om just then,
"that she is sometimes thoughtless and wonderfully full of mischief."

"Nay, mother, you are not just," returned the princess. "Her mischief
is only on the surface, her thoughtfulness lies deep down."

"Well, well, whatever may be the truth regarding her, I shall not
trouble my head about her; for I have never yet felt what men call love,
and I feel sure I never shall."

"I like to hear you say that, brother," rejoined Hafrydda; "for I have
noticed, young though I am, that when men say they will never fall in
love or marry, they are always pretty near the point of doing one or
both."

But poor Bladud was destined to do neither at that time, for an event
was hanging over him, though he knew it not, which was to affect very
seriously the whole of his after life.

For several days previous to the above conversation, he had felt a
sensation that was almost new to him--namely, that of being slightly
ill. Whether it was the unwonted exertions consequent on his efforts at
the games, or the excitement of the return home, we cannot say, but
headache, accompanied by a slight degree of fever, had troubled him.
Like most strong men in the circumstances, he adopted the Samsonian and
useless method of "shaking it off"! He went down into the arena and
performed feats of strength and agility that surprised even himself; but
the fever which enabled him to do so, asserted itself at last, and
finally compelled him to do what he should have done at first--pocket
his pride and give in.

Of course we do not suggest that giving in to little sensations of
ailment is either wise or manly. There are duties which call on men to
fight even in sickness--ay, in spite of sickness--but "showing off" in
the arena was not one of these.

Be this as it may, Bladud came at last to the condition of feeling
weak--an incomprehensible state of feeling to him. He thereupon went
straight home, and, flinging himself half petulantly on a couch,
exclaimed--"Mother, I am ill!"

"My son, I have seen that for many days past, and have waited with some
anxiety till you should come to the point of admitting it."

"And now that I have admitted it," returned the youth with a languid
smile, "what is to be done?"

The answer to that question was not the simple one of modern days, "Send
for the doctor," because no doctors worthy of the name existed. There
was, indeed, a solemn-visaged, long-headed, elderly man among King
Hudibras' followers wh