"May all storms be as pleasant as this one!" she heard someone say, with

a merry laugh. The next instant she was placed soundly upon her feet. A

blinding flash of lightning revealed Baldos, the goat-hunter, at her

side, while a dozen shadowy figures were scrambling to their feet in all

corners of the Hawk and Raven. Someone was clutching her by the dress at

the knees. She did not have to look down to know that it was Aunt Fanny.

"Goodness!" gasped the princess, and then it was pitch dark again. The

man at her side called out a command in his own language, and then

turned his face close to hers.

"Do not be alarmed. We are quite safe now. The royal bed-chamber has

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come to grief, however, I am sorry to say. What a fool I was not to have

foreseen all this! The storm has been brewing since midnight," he was

saying to her.

"Isn't it awful?" cried Beverly, between a moan a shriek.

"They are trifles after one gets used to them," he said. "I have come to

be quite at home in the tempest. There are other things much more

annoying, I assure your highness. We shall have lights in a moment."

Even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly.

"Be quiet, Aunt Fanny; you are not killed at all," commanded Beverly,

quite firmly.

"De house is suah to blow down. Miss--yo' highness," groaned the trusty

maidservant. Beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall

goat-hunter. He at once set about making his guest comfortable and

secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. Her

couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued

blankets, though drenched, again became a screen.

"Do you imagine that I'm going in there while this storm rages?" Beverly

demanded, as the work progressed.

"Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are."

"That's the trouble. I am afraid of it. I'd much rather stay out here

where there is company. You don't mind, do you?"

"Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the

first time," said he, gallantly. "Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon

our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is

exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded

chairs we hear about."

"You are given to irony, I fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile

on his lips.

"I crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "The heart of the

goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that

you are a princess and I the veriest beggar."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a

very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.




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