THE prince had gone some way, when the king called after him. How he wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of darkness in his pocket! If he had been so lucky, he would now have got back to Gluckstein, and crossed the border with Lady Rosalind. A million of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who really love each other could live happily on less than the cheque he had in his pocket. However, the king shouted very loud, as he always did when he meant to be obeyed, and the prince sauntered slowly back again. “Prigio!” said his majesty, “where were you off to? Don’t you remember that this is your wedding-day? My proclamation offered, not only the money (which you have), but the hand of the Lady Molinda, which the Court chaplain will presently make your own. I congratulate you, sir; Molinda is a dear girl.” “I have the highest affection and esteem for my cousin, sir,” said the prince, “but:--” “I’ll never marry him!” cried poor Molinda, kneeling at the throne, where her streaming eyes and hair made a pretty and touching picture. “Never! I despise him!” [Illustration: Page 84] “I was about to say, sir,” the prince went on, “that I cannot possibly have the pleasure of wedding my cousin.” “The family gibbet, I presume, is in good working order?” asked the king of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man in black and scarlet, who was only employed in the case of members of the blood royal. “Never better, sire,” said the man, bowing with more courtliness than his profession indicated. “Very well,” said the king; “Prince Prigio, you have your choice. _There_ is the gallows, _here_ is Lady Molinda. My duty is painful, but clear. A king’s word cannot be broken. Molly, or the gibbet!” The prince bowed respectfully to Lady Molinda: “Madam, my cousin,” said he, “your clemency will excuse my answer, and you will not misinterpret the apparent discourtesy of my conduct. I am compelled, most unwillingly, to slight your charms, and to select the Extreme Rigour of the Law. Executioner, lead on! Do your duty; for me, _Prigio est prêt_;”--for this was his motto, and meant that he was ready. [Illustration: Page 85] Poor Lady Molinda could not but be hurt by the prince’s preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him. “Is life, then, so worthless? and is Molinda so terrible a person that you prefer _those_ arms,” and she pointed to the gibbet, “to _these?_”--here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty; for Molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see Prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of Pantouflia. For Alphonso was gone--crying would not bring him back. “Ah, Madam!” said the prince, “you are forgiving--” “For _you_ are brave!” said Molinda, feeling: quite a respect for him.