uously manifest in your
selfish success than in your previous dastardly contempt of duty. Why,
confound you!" cried the king, dropping the high style in which he had
been speaking, and becoming the _father_, not the _monarch_,--"why, if
you _could_ kill the Firedrake, did you let your poor little brothers go
and be b--b--b--broiled? Eh! what do you say, you sneak? 'You didn't
believe there _were_ any Firedrakes?' That just comes of your eternal
conceit and arrogance! If you were clever enough to kill the
creature--and I admit that--you were clever enough to know that what
everybody said must be true. 'You have not generally found it so?' Well,
you _have_ this time, and let it be a lesson to you; not that there is
much comfort in that, for it is not likely you will ever have such
another chance"--exactly the idea that had occurred to Benson.

Here the king wept, among the tears of the lord chief justice, the poet
laureate (who had been awfully frightened when he heard of the
rattlesnakes), the maids of honour, the chaplain royal, and everyone but
Colonel McDougal, a Scottish soldier of fortune, who maintained a
military reserve.

When his majesty had recovered, he said to Prigio (who had not been
crying, he was too much absorbed):

"A king's word is his bond. Bring me a pen, somebody, and my
cheque-book."

The royal cheque-book, bound in red morocco, was brought in by eight
pages, with ink and a pen. His majesty then filled up and signed the
following satisfactory document--(Ah! my children, how I wish Mr.
Arrowsmith would do as much for _me_!):

{A cheque for ten thousand purses, payable to Prince Prigio: p114.jpg}

"There!" said his majesty, crossing his cheque and throwing sand over it,
for blotting-paper had not yet been invented; "there, take _that_, and be
off with you!"

Prince Prigio was respectfully but rapidly obeying his royal command, for
he thought he had better cash the royal cheque as soon as possible, when
his majesty yelled:

"Hi! here! come back! I forgot something; you've got to marry Molinda!"

CHAPTER XVI.

_A Melancholy Chapter_.

The prince had gone some way, when the king called after him. How he
wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of
darkness in his pocket! If he had been so lucky, he would now have got
back to Gluckstein, and crossed the border with Lady Rosalind. A million
of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who r