Before the Bat-King left his prisoners, he struck his spear on the ground, and a wall of briers rose around them, shutting them in. As soon as they were alone, the King, who still had his dagger hidden upon him, began to try and cut a way through with it. But as fast as he cut one stem, another grew in its place, and he found his work useless; there seemed nothing to do but to sit and wait for the end. In a week the Enchantress would return to see them put to death, and he could only promise himself that, while he had his concealed weapon, he would sell all their lives dear. Neither he nor the Princess had any hope of escape, for even should they be able to get through the tangled walls, they knew that the Bat-creatures could easily prevent their getting out of the forest. At night, when the Bats were astir, the Bat-King would make the wall disappear, for he liked to look at his captives and tell them how little time they had left. In this way several days went by. Now, the Princess had worn her white wreath till every bit of blossom had fallen, so that by the time she arrived in the forest it was scarcely more than a twist of withered leaves. She had taken it off reluctantly and thrown it down close to the place where they were now confined, and one day, as she and her lover paced their prison, they saw that the damp earth had revived the dying shoots and that they had put forth fruit. It lay on the earth, ripe and purple, and when night had fallen, and the Bat-King walked abroad, he saw what he took to be a spray of plums lying tossed at the foot of a tree. He ate one, and, finding it delicious, did not stop till he had devoured the whole. That night the Bats rushed up and down the forest in dismay, for they could not think what had happened to their monarch. He would suffer none to approach him. No one could do his bidding fast enough to escape his wrath; no one was fit to stand in his presence; no one could make a low enough obeisance as he passed. But the strangest thing of all was that, when dawn broke, instead of hastening to his tree till the light should be gone, he protested that he was able to see as well in the sunshine as in the dark. To one so great as himself, he said, day and night were the same. He stumbled about, feeling the way with his spear, and by the time the Bats were asleep he came to the place where the Princess and her companions were. He had forgotten the wall he should have raised round them; he had forgotten how dangerous it was to approach the King unguarded; he had forgotten everything but his own fancied greatness. The King watched him come; his hand was on his dagger, his eyes on fire. As he drew near he sprang upon him and stabbed him to the heart—once—twice. It was all over in a moment, quietly, and the Bat-King died without a groan, for his enemy’s hand was over his mouth.