anted to see
before."

"Little lady," whispered the Poet, bending over her, "_I_ am glad that
you cannot see."

And then, he turned and fled out of the palace and out of the city and
away from the country that contained the little Princess who had loved
him because she was blind. And he wandered from place to place as
before; but he told no one that he was a poet, for he had felt ashamed
of his poetry ever since the little Princess had said there was no love
in it. But there came a day when he could keep silent no longer, so he
went among the people once more and told them one of his poems. This
time, he had no difficulty in making them understand, for he told them
the story of his love for the little blind Princess.

"Why," said the people, when he had finished, "the maid is easily
cured, for it is well known among our folk that a kiss on the eyelids
when asleep, from a true lover, will open the eyes of any one who has
been blind from birth."

Now, when the Poet heard this, he was greatly perplexed. For to open
the eyes of his little Princess was to kill her love for him; and yet,
he could not forget how she had wept for the want of her sight, and
here was the power to give it back to her, and it rested with him alone
of all men in the world. So he determined to make her happy at any
cost, and he turned his face towards the King's palace once more and
arrived there at midday, after travelling for seven days and seven
nights without ceasing. But, of course, that was nothing to a poet who
was in love.

"Dear me," said the King irritably, when the Poet appeared before him;
"I thought you had gone for good. And a pretty time we 've been having
of it with the Princess, in consequence! What have you come back for?"

"I have come back to open the Princess's eyes," answered the Poet,
boldly.

"It strikes me," grumbled the King, "that you opened everybody's eyes
pretty effectually, last time you were here. You certainly can't see
the Princess now, for she has gone to sleep in the garden."

"That is exactly what I want," cried the Poet, joyfully. "Let me but
kiss her eyelids while she is sleeping, and by the time she awakes I
shall have gone for ever."

"The Queen must deal with this," said the King, looking helpless in the
face of such a preposterous suggestion. Her Majesty was accordingly
sent for, and the Poet explained his mission all over again.

"It is certainly unusual," said the Queen, doubtfully,