There was another storm of cheers, the battle–cry of Euralia, "Ho, ho, Merriwig!" was shouted from five hundred throats, and the men dispersed happily to their homes. Hyacinth and Merriwig went into the Palace.
"Now, Father," said Hyacinth later on, when Merriwig had changed his clothes and refreshed himself, "you've got to tell me all about it. I can hardly believe it's really over."
"Yes, yes. It's all over," said Merriwig heartily. "We shan't have any trouble in that direction again, I fancy."
"Do tell me, did the King of Barodia apologise?"
"He did better than that, he abdicated."
"Why?"
"Well," said Merriwig, remembering just in time, "I—er—killed him."
"Oh, Father, how rough of you."
"I don't think it hurt him very much, my dear. It was more a shock to his feelings than anything else. See, I have brought these home for you."
He produced from his pocket a small packet in tissue paper.
"Oh, how exciting! Whatever can it be?"
Merriwig unwrapped the paper, and disclosed a couple of ginger whiskers, neatly tied up with blue ribbon.
"Father!"
He picked out the left one, fons et origo (if he had known any Latin) of the war, and held it up for Hyacinth's inspection.
"There, you can see the place where Henry Smallnose's arrow bent it. By the way," he added, "Henry is marrying and settling down in Barodia. It is curious," he went on, "how after a war one's thoughts turn to matrimony." He glanced at his daughter to see how she would take this, but she was still engrossed with the whiskers.
"What am I going to do with them, Father? I can't plant them in the garden."
"I thought we might run them up the flagstaff, as we did in Barodia."
"Isn't that a little unkind now that the poor man's dead?"
Merriwig looked round him to see that there were no eavesdroppers.
"Can you keep a secret?" he asked mysteriously.
"Of course," said Hyacinth, deciding at once that it would not matter if she only told Coronel.
"Well, then, listen."
He told her of his secret journey to the King of Barodia's tent; he told her of the King of Barodia's letter; he told her more fully of his early duel with the King; he told her everything that he had said and done; and everything that everybody else had said and done to him; and his boyish pleasure in it all was so evident and so innocent, that even a stranger would have had nothing more reproachful for him than a smile. To Hyacinth he seemed the dearest of fathers and the most wonderful of kings.
And by and by the moment came of which Coronel had spoken.
"And now," said Merriwig, "tell me what you have all been doing with yourselves here. Nothing much, I suppose?"
He waited nervously, wondering if Hyacinth would realise that "all" was meant to include more particularly Belvane.
Hyacinth drew a stool up to her father's chair and sat down very close to him.
"Father," she said, stroking his hand where it rested on his knee, "I have got some news for you."
"Nothing about the Coun—nothing serious, I hope," said Merriwig, in alarm.
"It's rather serious, but it's rather nice. Father, dear, would you mind very much if I got married soon?"
"My dear, you shall get married as soon as you like. Let me see, there were six or seven Princes who came about it only the other day. I sent them off on adventures of some kind, but—dear me, yes, they ought to have been back by now. I suppose you haven't heard anything of them?"
"No, Father," said Hyacinth, with a little smile.
"Ah, well, no doubt they were unsuccessful. No matter, dear, we can easily find you plenty more suitors. Indeed, the subject has been very near my thoughts lately. We'll arrange a little competition, and let them know in the neighbouring countries; there'll be no lack of candidates. Let me see, there's that seven–headed bull; he's getting a little old now, but he was good enough for the last one. We might―"
"I don't want a suitor," said Hyacinth softly. "I have one."
Merriwig leant forward with eagerness.
"My dear, this is indeed news. Tell me all about it. Upon what quest did you send him?"
Hyacinth had felt this coming. Had she lived in modern times she would have expected the question, "What is his income?" A man must prove his worth in some way.
"I haven't sent him away at all yet," she said; "he's only just come. He's been very kind to me, and I'm sure you'll love him."
"Well, well, we'll arrange something for him. Perhaps that bull I was speaking of― By the way, who is he?"
"He comes from Araby, and his name is―"
"Udo, of course. Why didn't I think of him? An excellent arrangement, my dear."
"It isn't Udo, I'm afraid, Father. It's Coronel."
"And who might Coronel be?" said the King, rather sternly.
"He's—he's—well, he's― Here he is, Father." She ran up to him impulsively as he came in at the door. "Oh, Coronel, you're just in time; do tell Father who you are."
Coronel bowed profoundly to the King.
"Before I explain myself, your Majesty," he said, "may I congratulate your Majesty on your wonderful victory over the Barodians? From the little I have gathered outside, it is the most remarkable victory that has ever occurred. But of course I am longing to hear the full story from your Majesty's own lips. Is it a fact that your Majesty made his way at dead of night to the King of Barodia's own tent and challenged him to mortal combat and slew him?" There was an eagerness, very winning, in his eyes as he asked it; he seemed to be envying the King such an adventure—an adventure after his own heart.
Merriwig was in an awkward position. He wondered for a moment whether to order his daughter out of the room. "Leave us, my child," he would say. "These are matters for men to discuss." But Hyacinth would know quite well why she had been sent out, and would certainly tell Coronel the truth of the matter afterwards.
It really looked as if Coronel would have to be let into the secret too. He cleared his throat noisily by way of preparation.
"There are certain state reasons," he said with dignity, "why that story has been allowed to get about."
"Pardon, your Majesty. I have no wish to―"
"But as you know so much, you may as well know all. It happened like this." Once more he told the story of his midnight visit, and of the King's letter to him.
"But, your Majesty," cried Coronel, "it is more wonderful than the other. Never was such genius of invention, such brilliance and daring of execution."
"So you like it," said Merriwig, trying to look modest.
"I love it."
"I knew he'd love it," put in Hyacinth. "It's just the sort of story that Coronel would love. Tell him about how you fought the King at the beginning of the war, and how you pretended to be a swineherd, and how—"
Could any father have resisted? In a little while Hyacinth and Coronel were seated eagerly at his feet, and he was telling once more the great story of his adventures.