice, then threw it up high in the air, as he had done the ape’s, and then cemented it on again with the dragon’s blood as well as ever.

“Now for you!” screamed the hunchback, when he found his head back in its right place once more.

Zovanin had no fear, but sat down on the ground instantly, so that the hunchback might reach him more conveniently. “This is all you have to do,” he said: “take my sword in your two hands, and swing it round across my throat. Then pour the contents of this vial over the stump of the throat, and clap the head down on it again.”

“Yes, yes! I think I ought to know how it’s done, as well as you,” answered the dwarf, hastily; and he swung the sword round with a will, sending Johnny’s head rolling at the king’s feet. The people caught it up and handed it round; and it might soon have got lost in the crowd, but that the king shouted to them to bring it back, because he wanted to see it stuck on again. So they gave it back to the jester, and he smeared the rest of the dragon’s blood over the stump of the throat—but in putting the head on, took care to turn it the wrong way, which, as he managed to bend over Johnny’s recumbent body, no one observed till he rose to his feet. Then all the people screeched, and yelled, and shouted, so that John could not make out what was the matter, but, getting angry, demanded his horse, that he might ride away from them all.

The king ordered his horse to be brought, and Johnny sprang into the saddle, and the cries of the people made the beast start away faster even than Johnny himself wished; only Johnny could not make out why he seemed to him, for all his urging, always to go backwards.

At last, he got quite away from the shouts of the people, into a calm, quiet place, where there was a lake shut in by high hills, which, with the mulberry-trees, and vines, and grassy slopes, were all pictured in the lake’s smooth face.

Zovanin was hot with his ride, and so was his mount; so he walked him into the shallow water, while he himself dismounted, and bent down to drink.

At the sight that met his gaze in the water, a shout burst from his lips more terrible than the shouts of all the people. He gazed again, and couldn’t think what had befallen him; but, so horrified was he at the sight of his own back where he was wont to see his breast, that he fell down and died of fear on the spot! And thus Fear visited him at last—in a way which would certainly never have occurred, if the jester had put his head on again in the way nature designed for it.

In the days when heathenism still disputed the advance of Christianity in Tirol, there lived a nobleman in a castle, of which no trace now remains, overlooking the egg-shaped Lago di Molveno. The nobleman and his family had embraced the teaching of St. Vigilius, and were among his most pious and obedient disciples. Eligio, his eldest son, however, had two faults which led him into great trouble, as our story will show; but as he was of a good disposition, and was always desirous to make amends for his wrong-doing, he found help and favour, which kept him right in the main. His two faults were—an excess of fondness for card-playing and an inclination to think he knew better than his elders, which led him to go counter to good advice.

It so happened that whenever he played at cards he always won; and this made it such a pleasure that he could not be persuaded to leave it off, though he knew he was wasting all the time he ought to have devoted to more manly pursuits. Nor was there for a long time any lack of people to play with him, for every one said his luck must turn at last, and each thought he should be the fortunate person in whose favour this would happen. But when at last they found he still won, and won on, they got shy of the risk, and refused to incur it any more.

When Eligio found this to be the case, he determined to travel abroad, and play against strangers. His parents tried to make use of the opportunity to lead him to break with his bad habit, but it was of no avail, and, as experience is a good school, they agreed to let him go forth and see what the world was made of.

It was a brave sight as he descended the terrace of the castle accoutred in the noble array befitting his rank, and with a retinue of followers handsomely attired too. But his lady mother watched him depart with a boding heart, and then went into the chapel to pray that he might be preserved amid all dangers.

Nothing particular occurred to mar the pleasure of travel for several days, till he came to a large and fertile plain, studded with many towns, whose white stone-built houses sparkled in the sun. “Ha! now we come to life and human kind again!” cried Eligio; and putting spurs to his steed he rode joyously to the first of these smiling towns. It had no lofty towers, no heaven-pointing spires—nowhere was seen the sign of the saving cross, which from boyhood he had been taught to reverence and to see planted every where before him in consecration of every affair of life. But there were sounds of mirth and revelry, as of a perpetual feast, and all around the place was gay with dancers and mummers, musicians, dice-throwers, and card-players. Eligio wandered about till he saw a number of these making up a fresh party, and courteously asked to be allowed to join them. They accepted his company willingly, and fortune favoured him as usual. Again and again he tried, and it was always the same. It was as much as his train of followers, numerous as they were, could do to gather in and take charge of all his gains. The stranger’s unvarying luck became the talk of the place, and all the people collected to see him play.

