"The master of the horse told papa's own secretary that he had written to the miner-general to find you and send you up; but the miner-general wrote back to the master of the horse, and he told the secretary, and the secretary told my father, that they had searched every mine in the kingdom and could hear nothing of you. My father gave a great sigh, and said he feared the goblins had got you after all, and your father and mother were dead of grief. And he has never mentioned you since, except when wandering. I cried very much. But one of my grandmother's pigeons with its white wing flashed a message to me through the window one day, and then I knew that my Curdie wasn't eaten by the goblins, for my grandmother wouldn't have taken care of him one time to let him be eaten the next. Where were you, Curdie, that they couldn't find you?" "We will talk about that another time, when we are not expecting the doctor," said Curdie. As he spoke, his eyes fell upon something shining on the table under the lamp. His heart gave a great throb, and he went nearer.--Yes, there could be no doubt;--it was the same flagon that the butler had filled in the wine-cellar. "It looks worse and worse!" he said to himself, and went back to Irene, where she stood half dreaming. "When will the doctor be here?" he asked once more--this time hurriedly. The question was answered--not by the princess, but by something which that instant tumbled heavily into the room. Curdie flew towards it in vague terror about Lina. On the floor lay a little round man, puffing and blowing, and uttering incoherent language. Curdie thought of his mattock, and ran and laid it aside. "Oh, dear Dr. Kelman!" cried the princess, running up and taking hold of his arm; "I am _so_ sorry!" She pulled and pulled, but might almost as well have tried to set up a cannon-ball. "I hope you have not hurt yourself?" "Not at all, not at all," said the doctor, trying to smile and to rise both at once, but finding it impossible to do either. "If he slept on the floor he would be late for breakfast," said Curdie to himself, and held out his hand to help him. But when he took hold of it, Curdie very nearly let him fall again, for what he held was not even a foot: it was the belly of a creeping thing. He managed, however, to hold both his peace and his grasp, and pulled the doctor roughly on his legs--such as they were. "Your royal highness has rather a thick mat at the door," said the doctor, patting his palms together. "I hope my awkwardness may not have startled his majesty." While he talked Curdie went to the door: Lina was not there. The doctor approached the bed. "And how has my beloved king slept to-night?" he asked. "No better," answered Irene, with a mournful shake of her head. "Ah, that is very well!" returned the doctor, his fall seeming to have muddled either his words or his meaning. "We must give him his wine, and then he will be better still."