"Go back," cried Nikita to the first hero, who had kept well out of reach of that terrible staff. "Go back to Yelena the Haughty Beauty and tell her not to resist us further. See how I have dealt with your men alone and all by myself! What will it be when the Terrible Tsar and his young men awake from sleep? We shall not leave one stone of your castle upon another. You would do well to go back and tell the bride to prepare for her wedding." So the hero went back and told his mistress all that had happened. "What is to be, must be," she said with outward graciousness. "I will go to meet this heroic bridegroom in a manner fitting to his warlike ways." So she summoned her heroic bodyguard, and, surrounded by these youths, who carried battle-bows in their hands, she walked proudly from the front door of the castle towards the tents of white linen standing upon her own green lawn. Nikita saw them coming, and knew without instruction that the kiss of the bride would be sharp and stinging. So he put on the Cap of Darkness, bent his own bow, shot off a flaming shaft, and knocked off the top story of the castle. Yelena the Haughty Beauty bowed to her fate, advanced with stately step towards the Terrible Tsar, took him by the hand, and led him within the banquet-hall, where he and his company were feasted on the best. When his master had eaten well and drunk just as well, Nikita said in his ear, "Does the bride please you, or shall we set out to seek a better?" "No, Nikita," said the Terrible Tsar with a smile of satisfaction, "let us not go on any more, for the whole white world cannot contain better fortune than is granted to us here." "Well, then," said Nikita, "haste to your wedding, but beware of your bride." So the wedding was hastened, and when the feast was over the bride came to the bridegroom and laid her hand in affection upon his shoulder. But if this were affection it was heavy affection, for at the weight of her hand the Terrible Tsar felt as if he were being pushed down bodily into the lap of moist Mother Earth. "Is my hand heavy, my lord and master?" asked the bride sweetly. "It is as heavy as a feather on the bosom of the summer lake," was the polite reply. "But, stay, my bride. I have to give an order to my brave troops." Then with a great effort he freed himself, and went out into the next room where Nikita was awaiting him. "Ah, Nikita," said the Terrible Tsar in great distress, "what shall I do? The hand of my bride is heavier than the staff of Ilya of Murom."