Alascco the Wise had been left in the forest, and was unable to stir another step. “ ’Tis the blood of the Mountfidget,” he had said, when he saw the gouts upon the path. “I know it by its purple hue, and by its violet-scented perfume. Follow it on, but take that bottle with thee. And stay, lest thy sex betray thee to ill-usage from the boors, take this page’s raiment which I carry in my wallet, and put the bottle in thy breast coat-pocket. If thou find, as is too likely, a gaping wound in the nape of the neck, naught can restore him but this. Pour it in freely, and he shall live. But if he shall first have heard the war-cry of thy father to disturb him, then he shall surely die.” So the gentle Euphemia had gone through the forest, and had reached the chamber of the widow in which lay the lord of Mountfidget. + 

And as she lay at the foot of the bed, slowly there came back upon her mind a knowledge that she was there. She put her hand to her bosom in haste, and found that the bottle was gone. Then a terrible sound greeted her ears, and she heard the war-cry of her father. Tiraloo, Tiraloo, Tiraloo-ooh! “He is dead,” she cried, springing to her feet. “He is dead, and I will die also.” + 

Then the widow knew that it was the gentle Euphemia. “No, thou gentlest one,” she said; “he shall not die. He shall live to count the fat beeves and the many swine of Mountfidget, and shall be the possessor of much money in many banks; and thou, thou gentlest one, shall share his blessings. For love shall still be lord of all.” + 

“I do confess,” said the gentle Euphemia in a silvern whisper⁠—in a silvern whisper that was heard by him beneath the bedclothes⁠—“I do confess that love is lord of me.” Then she sank upon the floor. + 