But as the week wore on, miracles happened; for every night one of the Gorgons turned into the beautiful girl she used to be before the Goddess of Reason, infuriated with the Irrational God who bestows on girls their quite unreasonable loveliness, had made her what she was. And night by night the Wanderer rubbed his eyes and wondered if he had been dreaming; for the guardians of the tower no longer hissed, but sighed at love, and instead of claws for the destructions of lovers had beautiful kind hands that longed to help them. Until on the sixth night only one remained this fellow's enemy. But alas! she was the strongest and fiercest of them all. (Joscelyn: How dare you!) And her case (said Martin) was hopeless, because she alone of them all had never known what love was, and so had nothing to be restored to. (Joscelyn: How DARE you!) And without her (said Martin) there was nothing to be done. She had always had the others under her thumb, and by this time she had the Wanderer in exactly the same place. And so--and so-- And so here is your shoe-string, Mistress Joscelyn; and I am sorry the want of it has been such an inconvenience to you all day, so that you could not make merry with us. But I must forfeit it now, for the story is ended, and I think you must own it is true. (Joscelyn: I won't take it! The story is NOT true! The story is NOT ended! Finish it at once! None of the others ended like this. Martin: The others weren't true. Joscelyn: I don't care. You are to say what happened to the Gorgons. Joyce: And to the Squire. Jennifer: And to the Princess. Jessica: And what she looked like. Jane: And what happened to the King. "Please, Martin," said little Joan, "please don't let the story come to an end before we know what happened to the Wanderer." "I'm tired of telling stories," said Martin, "and I'll never tell another as long as I live. But I suppose I must add the trimmings to this one, or I shall get no peace.") All these things, dear maidens, are very quickly told, except what the Princess looked like, for that is impossible. No man ever knew. He never got further than her eyes, and then he was drowned. But what does it matter how she looked? She died a thousand years ago of a broken heart. And her Squire, hearing of her death, died too, a thousand leagues away. And the King her father expired of remorse, and his country went to rack and ruin. And the five kind Gorgons had to pay the penalty of their regained humanity, and wilted into their maiden graves. Only the Sixth Gorgon lived on for ever and ever. I dare not think of her solitary eternity. But as for the Wanderer, he is of no importance. A little while he still went wandering, singing these lovers' sorrows to the world, and what became of him I never knew. That's the end. And now, dear Mistress Joscelyn, let me lace up your shoe. (Joscelyn buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.) POSTLUDE PART I