Away beyond the sound of tears the mortal and his companion wandered. In the distance shone the glinting crest of a winding river, and as they drew near it the King’s daughter clapped her hands together in rapture. “Look, look!” she said. “This is Golden Cloud. It is my home.”
“Golden Cloud! Where?” The wondering gaze of the Australian youth turned east, west, south, and north. According to the landmarks in many places, this was certainly the river over which he had chased the dwarf; but lo! how changed. Could yonder towering edifice, bristling with lofty towers and domes, be that gloomy rock where he had left his companion, Grapple, asleep?
Peaks and turrets glittered under the soft light, sending untold rays aslant terrace and fountain, and upon the bright forms of dame and cavalier promenading to and fro.
Could this far-stretching vista be that bare plain over which he had passed? This with its gleaming cascades whose ripplings rivalled the lullaby of the bulbul? This with its leafy arches, and long, winding avenues, looped with clustering vines, whose stems were bent ’neath fruited gems? What bowers of green, bedecked with diamond drops and pearls of May dew!
Down where the stream flowed, the firmament, with its clustering hosts of stars, was mirrored on the liquid floor; while o’er the intervening space there floated sounds that might have ravished the senses even of a German Jew.
Cadence of bird and insect never fell before so soft and dulcet upon heaven-tuned ears. From its hundred windows the palace of King Golden Cloud beamed forth with light and beauty to welcome back its lost daughter. Welcome from bud and blossom, ringed with fire-flies, and whose ever-changing shimmer flashes a rainbow-hued light to guide their steps.
Glorious Golden Cloud! Many of us poor, fading weeds of sorrow would fain climb thy hill-top, if but to rest our weary souls for one brief moment in thy quiet groves. Oh! what sordid slaves are we who worship at those iron gates, whose recompense are wrinkled brows and silvered hair. Great Fetish of the world, the flesh, and the devil, I bow the knee to thee no more. Day by day I hear the cry of groaning thousands, that struggle for a bare existence around thy temple, calling to thee in vain. In vain they call, and vain thy power to help them. Oh thou cold and doubly-cursed humbug of the teeming world.
Standing there amidst the circle of things pure and beautiful, the Knight of the Ram’s Horn beheld the approach of a pretty ring-dove towards them, with a grand barge of state following across the river. The boat drew up almost at their feet, and Silverhaze cried out, “See, this is the King’s Chamberlain, Sir Bumble Bee Popgun.”
As the damsel spoke, an aged figure ascended from the boat, and doffing his jewelled hat, bent low before her. “The King of Golden Cloud hath mourned for his Pearl—his child,” he said in mellifluous accents.
Princess Silverhaze smiled, and stooping, whispered something in his ear, then entered the barge on the arm of her doughty knight.
Over the stream they went and up the hill at the farther side, which presented overhead a leafy arcade, where myriads of glow-worms infused a coloured sheen athwart the brilliant uniforms of the King’s Guards who walled the way up to the very gates of the palace. A great concourse of nobles thronged the entrance to the royal residence and cheered the Princess as she passed round on the arm of our hero. Sir Bumble Bee led the way through throngs of bowing lackeys to the King’s chamber—a large hall of state—where, seated on a magnificent dais, our hero beheld the King and Queen of Golden Cloud waiting to embrace their daughter. The chamber was thronged with ladies and gentlemen. The former wore purple robes, with blue and white mantles, which floated about with the faintest breath. Many who stood in the presence of the Queen had robes like silver, and each had a brilliant star fixed in her hair. The Nugget noticed these were most beautiful women, their complexions seeming to take the brilliancy from the light by which they were surrounded. The young Knight of the Ram’s Horn saw all this at a glance, for he had an eye for the beautiful, but his vision could not take in half the things that were around him.
For some considerable time he appeared to have been forgotten, so great was the excitement on the return of the Princess. But when the stir had somewhat subsided, the King’s daughter briefly detailed the exploits of our hero; how he had not only rescued her from the hands of the wicked dwarf Dusk, but that he by his courage had restored the kingdom of Golden Cloud.
More than we have space to detail, Silverhaze said in our hero’s favour, and he was led forward to the throne, where the Queen embraced him and seated him on her footstool. The King, not to be outdone on this occasion, made a speech in praise of courage generally, and of the courage displayed by the Nugget in particular. This oration lasted some six hours and a quarter, and occupied about twenty-seven columns in the Shadow Land Observer.
The return of Silverhaze and the restoration of Golden Cloud caused universal rejoicing throughout the land. His Majesty was so well pleased with Nugget that he conferred upon him the Order of the Moon and the rank of Prince, and to crown all, said he should marry Princess Silverhaze. And they were married.
Ah, me! Wonderful, amazingly wonderful, the rank and splendour of that wedding-day! But it was over at last, and the lovers were left alone to enjoy their billing and cooing together.
* * *
“Come, Samson, wake up, man. Are you going to sleep all Christmas Day?” cried a gruff voice. And the Nugget, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, saw that he was still in the drive of the gold mine, with his relieving mate standing over him.
The poor fellow—HAD ONLY DREAMED.