The old man stood on his threshold casting longing looks after the retreating form. An expression of intense sadness and resignation came over his furrowed countenance; slowly, with all the fatigue of nearly a century's living heavy upon him, he went back into his dark abode. There he stood for a long while beside the rustic table contemplating the pale marble face, and all his soul was in his eyes. The flickering light played on the exquisite visage, throwing over it a living warmth, so that the eyelids appeared to quiver as if they were trying to open once more.

Slowly and painfully the aged recluse bent down till his faded lips rested on the pure brow, the icy coldness of the stone penetrating through all his veins--then with a reluctant movement he laid the dark cloth over that vision of beauty, hiding it out of sight; and it was like the lid of a coffin being shut over the face of the dead.

XIII

And a strange song I have heard By a shadowy stream, And the singing of a snow-white bird On the Hills of Dream.

FIONA MACLEOD.

The white wings of the bird could be seen far overhead. Eric looked up and understood that at whatever cost he must scale those heights towards which it flew. Such had been the decree of the kind old philosopher.

Firm was his resolution to obey him in everything, because never before had human being spoken thus unto him.

Only one fact his mind refused to grasp: how could such a man be a sinner? He thought of the gentle, venerable face, of his wise and beautiful sayings; and dear to his memory was the sound of his voice.

His feelings towards the silent ghosts, that still followed him, were quite changed, for the words of the master were ever in his mind.

He felt now a kindly interest in their welfare, and hoped that strength would be given him to lead them to peace. The clouds lay no longer so dense over his road. He could advance with greater rapidity.

Always steeper grew the way, and always higher flew the bird; often its white plumes were lost amongst the floating mist.

Eric was full of courage and hope; whilst he walked he kept thinking of all he had heard. Tears came to his eyes at the remembrance of the silvery head lying so close to the cold hard marble which made no response, the face in its immaculate fairness so serenely unconscious of all the feeling its beauty called forth.

Within the stern silence of that pale stone lay a punishment far greater than human justice could inflict.

Night was coming on, but Eric still advanced with undaunted step, ignoring the fatigue that was again making itself felt through all his supple limbs.

The sword at his side gave him a companionable feeling; his eyes rested upon it with pride, admiring the beautiful hilt that was carved out of a single piece of crystal in the form of a cross. In the centre had been set a large emerald the colour of a deep forest pool, transparent and dark, evoking a feeling of rest amongst glorious solitudes where the foot of man but seldom pa.s.ses.

The blade was as bright as silver, and flashed like a searchlight when Eric drew it from its sheath. He did so more than once, feeling its edge, with the joy of a child over a new toy.

Never had he possessed so manly an arm, and his pleasure knew no bounds.

Always darker grew the night, more perilous the path. Our valiant wanderer was now obliged to feel the way with his hands, and began to think about where he could lay himself down to rest. It was useless to press onward without seeing where he was going--useless to risk making a false step that might perhaps cost him his life by hurling him into the chasm that yawned at his side.

His only fear was to lose sight of his feathered companion; it would be almost impossible to find it again in this desert of rocks. He stood still to think what he had better do, when out of the darkness, quite close before him, he saw the flash of white wings.

He sprang forward in pursuit, regardless of the danger that gaped around him; and after a moment he found himself on a broad ledge under the protection of a jutting rock. There, just discernible, in the dense obscurity sat the white falcon, motionless, at rest, giving the sign that here they should make a halt.

The great bird turned its head towards the youth, and as it did so something resembling a tiny light gleamed on its breast.

Eric approached it cautiously for fear of frightening it away, but the beautiful creature showed no signs of alarm, and let him lay his hand on its head.

Then Eric saw that around the strange bird's neck a tiny chain was clasped, from which hung a diamond of prodigious size; it radiated a strong bluish light much like that of a shimmering star. Here in this vast wilderness of unknown perils the little light shone brightly like unto a kindly eye that had been placed there to watch over him during the night.

With a sensation of comfort Eric laid himself down close to the quiet guardian, wrapping himself up warmly in the folds of his cloak, for the night was cold.

