er to fight their battles over again by mid-night, if a chance is
only allowed them.

It was at the Willows,--so called, not because the house is surrounded
by willows, but because a little clump of them hangs over the pond close
by. It is a pretty place, with its broad lawn in front of the door-way,
its winding avenue hidden from the road by high trees. It is a quiet
place, too; the sun rests gently on the green lawn, and the drooping
leaves of the willows hang heavily over the water.

No one would imagine what violent contests were going on under the still
roof, this very night. It was the night of the first of May. The moon
came silently out from the shadows; the trees were scarcely stirring.
The box of chessmen had been left on the balcony steps by the
drawing-room window, and the window, too, that warm night, had been left
open. So, one by one, all the chessmen came out to fight over again
their evening's battles.

It was a famously carved set of chessmen. The bishops wore their mitres,
the knights pranced on spirited steeds, the castles rested on the backs
of elephants,--even the pawns mimicked the private soldiers of an army.
The skilful carver had given to each piece, and each pawn, too, a
certain individuality. That night there had been a close contest. Two
well-matched players had guided the game, and it had ended with leaving
a deep irritation on the conquered side.

It was Isabella, the Queen of the Red Chessmen, who had been obliged to
yield. She was young and proud, and it was she, indeed, who held the
rule; for her father, the old Red King, had grown too imbecile to direct
affairs; he merely bore the name of sovereignty. And Isabella was loved
by knights, pawns, and all; the bishops were willing to die in her
cause, the castles would have crumbled to earth for her. Opposed to her,
stood the detested White Queen. All the Whites, of course, were despised
by her; but the haughty, self-sufficient queen angered her most.

The White Queen was reigning during the minority of her only son. The
White Prince had reached the age of nineteen, but the strong mind of
his mother had kept him always under restraint. A simple youth, he had
always yielded to her control. He was pure-hearted and gentle, but never
ventured to make a move of his own. He sought shelter under cover of his
castles, while his more energetic mother went forth at the head of his
army. She was dreaded by her subjects,--never loved by them. Her o