"'What makes you weep?' said a voice so sweet he thought it was music itself, and looking up, he saw a young maiden, who had come up a path behind him, with a pitcher of water on her head. She was beautiful and fair to look upon, though her dress was as plain as could be. She offered him water to drink, and told him if he would go with her to the little cabin, her mother would give him something to eat, and a bed to lie upon, for the night dew was beginning to fall. He had not on his fine dress at this time, having changed it for that of a young peasant, thinking perhaps he would succeed better in disguise. So he followed her steps, and they gave him milk, and bread, and honey, and a nice bed to sleep upon, though it was somewhat hard and coarse. And there he fell sick, and they nursed him day after day, and brought him back to health. The young maiden grew more lovely in his eye, and her voice sounded more and more sweet in his ear. Sometimes he thought of the sacrifice he was to ask, but he could not do it. No, he would die first. One night, the old man with the long, white beard, came in his dream, to his bedside. He looked dark and frowning. "'This is the maiden,' he cried, 'your pilgrimage is ended here. Do as thou art bidden, and then depart.' "When the morning came, he was pale and sad, and the young girl was pale and sad from sympathy. Then the Prince knelt down at her feet, and told her the history of his father's dream and his own, and of his exceeding great and bitter sorrow. He wept, but the maiden smiled, and she looked like an angel with that sweet smile on her face. "'My heart is yours,' she said, 'I give it willingly and cheerfully. Drain from it every drop of blood, if you will--I care not, so it save _you_ from perishing.' "Then the eyes of the young Prince shone out like the sun after a storm, and drawing his dagger from his bosom, he--" "Stop, Miss Thusa--don't go on," interrupted Helen, pale with emotion. "I cannot bear to hear it. It is too awful. I asked you for something beautiful, and you have chosen the most terrible theme. Don't finish it." "Is there not something beautiful," said the young doctor, bending down, and addressing her in a low voice--"is there not something beautiful in such pure and self-sacrificing love? Is there no chord in your heart that thrills responsive as you listen? Oh, Helen--I am sure _you_ could devote yourself for one you loved." "Oh, yes!" she answered, forgetting, in her excitement, all her natural timidity. "I could do it joyfully, glorying in the sacrifice. But he, so selfish, so cruel, so sanguinary--it is from him I shrink. His heart is already marble--it cannot change." "Wait, child--wait till you hear the end," cried Miss Thusa, inspired by the effect of her words. "He drew a dagger from his bosom, and was about to plunge it in his _own_ heart, and die at her feet, when the old man of his dream entered and caught hold of his arm."