Indeed the rocks made but a hard and unfriendly bed, but Eric was young, and weary was his body, so it was not long before sleep came down and carried him off into the land of dreams.

Upon the rock near his head sat the motionless, wakeful bird of prey, staring with unblinking eyes into the dark. The whiteness of its feathers was faintly visible, and the blue diamond burned steadily like the lamp of a lighthouse seen from far over the sea.

Now there was a faint movement about the sleeping boy and that silent watcher of the Hills.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _A circle of mist seemed to be settling around them._]

A circle of mist seemed to be settling around them, like a giant wreath of grey poppies; but it was not the vapours of the night that were forming a ring round the man and the bird--it was the bodiless army of following ghosts; and there they sat a quiet company, forms out of another world, awaiting in mournful silence that this frail human being should arise to lead them over perilous ways to the height that would be their salvation.

XIV

Far off I hear the strain Of infinite sweet pain, That floats along lonely phantom land.

FIONA MACLEOD.

Eric had not slept many hours before he awoke with a start. All was pitch-black around him, only the form of the white hawk was outlined against the darkness, whilst the precious stone on its neck shone in lonely magnificence.

Eric sat up wondering what had torn him so suddenly out of his restful slumbers; he felt rather stiff from the hardness of his stony couch, so sprang to his feet and stood erect, listening, awaiting any danger that might threaten him out of the unknown. And then, suddenly, a wailing cry broke out of the stillness; it rose like a frightened sob into the air and rang through the night with a sound so full of terrible loneliness that it made the heart stand still.

The bird stretched its neck, its wings expanded ready to take flight, the light of the diamond twinkling on its breast.

Eric waited, trembling with expectancy; there was something weird and heartrending about that helpless cry out of this boundless solitude; again the dismal sound was heard, distinct and piercing like the terrified voice of a very small child in an agony of fear.

Eric could bear it no longer, and sprang in the direction whence the sound came.

At that moment his beautiful winged companion rose in the air, circling close around the path he was on, so that the jewel flashed in moving patterns like a small lantern being swung over his head.

Eric followed the tiny light, grateful for that dwarf spot of brightness, which shone in the thick darkness that hemmed him in on all sides. Many a time he stumbled over the stones that obstructed his road, often bruising his hands and knees, sometimes falling all his length, but always desperately aware how perilous and uncertain was this search in the impenetrable night.

Now the wonderful bird paused in its flight, and Eric saw the small light, suspended in the air, hovering over one particular spot: he groped about, his hands feeling everywhere--what was he to find? All at once, close above his head the pitiful voice was again heard, but this time quite near. With breathless anxiety Eric scaled the rock, quite unable to see where he was going; but his hands were always outstretched, carefully seeking about him, and now his fingers suddenly came in contact with something soft and warm!

With gentle precautions the young man drew the heavy object towards him, balancing himself with surprising agility upon the narrow ledge ... and there, in his arms, against his cheek he felt the soft face of a little child!... Yes, a little child, whose pitiful moan rose to the sky like a soul in distress. Clasping the small body close to his breast, the young man with an almost superhuman effort hoisted himself on to a shelf-like rock he had felt near by, and there he sat himself down with his precious bundle in his arms.

As he did so the falcon swooped out of the air on to his shoulder, so that the light of the gem could just fall upon the pale small face that looked up into his.

Such a sweet little face, out of which two frightened eyes stared up at him in speechless anxiety. Miserable rags alone covered the thin body that was shivering with cold.

Eric drew his cloak close around the trembling form and held it tight against him, whilst with kindly words he tried to calm its ceaseless whimper.

Long he sat thus in this vast black solitude, whilst upon his shoulder the friendly bird kept watch over the two forlorn young creatures who had been so strangely brought together in these lonely hills.

Eric's eyes closed, and the child too, feeling comforted, was quiet now, its head hidden against the kind heart that had been its saviour.

Probably both slept, because when Eric next looked up there was a faint red streak in the sky; the darkness of the night was slowly lifting.