pack. On learning the news, the King rent his garments, and taking the golden crown from his head, covered his face with his purple mantle, weeping and wailing lustily for the loss of his dear Emma.
When he had thus paid the first tribute of fatherly love, he came to himself again, and putting on his golden crown, hastened to the scene of the adventure. When he got there, lo and behold! the enchantment was at an end; there was no mosaic work grotto, no polished marble basin, no alabaster columns, no odoriferous hedge; everything of the sort had utterly disappeared, and nature had resumed all her original wildness. Nevertheless, the Princess’s attendants, though more frightened than ever, stuck to their story, as well they might, since it was the literal truth, and neither threats nor promises could make them deviate from it in one single particular. His Majesty was perfectly at a loss what to think; there were no wandering knights in those days to carry off king’s daughters, or any body else’s daughters; what could it all mean? At last, in default of any other solution of the mystery, he made up his mind that Thor or Wodin, or some other of the gods, had taken a fancy to the charming Emma, and consoled by this flattering impression, he ordered the weeping ladies to dry up their tears and go home, while he himself proceeded on his excursion.
Meantime the charming Emma, for her part, found