Towards evening there came amid the crowd a tall man of serious mien, who, having watched his play with much attention, said to him, as he saw him complete a game which gave him once more the benefit of a considerable haul,—

“Truly, you are an expert player, young man; I had thought myself hitherto the best of our countryside, but I doubt me if I should be right to measure my skill with yours. However, you must be tired with your long travel and with the excitement of the day’s play, and if you will honour my poor board with your presence at dinner I will ask you afterwards to let me try my power against yours with the cards.”

Eligio thanked him for his courteous speech, and assured him he should have the greatest pleasure in doing as he wished.

The stranger then led him to his abode, which was appointed with a sumptuousness such as had never entered into Eligio’s dreams in his mountain home. Marble courts and fountains, surrounded by bowers of exquisite flowers, formed the approach, and then they passed beneath endless-seeming arcades of polished marble into a vast alcove encrusted with alabaster of many colours, the dim light only reaching through its clear golden veins, no sound disturbing its still repose but the cool murmur of a fountain which fed a marble lake. Here noiseless attendants advanced, and, having helped Eligio and his host to undress, afforded him a delicious bath, complete with ministrations of unguents and scents—very different from the plunge into the icy waters of the Lago di Molveno, which was his greatest luxury at home.

They now arrayed him in an entirely new suit of superb attire; and then, to the sound of hushed music, led him and his host through the arched corridors to a banqueting-hall, where every thing of the choicest was ready laid.

Nothing could have been more delightful than the charming and accomplished conversation of his hospitable entertainer, who, when the long succession of various viands was at length exhausted, proposed that they should repair to an upper room and commence their game.

Delighted as Eligio had been with his extraordinary entertainment, he was yet burning to try his luck with his obliging host, and accordingly followed him with alacrity to a divan spread on the roof, having for its only covering a leafy pergola88, and lighted by lamps contrived with such art that they seemed to be the very bunches of grapes themselves which gave the rays.

The cards were brought, and the friends set to work. The first game was a long one; the host seemed to be in great fear of not succeeding, and pondered every throw. Eligio played in his own rough-and-ready style, expecting luck to come as it always had—he never troubled himself how.

But this time luck did not come to him, and his entertainer was the winner! The stakes were large, but his hospitable friend had been so urbane throughout, that he could not show any ill-will. His attendants were called in, and paid the debt.

The winner put up the cards as though he did not wish to play again.

“Come, you must give me my revenge,” said Eligio.

“Oh, certainly, if you wish it,” he replied; and they played again. This time Eligio paid more attention to his style, and calculated every card he played; but it was of no use, he was beaten again. Caring more for the disappointment than the loss, he saw the money counted out without a sigh; but the unusual sense of having been overcome rankled in his mind. He had offered to play high because it seemed required by the princely character of the house where he had been so sumptuously received; and of all the treasure he had brought with him, and of all he had won through a day’s undeviating luck, there only remained enough to repeat the stakes. Nevertheless he pledged the same sum once more, and they played again.

This time fortune seemed to have come back to him. All went right up to the end; Eligio’s heart felt lightened. So luck was coming back, was it? He played with an interest which he had almost ceased to find—but his adversary threw down his last card which reversed every thing, and once more he was the winner!

Eligio called in his followers, and ordered them to pay out the last farthing of his treasure; but even this distressed him less than having nothing more to stake, whereby to have a chance of retrieving his luck. “Let be,” said his new friend, soothingly; “perhaps to-morrow your luck will turn. Come down with me to supper, and have a quiet night’s rest, and think no more about the play.”

“I can’t rest, and I can’t eat!” said Eligio; “I can do nothing till my luck turns. I must stake something. Ah! there’s my horse—but that’s not enough. Put along with it all my retainers. If I lose, they shall be yours, and serve you.”

“Since you insist, I have no objection,” said his host. “My men know their service well, and will not shame you if you win and I have to render you an equal number of them; and for your horse, I can match him, how good soever he may be, with the swiftest Arab in the whole world.”

