Now the Prince had found the Princess, and you might think that they had nothing to do but go home again. The father and mother of the Princess were wearying very much to hear about her. Every day they climbed to the bartizan of the Castle, and looked across the plain, hoping to see dust on the road, and some brave Prince riding back with their daughter. But she never came, and their hair grew grey with sorrow and time. The parents of the other Princes, too, who were all asleep under the Mushroom, were alarmed about their sons, and feared that they had all been taken prisoners, or perhaps eaten up by some Giant. But Princess Niente and Prince Charming were lingering in the enchanted land, too happy to leave the flowers, the brooks, and the Fairies. The faithful Black Beetle often whispered to the Prince that it was time to turn homewards, but the Prince paid no more attention to his ally than if he had been an Ear-wig. So there, in the Valley Magical, the Prince and Princess might be wandering to this day but for a very sad accident. The night they were married, the Princess had said to the Prince, “Now you may call me Niente, or any pet name you like; but never call me by my own name.” [Illustration] “But I don’t know it,” said the Prince. “Do tell me what it is?” “Never,” said the Princess; “you must never seek to know it.” “Why not?” said the Prince. “Something dreadful will happen,” said the Princess, “if ever you find out my name, and call me by it.” And she looked quite as if she could be very angry. Now ever after this, the Prince kept wondering what his wife’s real name could be, till he made himself quite unhappy. “Is it Margaret?” he would say, when he thought the Princess was off her guard; or, “is it Joan?” “Is it Dorothy?” “It can’t be Sybil, can it?” But she would never tell him. Now, one morning, the Princess awoke very early, but she felt so happy that she could not sleep. She lay awake and listened to the Birds singing, and then she watched a Fairy-boy teasing a Bird, which sang (so the boy said) out of tune, and another Fairy-baby riding on a Fly. [Illustration] At last the Princess, who thought the Prince was sound asleep, began to croon softly a little song she had made about him and her. She had never told him about the song, partly because she was shy, and partly for another reason. So she crooned and hummed to herself, _Oh, hand in hand with Gwendoline, While yet our locks are gold, He’ll fare among the forests green, And through the gardens old; And when, like leaves that lose their green, Our gold has turned to grey, Then, hand in hand with Gwendoline, He’ll fade and pass away!_ [Illustration] “Oh, _Gwendoline_ is your name, is it?” said the Prince, who had been wide awake, and listening to her song. And he began to laugh at having found out her secret, and tried to kiss her.