“And I’m sure,” sobbed the shepherdess, “I took every pains to teach her what it was right for her to know.  I taught her to tidy the house and”—­

“Tidy the house!” moaned the queen.  “My poor wretched offspring!”

“And peel the potatoes, and”—­

“Peel the potatoes!” cried the queen.  “Oh, horror!”

“And black her master’s boots,” said the shepherdess.

“Black her master’s boots!” shrieked the queen.  “Oh, my white-handed princess!  Oh, my ruined baby!”

“What I want to know,” said the king, paying no heed to this maternal duel, but patting the top of his sceptre as if it had been the hilt of a sword which he was about to draw, “is, where the princess is now.”

The shepherd made no answer, for he had nothing to say more than he had said already.

“You have murdered her!” shouted the king.  “You shall be tortured till you confess the truth; and then you shall be tortured to death, for you are the most abominable wretches in the whole wide world.”

“Who accuses me of crime?” cried the shepherd, indignant.

“I accuse you,” said the king; “but you shall see, face to face, the chief witness to your villany.  Officer, bring the girl.”

Silence filled the hall while they waited.  The king’s face was swollen with anger.  The queen hid hers behind her handkerchief.  The shepherd and shepherdess bent their eyes on the ground, wondering.  It was with difficulty Rosamond could keep her place, but so wise had she already become that she saw it would be far better to let every thing come out before she interfered.

At length the door opened, and in came the officer, followed by Agnes, looking white as death and mean as sin.

The shepherdess gave a shriek, and darted towards her with arms spread wide; the shepherd followed, but not so eagerly.

“My child! my lost darling! my Agnes!” cried the shepherdess.

“Hold them asunder,” shouted the king.  “Here is more villany!  What! have I a scullery-maid in my house born of such parents?  The parents of such a child must be capable of any thing.  Take all three of them to the rack.  Stretch them till their joints are torn asunder, and give them no water.  Away with them!”

The soldiers approached to lay hands on them.  But, behold! a girl all in rags, with such a radiant countenance that it was right lovely to see, darted between, and careless of the royal presence, flung herself upon the shepherdess, crying,—­

“Do not touch her.  She is my good, kind mistress.”

But the shepherdess could hear or see no one but her Agnes, and pushed her away.  Then the princess turned, with the tears in her eyes, to the shepherd, and threw her arms about his neck and pulled down his head and kissed him.  And the tall shepherd lifted her to his bosom and kept her there, but his eyes were fixed on his Agnes.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried the king, starting up from his throne.  “How did that ragged girl get in here?  Take her away with the rest.  She is one of them, too.”