Eligio sat down, hardly heeding his words, intent only on re-establishing his success. But his pains were vain; the game went against him like the last, and, scarcely mastering his vexation, he called in his retainers and told them they had passed into the service of the new master.

But this only left him in the same position as before. Still he wanted to retrieve his fortune, and again he had no stake.

“Leave it for to-night,” recommended his host; “better times will come with the morrow.” But Eligio would not hear of it; the passion and excitement were too strong within him; he could not turn to other thoughts.

“Myself! my life! that is all I have left to play. Will you accept the wager of my life?”

“If you insist,” replied his host, “I have no objection, but it is an odd sort of play. I really never heard of such a thing before; but any thing to oblige you—though I really advise you to leave it till the morning, when you are cooler.”

And all the time he was a magician of the heathen, who had invited Eligio for the express purpose of bringing him to this strait; but, as he saw how impetuous and excited he was, he knew that he would but fall into his snare the more surely for whetting his ardour with a little opposition.

Eligio would, indeed, listen to no mention of delay, and they sat down and played—with the same result as before! His life was now at the magician’s disposal, and he stood in a desponding attitude, waiting to hear what the magician decided to do with him.

As he stood there, however, a great cry rose in the room beyond—a cry of a young maiden’s voice in distress—and from under the usciale89 came running, in terror for its life, a sleek white rat, and behind it, in close pursuit, a bouncing cat. “Save my rat! oh, save my white rat!” cried the maiden’s voice; and her steps approached as if she would have run into the room after her pet. “Keep back, child! keep back! Enter not, for your life!” cried the magician, sternly; and nothing more was heard but the gentle maiden’s sobs.

Quick as thought, however, Eligio had started from his despondent attitude at the sound of her distressful voice, and with one blow had stamped the life out of the treacherous cat. The little white rat, freed from fear of its tormentor, returned softly to its mistress, and an exclamation of joy was Eligio’s reward.

“Who have you got there, father? Mayn’t I come in and thank him?” said the maiden, prettily pleading.

“On no account. Don’t think of it!” was the magician’s angry reply.

“Then you must do something for him instead. Ask him what he wants, and do it for him, whatever it is.”

“Very well, that’ll do; go back to your own apartment,” replied the magician, impatiently.

“No, it won’t do, like that. You don’t say it as if you meant it. Promise me you will give him something nice, and I will go. It’s only fair, for he has done me a great pleasure, and you mustn’t be ungrateful.”

“It is enough reward, fair maiden, to hear from your sweet voice that you are satisfied with me,” Eligio ventured to say; but this made the magician more angry, and, to ensure his daughter’s departure, he promised he would do as she wished, but forbade either of them to speak a single word more to the other.

“I have promised my daughter to give you a good gift,” he said, when he had satisfied himself that she was gone to a distance; “and under present circumstances I do not see that I can give you a better boon than to grant you a year of the life which you have lost to me. Go home and bid adieu to your friends, and be sure that you are back here by this day year, or woe be to your whole house!”

Eligio now began to suspect that he had fallen into the power of one of those against whom he had been often warned. No ordinary mortal could have cared to win his life; no ordinary mortal could have threatened woe on his whole house. But the more convinced he felt of this, the more terrible he felt was the spell that bound him.

Sad and crestfallen he looked as he toiled his way back to the castle on the Lago di Molveno, and very different from the brave order with which he had started.

When his parents saw him all alone, and looking so forlorn, they knew that his bad habit had got him into trouble, but he looked so sad that they said nothing; but by little and little he told them all. It was a year of mourning that succeeded that day; a year so sad that it seemed no boon the maiden had procured him, but a prolonged torment, yet when that thought came he spurned it from him, as ungrateful to her who had meant him well. In fact his only solace was to recall that clear, ringing voice so full of sympathy, and to picture to himself the slender throat and rosy lips through which it must have passed, the softly-blushing cheeks between which those lips must have been set, and the bright, laughing, trusting eyes that must have beamed over them, till he seemed quite to know and love her.

But then, again, of what use? was not his year nearly run out? Was not her father determined they should not meet? Was it not a greater torture to die knowing there was one left behind he might have loved, than to have died that night alone, as he had been then?

