herdsmen had already begun to make songs about his young valor, and his kingly courtesy, and generous kindness. Not only the shepherds and herdsmen sang them, but the people in the streets. The king, his father, had always been jealous of him, even when he was only a beautiful, stately child whom the people roared with joy to see as he rode through the streets. When he returned from his journeyings and found him a splendid youth, he detested him. When the people began to clamor and demand that he himself should abdicate, he became insane with rage, and committed such cruelties that the people ran mad themselves. One day they stormed the palace, killed and overpowered the guards, and, rushing into the royal apartments, burst in upon the king as he shuddered green with terror and fury in his private room. He was king no more, and must leave the country, they vowed, as they closed round him with bared weapons and shook them in his face. Where was the prince? They must see him and tell him their ultimatum. It was he whom they wanted for a king. They trusted him and would obey him. They began to shout aloud his name, calling him in a sort of chant in unison, "Prince Ivor--Prince Ivor--Prince Ivor!" But no answer came. The people of the palace had hidden themselves, and the place was utterly silent. The king, despite his terror, could not help but sneer. "Call him again," he said. "He is afraid to come out of his hole!" A savage fellow from the mountain fastnesses struck him on the mouth. "He afraid!" he shouted. "If he does not come, it is because thou hast killed him--and thou art a dead man!" This set them aflame with hotter burning. They broke away, leaving three on guard, and ran about the empty palace rooms shouting the prince's name. But there was no answer. They sought him in a frenzy, bursting open doors and flinging down every obstacle in their way. A page, found hidden in a closet, owned that he had seen His Royal Highness pass through a corridor early in the morning. He had been softly singing to himself one of the shepherd's songs. And in this strange way out of the history of Samavia, five hundred years before Marco's day, the young prince had walked--singing softly to himself the old song of Samavia's beauty and happiness. For he was never seen again.