The Legend of the Bleeding-heart | Page 2

the
sparkling water. So gracefully was it done, that the Prince was charmed
by her modest manner as well as her lovely face, and baring his head
when he had slaked his thirst, he touched the white hands with his lips.
Before he rode away he asked her name and where she lived. The next
day a courier in scarlet and gold stopped at the door of the cottage and
invited Olga to the castle. Princesses and royal ladies from all over the
realm were to be entertained there, seven days and seven nights. Every
night a grand ball was to be given, and Olga was summoned to each of
the balls. It was because of her pleasing manner and her great beauty
that she had been bidden.
The old Flax-spinner courtesied low to the courier and promised that
Olga should be at the castle without fail.
"But, good dame," cried Olga, when the courier had gone, "prithee tell
me why thou didst make such a promise, knowing full well this gown
of tow is all I own. Wouldst have me stand before the Prince in
beggar's garb? Better to bide at home for aye than be put to shame
before such guests."

"Have done, my child!" the old dame said. "Thou shalt wear a court
robe of the finest. Years have I toiled to have it ready, but that is naught.
I loved thee as my own."
Then once more the old Flax-spinner went into her inner room, and
pricked herself with her spindle till another great red drop of her heart's
blood fell into her trembling hand. With witchery of words she blew
upon it, and rolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and turned and
turned it. And as the spell was laid upon it, it shrivelled into a tiny
round ball like a seed, and she strung it on to a thread, where were
many others like it. Seventy times seven was the number of beads on
this strange rosary.
When the night of the first ball rolled around, Olga combed her long
golden hair and twined it with a wreath of snowy water-lilies, and then
she stood before the old dame in her dress of tow. To her wonderment
and grief she saw there was no silken robe in waiting, only a string of
beads to clasp around her white throat. Each bead in the necklace was
like a little shrivelled seed, and Olga's eyes filled with tears of
disappointment.
"Obey me and all will be well," said the old woman.
"When thou reachest the castle gate clasp one bead in thy fingers and
say:
"'For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need, Blossom and deck me,
little seed.'
Straightway right royally shalt thou be clad. But remember carefully
the charm. Only to the magic words, 'For love's sweet sake' will the
necklace give up its treasures. If thou shouldst forget, then thou must be
doomed always to wear thy gown of tow."
So Olga sped on her moon-lighted way through the forest until she
came to the castle gate. There she paused, and grasping a bead of the
strange necklace between her fingers, repeated the old dame's charm:

"For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need, Blossom and deck me, little
seed."
Immediately the bead burst with a little puff as if a seed pod had
snapped asunder. A faint perfume surrounded her, rare and subtle as if
it had been blown across from some flower of Eden. Olga looked down
and found herself enveloped in a robe of such delicate texture, that it
seemed soft as a rose-leaf and as airy as pink clouds that sometimes
float across the sunset. The water-lilies in her hair had become a
coronal of opals.
When she entered the great ball-room, the Prince of the castle started
up from his throne in amazement. Never before had he seen such a
vision of loveliness. "Surely," said he, "some rose of Paradise hath
found a soul and drifted earthward to blossom here." And all that night
he had eyes for none but her.
The next night Olga started again to the castle in her dress of tow, and
at the gate she grasped the second bead in her fingers, repeating the
charm. This time the pale yellow of the daffodils seemed to have
woven itself into a cloth of gold for her adorning. It was like a shimmer
of moon-beams, and her hair held the diamond flashings of a hundred
tiny stars.
That night the Prince paid her so many compliments and singled her
out so often to bestow his favours, that Olga's head was turned. She
tossed it proudly, and quite scorned the thought of the humble cottage
which had given her shelter so long. The next