Meantime the year was drawing to a close, and, not to give an appearance of shrinking from his plighted word, Eligio started betimes to render his life up to him who had won it of him. It was a sad parting with his parents, but he held up through it bravely; and when they advised him to take a large sum of money with him to buy himself off, though he felt it would be of no use, he would not say them nay, as he had so often done before.

With a heavy heart he set out; and first he stopped at the chapel of St. Anthony, at the foot of the hill, where dwelt an old hermit, to make his peace with heaven before he was called to lay down his life. Then he rose and pursued his way.

As he journeyed farther he met a hermit coming towards him who he thought was the same he had spoken with in the chapel. “Tell me, father,” he said, “how comes it that you, whom I left behind me in the chapel, are now coming towards me on the road?”

“I am not the hermit whom you left behind you in the chapel,” replied the advancing figure, gravely. “But I have heard all you confided to him, for I am St. Anthony; and because I am satisfied with the good disposition I have observed in you, I am come to give you help.”

Eligio fell on his knees full of thankfulness, for never had he felt more in need of help than now.

“Something I know, my son, of the ways of these men who hunt the lambs of our flock to destroy them, and I am minded to save you from the one into whose power you have fallen, and with you the fair maiden whose voice charmed you in his house.”

Eligio started with joyful surprise, and clasped the saint’s feet in token of gratitude.

“She is not his daughter, as you have supposed,” continued the saint, “but a child of our people, whom he stole from us. And now you must attend to my bidding, and do it exactly, or you will fail, and lose her life as well as your own.”

Eligio felt the reproach, for he knew how often he had preferred his own way to the advice of his elders, but he was humble now in his distress, and listened very attentively to the directions prescribed to him.

“Continue this public road towards the city,” then said St. Anthony, “till you get to the last milestone; then count the tenth tree that you pass on the right hand and the eleventh on the left hand, and you will see a scarcely perceptible track through the brake to the right. Follow that track till you come to a knoll of ilex-trees, there lie down and rest; but to-morrow morning awake at daybreak and lie in wait, and you shall see a flock of white doves come before you. They will lay aside their feathers and hide them, but you must watch them very closely, for they are the magician’s daughters; but among them will be she whom I commission you to deliver. You must observe where she puts her feathers, for the maidens will all then go away for the rest of the day in their own natural form. As soon as they are gone, take her feathers from their hiding-place and possess yourself of them. In the evening they will all come back and resume their dove form and fly away, but your maiden will continue seeking hers; then come forward and tell her that you want her help to overcome the sorceries of the magician. Remember this well, my son, and for the rest do as she bids you.” So saying, the saint raised his hands in blessing, and passed on his way to the chapel, where he had to instruct the hermit in the conduct he had to pursue in the manifold dangers with which he was surrounded from the malice of the heathen.

Eligio walked briskly along, once more filled with the hope and energy incident to his youth and character. “Why should I count the trees?” he said to himself; “surely, it will do if I look out for the track when I come to the brake!” But the terrible warning he had had was too recent that he should forget its lessons already. “Perhaps it’s better to keep to the letter. The saint laid great stress on my doing exactly as he bid me; it is better to be on the safe side, for another worthier life than mine is concerned with me, this time.”

So he walked on steadily till he came to the last mile, and then counted the trees conscientiously, till he found the path through the brake, and made his way to the ilex grove, where he laid him down and slept peacefully. But long before daybreak he was awake with the anxiety not to be behindhand, and closely he watched for the arrival of the enchanted doves.

With the first streaks of daylight they came flying, as the saint had predicted, and, having flung off their covering of white feathers, each sought out a snug place under the heather where to deposit them. It required close watching, indeed, to make out which was his maiden; but, as they all chatted together, after the manner of maidens, Eligio knew he could trust himself to recognize her voice, and, guided by that, he kept his eyes hard fixed on her whose tones he recognized, that he might be sure to distinguish where she laid by her disguise. It was not light enough to satisfy himself whether her features corresponded with the idea he had built up in his own mind; but the grace of her form, as she passed by in her simple white, loosely-flowing dress, with a chaplet of roses for her only ornament; only made him the more anxious to behold her face.

