ss you are a very frightful-looking creature, and not at all
agreeable to gaze upon."

"Ha! you are honest, as well as frank," exclaimed the king. "But that
is the reason I do not leave my kingdom, as you will readily
understand. And that is the reason I never permit strangers to come
here, under penalty of death. So long as no one knows the King of Spor
is a monster people will not gossip about my looks, and I am very
sensitive regarding my personal appearance. You will perhaps
understand that if I could have chosen I should have been born
beautiful instead of ugly."

"I certainly understand that. And permit me to say I wish you were
beautiful. I shall probably dream of you for many nights," added the
prince.

"Not for many," said King Terribus, quietly. "By coming here you have
chosen death, and the dead do not dream."

"Why should I die?" inquired Prince Marvel, curiously.

"Because you have seen me. Should I allow you to go away you would
tell the world about my ugly face. I do not like to kill you, believe
me; but you must pay the penalty of your rashness--you and the man
behind you."

Nerle smiled at this; but whether from pride at being called a man or
in pleasurable anticipation of the sufferings to come I leave you to
guess.

"Will you allow me to object to being killed?" asked the prince.

"Certainly," answered the king, courteously. "I expect you to object.
It is natural. But it will do you no good."

Then Terribus turned to an attendant and commanded:

"Send hither the Fool-Killer."

At this Prince Marvel laughed outright.

"The Fool-Killer!" he cried; "surely your Majesty does me little
credit. Am I, then, a fool?"

"You entered my kingdom uninvited," retorted the king, "and you tell me
to my face I am ugly. Moreover, you laugh when I condemn you to death.
From this I conclude the Fool-Killer is the proper one to execute you.
Behold!"

Marvel turned quickly, to find a tall, stalwart man standing behind
him. His features were strong but very grave, and the prince caught a
look of compassion in his eye as their gaze met. His skin was fair and
without blemish, a robe of silver cloth fell from his shoulders, and in
his right hand he bore a gleaming sword.

"Well met!" cried Marvel, heartily, as he bowed to the Fool-Killer. "I
have often heard your name mentioned, but 'tis said in the world that
you are a laggard in your duty."

"Had I my way," answered the Fool-Killer, "my