“Would you have me cruel to you, my poor child? Now, come,” and she sat down in the arm-chair--“come and tell me all about your troubles.” “Oh, Marraine!” cried Nadia, throwing herself on the ground and burying her face in her godmother’s dress, “I have given up everything because it was right to do it, and I cannot even learn to forgive!” “Not _even_ forgive? But that is often the hardest thing of all to do. Tell me about it, my child,” repeated the Princess, and Nadia poured forth the story of her first meeting with Caerleon, of his kindness to her, and of the way in which each had learnt to love the other; then his sudden acceptance of the kingdom, with all the changes it had brought in its train; his repeated appeal to her to share his throne, the intrigues by means of which Scythia had sought to gain ascendancy over him through her, her journey to Bellaviste to warn him of the plot against his life, and her resolute but ignominious departure. “I gave him up because it was right to do it, Marraine,” she said; “and not only am I miserable myself, but I have made him miserable.” “Was it right?” asked the Princess, quietly. “Oh yes, Marraine, of course,--at least I knew it must be right because it was so hard to do.” “Is that the way in which you test your duties, my child? It is a wise plan in many cases, but sometimes dangerous--for instance, if you begin to regard ‘difficult’ as synonymous with ‘right.’ You are told to ‘endure hardness as a good soldier,’ but never to follow hardness as an aim in itself. It is Christ you are to follow. What would you think of a soldier who chose to live out in the snow rather than in the barracks provided for him? Would he make himself a better soldier by ruining his health and risking his life in such a way?” “No, but----” the idea was too novel for Nadia to grasp it at once in its entirety. “And think what it is that you have been accepting as right,” the Princess went on, with sudden passion. “You tell the man who has assured you that he loves you alone in the world that if he desires to please you he must marry another woman. This may be self-sacrifice, my child, but it is certainly sin.” “But the kingdom--the people----” gasped Nadia, confounded. “Was the King to sin for the sake of his kingdom? Could you not have parted from him for a time, if it was necessary, each assured of the other’s love, and content to wait--all your lives, perhaps--in case a way might possibly be opened for you? It may be that in taking your own path you have missed the training God meant for you.” “But the uncertainty would have been so dreadful. Surely it was better to end it at once,” urged Nadia. “Better? to you, perhaps. But what of this poor Carlino? Had you no misgivings, my child?”