The maidens walked away, and Eligio took possession of the feathery covering, which he laid up in his bosom as a precious token, and took it out again and gazed at it, and kissed it, and laid it by again a thousand times, for it was his only solace through the long day of waiting.

At last evening came, and he resumed his post of observation. The maidens returned; each sought out and resumed her dove’s feathers and flew away; only the one was left, seeking hers in vain. Then Eligio came forward, and said, respectfully, “Fair lady, I know what it is you seek, and I will help you to find it; but first promise to do me a great favour.”

The maiden started, for she too recognized his voice. Their eyes met, and both owned, in the depth of their own hearts, that the other bore the very image which for a year past their fancy had conjured up.

“That will I, willingly, good sir!” she replied, in her sweetest tones; “for, an’ I mistake not, I owe you a debt of gratitude before to-day. The treacherous cat that you killed so opportunely was no cat, but a cruel Angana90; and the white rat concerned me so nearly, because it was no rat, but my dear nurse, whom the magician turned into a rat when he stole me from my father’s house. So believe if I was not anxious to save her, and if I ought not to be grateful to him who preserved her to me! so tell me, what can I do to help you, and, whatever it may be, I will do it to the utmost of my power.”

“St. Anthony appeared to me as I came along this way,” rejoined Eligio, “and he told me that you had been stolen from Christian parents and brought up by this heathen mage, and that you would help me to get out of his power; but he also seemed to say that I should have the happiness of helping you to leave this dreadful abode, and restoring you to Christendom.”

“Said he so?” answered the maiden, with intense earnestness; “then my heart did not deceive me when I first heard your voice: you are indeed he with the thread of whose life mine is woven, and without whom I could not be set free.”

When Eligio heard that, he was full of gladness, and he said, “Let us escape, then! What should prevent us from leaving this country together? When I saw the magician before, the laws of hospitality made him sacred to my sword; but now—now that I have learnt I have a right to defend your life—I defy him, and all his arts!”

“You are brave, I see; and it is well,” she replied; “but it is not so you can discard his power. By your own error you gave him power over you, and now you are his; you can only be free by his will.”

“By his will!” cried Eligio, in despair; “then shall I never be free!”

“Art must be met by art,” she continued. “His art is all round you, though you see not its meshes; and by art we must bring him to renounce his claim on you. Trust me, and I will show you how it is to be done. He would force me to learn his arts when I begged him not, and now I know many things which will serve us. I can see the threads of his toils woven all around you; you cannot escape from them till he speaks you free.”

“Tell me, then, what I must do,” said Eligio; and he mentally resolved as he spoke, that he would this time implicitly obey what she told him.

She remained thinking for a time, as if reckoning out a problem. Then she said, “For this first time I must act. On the fatal day you must present yourself according to your oath. I will take care to be with him when they tell him you are come; and when I hear your name, I will plead, as I did before, that he should not sacrifice you at once, but give you some hard trial in which, if you succeed, he shall speak you free. To silence my importunity, he will agree to this, intending to give you so hard a trial that you should not succeed. But you come to me in my bower, cooing three times like a dove, for a signal, at this same evening hour, and tell me what it is, and I will find the means in my books to carry you through the trial. So that, whatever he proposes to you, be not disconcerted, but accept and undertake it with a good heart. And now, give me my dove’s feathers quickly, for already they will be questioning why I am so long behind.” And without waiting to let him take so much as another gaze at her, she assumed her dove shape, and flew away.

The next day Eligio went, with a lighter heart than he had borne for a long time past, to give himself up to the magician. The magician, won over by the maiden’s importunity, offered him his liberty on condition of his performing successfully the difficult feat that he should impose on him.

“Any thing you please to impose on me, I am ready to perform,” replied Eligio.

The magician smiled, with a ghastly, sardonic smile, while he paused, and tried to think of the most terrible trial he could impose.

“Since you were here last,” he said, at length, “I have grown a little deaf, and I am told that the only cure there is for me is the singing of the phœnix-bird. The first thing you have to do is to find me the phœnix-bird, that its singing may heal me.”

“I will do my best; and hope I may be the means of curing your malady,” said Eligio, courteously; but the magician, seeing him of such good courage, began to fear he really might succeed, and added, hastily, “But, mind, I only allow you three days for your search!”

