way,” said the Queen, “or she’d have been here——”
“She is here,” said a low voice in the Queen’s ear. Suddenly the room grew dark, grey clouds hid the sun, and all the daisies on the floor shut up quite close. The poor Queen gave a start and a scream, and the King, brave as he was, turned pale, for Malevola was a terrible fairy, and the dress she wore was not at all the thing for a christening. It was made of spiders’ webs matted together, dark and dank with the damp of the tomb and the dust of dungeons. Her wings were the wings of a great bat; spiders and newts crawled round her neck; a serpent coiled about her waist and little snakes twisted and writhed in her straight black hair.
She looked at the Queen so terribly that her poor Mother-Majesty cried out without meaning to.
“Oh don’t!” she cried, and flung both arms round the cradle. The Prince was quite happy, playing with his new coral and bells, and looking at the Palace cat, who sat at the foot of the cradle washing herself.
“Now listen,” said Malevola, still speaking in the low, even voice that was so terrible. “You did not invite me to the christening.
