found the bell that doesn't ring, and can't ring, and never
will ring, and wasn't made to ring. Oh Bellamant dearest, it's Thursday.
_Have_ I got my Sunday face?'

She tore away her veil, and his eyes, fixed upon her face, could not
leave it.

'Oh dream of all the world's delight,' he murmured, 'how beautiful you
are.'

Neither spoke again till a sudden little shock told them that the bell
was moving up again.

'Nonsense,' said Bellamant, 'it's not five minutes.'

But when they looked at the ruby-studded chronometer, it was nearly
three-quarters of an hour. But then, of course, the well was enchanted!

'Magic? Nonsense,' said the old man when they hung about him with thanks
and pretty words. 'It's only a diving-bell. My own invention.'

* * * * *

So they went home and were married, and the Princess did not wear a veil
at the wedding. She said she had had enough veils to last her time.

* * * * *

And a year and a day after that a little daughter was born to them.

'Now sweetheart,' said King Bellamant--he was king now because the old
king and queen had retired from the business, and were keeping pigs and
hens in the country as they had always planned to do--'dear sweetheart
and life's love, I am going to ring the bells with my own hands, to show
how glad I am for you, and for the child, and for our good life
together.'

So he went out. It was very dark, because the baby princess had chosen
to be born at midnight.

The King went out to the belfry, that stood in the great, bare, quiet,
moonlit square, and he opened the door. The furry-pussy bell-ropes, like
huge caterpillars, hung on the first loft. The King began to climb the
curly-wurly stone stair. And as he went up he heard a noise, the
strangest noises, stamping and rustling and deep breathings.

He stood still in the ringers' loft where the pussy-furry caterpillary
bell-robes hung, and from the belfry above he heard the noise of strong
fighting, and mixed with it the sound of voices angry and desperate, but
with a noble note that thrilled the soul of the hearer like the sound of
the trumpet in battle. And the voices cried:

Down, down--away, away,
When good has come ill may not stay,
Out, out, into the night,
The belfry bells are ours by right!

And the words broke and joined again, like water when it flows against
the piers of a bridge. 'Down, down----.' 'Ill may no