“Three days are but little to find the phœnix-bird,” replied Eligio; “nevertheless, I will do my best;” and without waiting to listen to any further restrictions, he started on his way, saying, “If I have only three days, I have no time to lose.”

At the approach of the evening hour Eligio found his way to his maiden’s bower, and having attracted her attention by cooing three times like a dove, told her what was the trial the magician had imposed.

“The phœnix-bird!” she said, and she looked rather blank; “he has chosen a difficult task indeed. But wait a bit; I think I can find it out;” and she went back and took down scroll after scroll, and turned them over so long, that Eligio began to fear that she would not be able to help him after all. At last she came back to him, looking grave.

“It is more difficult even than I thought,” she said; “and three days is but short time to do it in. You must start this night, without losing a minute. Set out by the stony path outside the town, and ride ahead till you come to a forest, where a bear will come out upon you. The moment you see him, spring from your horse, and cut its throat with your hunting-knife; but if you hesitate a moment he will fall upon you, and devour you. If, however, you kill your horse dexterously, as you will, the bear will be satisfied with its flesh. You must wait standing by till he has eaten his fill, and watch for the moment when he is about to turn away again, then spring on his back, and he will take you to the castle where the phœnix-bird is kept; but if you lose that particular moment, he will return to his cave, and you will never have a chance of reaching the phœnix-bird!”

“Rely on me; your directions shall be punctually obeyed,” said Eligio, and he stooped to kiss her hand. But she would not allow this, and told him he had not an instant to spare.

Eligio mounted his horse, and rode away over the stony path outside the city, and pursued it all night, till at daybreak he reached the thick forest, when a bear came out upon him; Eligio sprang deftly from his horse, and plunging his hunting-knife into his throat, flung the carcase across the path. The bear fell upon the dead horse, and Eligio watched for the moment when he should have finished his repast; but, as he was long about it, he thought to himself, “Why not jump upon him at once? and then I shall be ready to start with him when he has done, without so much anxiety about catching the right instant.” So said, so done; but the bear was not at all the docile animal he had expected.

“Don’t disturb me when I’m feeding!” he growled, and shook our hero off into a bed of nettles.

Eligio owned to himself he would have done better to follow the directions of those wiser than he, and waited, with as much patience as the stinging of the nettles would allow him, till the brute was ready to start, and then made a bold leap on to his back, which made him turn round.

“Well sprung, this time!” growled the bear; “and as you have managed that part of the business so well I have no objection to do what you require. But you must attend to what I have to tell you. Keep your seat steadily, for I have to go swiftly; but speak not a word, and when I bring you to the palace where the phœnix-bird is kept, look not to the right hand or the left, but walk straight before you, through terrace, and galleries, and corridors, till you come to a dismal, deserted-looking aviary, where the phœnix-bird evermore sits on his perch. Put this hood over him, and bring him away with you; but listen not to the songs of the other birds all around, and, above all, touch not the golden owl which sits in the shade above!”

Eligio promised to attend to all the bear told him, and took a firm seat on his back. The bear bounded away with an awkward gait, but Eligio was an accomplished cavalier, and was nothing daunted. After many hours’ rough riding, they came to a vast palace, which he understood by the bear’s halting was the abode of the phœnix-bird; so he dismounted, and walked straight along the terraces, and galleries, and corridors, till he came to a sorry aviary where a thousand birds of gay plumage fluttered and chirped around. Faithful to his promise, Eligio stopped to look at none of them; but walked straight up to the perch of the phœnix-bird. When, however, he saw him, he began to reason in place of obeying. “What can be the use of taking a shabby old bird like that? he looks like a fowl plucked ready for cooking! surely, some of these gay-plumaged birds are better worth taking!” and then his eye caught the golden owl snugly ensconced in the shady bower above. “Ah! that’s a bird worth having, that is now! that’s worth coming a perilous journey for; something to be proud of when you’ve got it! That’s the bird for me!” and, springing upon a ledge of rock, he threw the hood the bear had given him over the head of the golden owl, and brought it down. He had scarcely touched the golden owl, however, when the whole assemblage of other birds, which had taken no notice of him before, suddenly began screeching forth their highest notes. Their cries brought a crowd of servants, who surrounded him and held him fast, while the lord of the palace came down, and severely asked an account of his conduct.

