And Rudolph, the Czar, complaining bitterly, crawls a little way off and casts himself down among the rocks. While he lies there, peering wistfully into the beautiful valley, wondering at the blueness of the heavens and the softness of the light, listening to the gurgling of waters, and catching glimpses of cataracts flashing down the distant hills, under overhanging branches—while he lies there, one, haughty, and bearing himself like a prince, draws near, and Rudolph remembers to have met him in a spacious, oak-paneled library, long ago, when he, the Czar, was a boy. No sooner does this one reach the entrance to the valley, than the sentinel appears as before, and demands his pass. The other hands him a paper, which he examines, and pronounces to be worthless. “It bears not our King’s signature, but that of his worst enemy. Begone, impostor!” “But I am a millionaire! I own ships upon the sea, laden with merchandise, and mines in the earth rich with ore, and acres of land more than I can count!” “Away! Answer me no more.” And the rich man turns away in wrath and confusion. Presently appears another, in workman’s garb, which proves to be only a disguise, for, as he nears the entrance to the valley, on a sudden behold him a warrior clad in armor! And this armor is like nothing that Rudolph, the Czar, has seen. The various pieces of which it is composed are of different hues; the helmet white as snow, and so dazzling that he turns his eyes from it as he would turn them from the burning sun of noonday; the breastplate like gold, only brighter; the sword red like flame; the shield is as if it were of adamant, and the device upon it is an anchor. As the warrior gives his pass to the sentinel, the Czar, unseen, recognizes his own father! But the sentinel does not look at the pass. “I know thee by thine armor!” he cries, with a smile of welcome, and immediately blows a bugle which he carries, and the sound rings through the valley—sweetly, sweetly! winding among the hills, sending back a thousand echoes on its way. Then the people pour out of the hamlets, and come down in myriads to meet the warrior, strewing the way with flowers and greeting him with music—oh, so marvelous! oh, so thrilling! that the very light moves to and fro in little waves, as if keeping time, and the flashing, gurgling waters join the chorus, and the overhanging branches swing a slow accompaniment.