"To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them off and threw them after her as she was carried away. When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica recovered consciousness and was free from pain she asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side. "Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly, "that I--I--I am maimed for life? With a broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be ugly but repulsive." "Poor Veronica! You will then be on the same level with me in the future. How you will miss all the petting, all the love!" "I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But won't you love me, Christobel?" "Yes, I will now." "Why only now?" "Because I shall always feel sorry for you--I have never felt sorry for any one but myself before--and I shall love you heaps and heaps." "Don't you think others may feel sorry for me, too?--Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added with a little moan. Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is everything! You will understand that now." No limbs were broken, and in a couple of days Princess Veronica, with her head and face veiled in white lace, was able to receive some visits of sympathy in her misfortune. King Jorum was inconsolable, and whenever he came out of the invalid's room he would vow terrible threats of vengeance on Countess Spinx, who was trembling for her spiteful life in the cells. On the third night after the Christmas festivities had been brought to their sudden and tragic close, Princess Christobel dreamed such a vivid dream that it awakened her. She dreamed that Little Love, who avoided her whenever he could, came smilingly up to her, kissed her hand, and raising a letter he held, showed, with a look of triumph which puzzled her, that it was addressed to her sister. She awoke, and instantly remembered that Little Love had really kissed her hand that evening, to her great surprise. She sat up in bed listening, for she fancied she heard her sister call. Becoming anxious for her comfort, she rose, and went gently in to her. It was quiet in the dimly lighted chamber. The invalid lay softly sleeping, her face all bandaged, and her glorious hair a mass of gold about the pillow. Under her hand was an open letter. Tempted by the influence of her dream, Christobel drew nearer. It was Prince Olivin's firm writing--there were only a few lines, and the moonlight shone full upon them. She could not help reading:-- "Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change them! OLIVIN."