Eligio told his story with a frankness which, in some measure, conciliated the old lord; but the offence was too great to be passed over. “The phœnix-bird,” he said, “might have been taken by him who had courage to take it after the prescribed manner; but the other birds it was sacrilege to meddle with, and the golden owl he had been expressly forbidden, of all others, to touch; and though he granted him his life, he condemned him to perpetual durance.” The servants dragged him off to a deep dungeon, where he had nothing to do but to bewail his folly.

Night fell around, and nothing could be more hopeless than his position. His cell was hewn out of the earth; the iron door through which he had been thrust had been made fast with bolts and chains, and the only window which admitted the free air was strongly fitted with iron bars.

Eligio was generous enough, in his utter desolation, to grieve more over his unfulfilled mission and wasted opportunities, than over his personal hardships. “Oh, my beautiful Dove-Maiden!” he exclaimed, “shall I, then, never see you again? Must you be left for aye to the power of the horrid pagan enchanter, because I, by my insensate folly, have failed in restoring you to the brightness of the Christian faith?” and when he thought of her fate, he wept again.

“St Anthony! St. Anthony!” he cried, a little after, “you befriended me once; give me one chance again! This once but send me forth again with the mission of liberating her, and then let me come back and pass my life in penance; but let not her suffer through my fault!”

By a mechanical instinct he had placed himself near the window, as the type of freedom to him, and now he thought he heard a low grunt on the other side of it, close to his ear. The sound was not melodious, but yet he fancied there was something friendly in its tone. He raised himself up, and saw two white boar’s tusks between the bars. His solitude was so utter that even the visit of a wild boar was a solace of companionship; but much greater was his pleasure when he found that his uncouth visitor was grubbing up the earth round the iron bars and the stones which held them, and had already loosened one.

“How now, good boar!” cried Eligio; “are you really come to release me?”

“Yes,” said the boar, as he paused for a moment to take breath; “St. Anthony has heard you, and has sent me to give the fresh chance you ask for; and if you this time but keep your promise, and do as you are bid, he will not exact the performance of the lifelong penance you offer to perform; but after you have released the Dove-Maiden, you shall live with her the rest of your life in holy union and companionship.”

In a transport of delight Eligio set to work to co-operate with the boar in unearthing the massive stanchions; and when they had loosened three he was able to force himself through the narrow opening.

“Now return to the aviary,” said the boar; “look neither to right nor left, but bring away the phœnix-bird; and speak not a word, but mount on my back, and I will carry you back to the city. But make all haste, or the three days will have expired, and then all will be lost!”

This time Eligio followed his instructions implicitly, and got back to the town just in time to present the magician with the phœnix-bird before the expiring of his three days’ grace. The magician was surprised indeed to find he had been successful, but could not recall his word, so he was forced to pronounce him free; and Eligio immediately repaired to the Dove-Maiden to thank her for her succour, and to ask what was next to be done to set her free too, that they might go away together to Christian lands, and live for each other in holy union.

“As for me,” replied the maiden, blushing, “I shall be free by virtue of your freedom when you have performed one trial well, and without altering according to your own ideas the directions prescribed for you. And now the first thing is, to obtain the release of my dear nurse from the horrid form in which the magician has disguised her. To keep her in that shape, she is forced to eat a live mouse every week; and as nothing else is given her that she can eat, and as she is very ravenous by the time the week comes round, she is forced to eat the mouse. But if the mouse be killed by a sword consecrated to Christian chivalry, and it is dead before she eats it, the spell will be broken, and she will resume her natural form.”

Eligio said this was an easy matter. She had only to tell him on what day the feeding took place, and where.

“It has its difficulties, too,” replied the Dove-Maiden; “for if any blood of the mouse be spilt, the magician will know that I have instructed you, and he will play us some bad turn. To prevent this, you must cut the mouse in two by drawing your sword towards you; then all the blood will be caught on the sword, and you must make the rat lick it off afterwards.” Then she showed him where the mouse was brought, and told him to be on the watch at sunset that very night.

