his first assault, he seized her and violated her once more, forcing the most hideous indignities upon the helpless girl.

The next morning, after ravishing her again, he whipped her with a willow switch and ordered her to prepare his breakfast. He ate in silence, then went off to hunt, carefully locking the door of the tower as he left. Francesca spent the day rubbing grease on her smarting posterior and gazing out the high window. At sundown the giant returned, carrying a dead sheep. He made her roast it for him, ate it brutishly, then beat her again and dragged her to bed. After submitting her to hours of unspeakable humiliation, the giant fell asleep.

And so the days passed, each like every other, until Francesca began to wonder if she had ever lived another kind of life. Had she ever really played on a village green and gone to church with her parents, and had she once giggled with other maidens in a convent far away, or were these merely dreams?

Meanwhile, things went badly at the palace. The haughty old queen was furious. How dare a filthy giant make light of royalty? Something had to be done! To make matters worse for her, the handsome young prince did not seem to care at all. He read, played the flute, and wrote poems, for all the world as if his princely honor had not been flouted.

"If you were a real man," the queen would shout at him over breakfast, "you would go into the forest, kill that great lout, and rescue your bride-to-be!"

The prince had no answer for this. He would only flush, pick at his food, and hurry away to his own rooms at the first opportunity. But the old lady gave him no peace. Day after day she berated him, appealed to him, cursed and ranted and cajoled. The prince became so upset that he took to his bed and swore he would die if she did not let him be. But with the single-mindedness of a proud woman, she invaded his very bedchamber to lecture him on his duties. Finally, seeing that there would be no rest for him until he yielded, he threw up his hands in despair.

"Very well, then, Mother!" he groaned. "I'll try! Fetch me a sword or some such beastly thing, and I'll have a go at it."

The very next morning, mounted on his white stallion, sword at side, the prince rode forth amid the cheers of the populace. The queen coldly watched from her balcony as he bounced off down the road that led to the forest.

The poor prince was dreadfully nervous. By the time he had reached the edge of the forest, he was so terrified that he lost his breakfast. But the ogre at home was real, and he dared not return to her empty-handed; the ogre who lay ahead could be no worse, he thought. So, with a heavy heart, he made his way among the great trees to the giant's tower, reaching it in the late afternoon.

Francesca was at the window, and she saw him as he approached through the trees. She called to him. He dismounted and came up to stand at the foot of the tower.

"Er . . . it's only me, Francesca," he stammered.

"Well, of course it's you, George," she replied. "What do you want?" "Why, ah . . . I'd like to come up, if I may."

"Certainly, George," smiled Francesca, "but the door is locked, so you'll have to climb the ivy.”

He had always been a nimble lad and he had no trouble scampering up the thick old vines. In a twinkling he had clambered through the window and stood before Francesca, brushing his doublet.

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