derness
that went to Curdie's heart. Now and then with a great fan of peacock
feathers she would fan him very softly; now and then, seeing a cloud
begin to gather upon the sky of his sleeping face, she would climb upon
the bed, and bending to his ear whisper into it, then draw back and
watch again--generally to see the cloud disperse. In his deepest
slumber, the soul of the king lay open to the voice of his child, and
that voice had power either to change the aspect of his visions, or,
which was better still, to breathe hope into his heart, and courage to
endure them.

Curdie came near, and softly called her.

'I can't leave Papa just yet,' she returned, in a low voice.

'I will wait,' said Curdie; 'but I want very much to say something.'

In a few minutes she came to him where he stood under the lamp.

'Well, Curdie, what is it?' she said.

'Princess,' he replied, 'I want to tell you that I have found why your
grandmother sent me.'

'Come this way, then, she answered, 'where I can see the face of my
king.'

Curdie placed a chair for her in the spot she chose, where she would be
near enough to mark any slightest change on her father's countenance,
yet where their low-voiced talk would not disturb him. There he sat
down beside her and told her all the story--how her grandmother had
sent her good pigeon for him, and how she had instructed him, and sent
him there without telling him what he had to do. Then he told her what
he had discovered of the state of things generally in Gwyntystorm, and
especially what he had heard and seen in the palace that night.

'Things are in a bad state enough,' he said in conclusion--'lying and
selfishness and inhospitality and dishonesty everywhere; and to crown
all, they speak with disrespect of the good king, and not a man knows
he is ill.'

'You frighten me dreadfully,' said Irene, trembling.

'You must be brave for your king's sake,' said Curdie.

'Indeed I will,' she replied, and turned a long loving look upon the
beautiful face of her father. 'But what is to be done? And how am I
to believe such horrible things of Dr Kelman?'

'My dear Princess,' replied Curdie, 'you know nothing of him but his
face and his tongue, and they are both false. Either you must beware
of him, or you must doubt your grandmother and me; for I tell you, by
the gift she gave me of testing hands, that this man is a snake. That
round body he shows is but the case of a serpent. Perhaps the cr