Sunset accordingly found Eligio in close watch, his sword ready in his hand. But he thought, “As for how to use a sword, my pretty Dove-Maiden knows nothing about that. Who ever heard of drawing a sword towards one? Why, if any one saw me they would laugh, and say, ‘Take care of your legs!’ I know how to cut a mouse in two so quickly that no blood shall be spilt; and that’s all that matters.” So, you see, he would do it his own way; and the consequence was that three drops of blood were spilt on the ground However, the white rat got a dead mouse to eat instead of a live one, and immediately appeared in her proper woman’s form.

When Eligio went to visit the Dove-Maiden after this, she spoke no word of reproach, but she told him she knew some trouble would befall them in consequence of those three drops of blood. She could not tell what it would be: they must do their best to provide against it when the time came. The next thing he had to do was, to go by midnight to the magician’s stables under the rock, and take out thence the swiftest horse in the whole world, and he was to know it by the token that it was the thinnest horse he ever saw; its eyeballs and its ribs were all that could be seen of it; and its tail was only one hair! This he was to saddle and bring under her window; and then all three would ride away on it together.

Eligio went down into the magician’s stable under the rock by midnight, and there he saw the lean horse, with his protruding ribs and eyeballs, and whose tail was only one hair. But he said to himself, “My pretty Dove-Maiden hasn’t much experience in horseflesh; that can’t be the swiftest horse in the world. Why, it would sink to the ground with our weight alone, let alone trying to move under us! That high-couraged chestnut there, with the powerful shoulders—that is the horse to hold out against fatigue, and put miles of distance behind you! I think I know a good horse to go when I see one!” So he saddled the high-couraged chestnut, and led it under the Dove-Maiden’s window.

When she saw the stout chestnut instead of the lean horse, she could not suppress a cry of disappointment.

“What have you done?” she said. “You have left the swiftest horse in the world behind; and now the magician can overtake us, nor can we escape him!”

Eligio hung his head, and stammered out a proposal to go and change the horse. But she told him it was too late; the stable-door was only open at midnight. He could not now get in till the next night; and if they left their escape till then, the magician would find out the disenchantment of the white rat, and from that suspect their scheme; and would then surround them with such a maze of difficulties, that it would take her years to learn how to solve them; whereas she had promised St. Anthony to have nothing more to do with the books of magic, but to burn them all, and go and live with a Christian husband, far from all these things. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to start at once with their best speed, only keeping on the watch for the pursuer, who would inevitably come.

Away went the high-couraged chestnut, with the speed of the wind, and as if his threefold burden had been light as air. But how swiftly soever he went, the lean horse was swifter; and before the end of the second day’s journey they saw, at no distance, his fire-darting eyeballs and smoking ribs, and his tail of one hair stretched out far behind.

When the Dove-Maiden saw the magician coming after them on this weird mount, she called to her companions to jump down; and she turned the horse into a wayside chapel of St. Anthony, and herself into a peasant girl weaving chaplets on the grass outside.

“Have you seen a chestnut steed pass this way, with a young man and maiden, pretty child?” said the magician, bending low over his horse’s neck to pat the peasant girl’s cheek, but without recognizing her. The Dove-Maiden started aside from his touch; but she answered,—

“Yes, good sir; they are gone into the chapel; and if you will go in, there you will find them.”

“Oh! I’ve got into the land of the Christians, have I?” said the magician to himself. “I think I had better make the best of my way home, and not trust myself there.” So he mounted his fiery steed, and rode away.

Then the Dove-Maiden restored herself and her companions to their former shapes, and they soon reached home, where Eligio was received with joyful acclamations by all. But to his intense surprise and disappointment, his mother did not welcome his beautiful Dove-Maiden with any thing like satisfaction.

“That is because of the three drops of the mouse’s blood incautiously spilt,” she whispered, when he deplored it to her; “but I have a spell against that also. Let me into your mother’s room when she is asleep, to-night, and I will anoint her eyes with an ointment with shall make her look on me for ever after with a loving glance. It was done as she said, and next morning Eligio’s mother received her lovingly to her arms as a daughter.

After this, the Dove-Maiden burnt her magic books, and her nuptials with Eligio were celebrated with great rejoicings throughout the valley. They lived together for the rest of their days, in holy union, and the poor Christians of the whole countryside blessed their charity.