The singer mounted the cliff—
"The father of that merry may
A thousand towns he made to pay,
And lapp'd the world in fire!"
He stood before them—a handsome, smiling youth, with a crust of brine on his blue sea-cloak, and the light of the morning in his hair. "Salutation, O Graul!" said he, and looked so cordial and well-willing that the King turned to him from the dead lamp and the hooded women as one turns to daylight from an evil dream.
"Salutation, O Stranger!" he answered. "You come to a poor man, but are welcome—you and your shipmates."
"I travel alone," said the youth; "and my business—"
But the King put up his hand. "We ask no man his business until he has feasted."
"I feast not in a house of mourning; and my business is better spoken soon than late, seeing that I heal griefs."
"If that be so," answered Graul, "you come to those who are fain of you." And then and there he told of Gwennolar. "The blessing of blessings rest on him who can still my child's voice and deliver her from my people's curse!"
The Stranger listened, and threw back his head. "I said I could heal griefs. But I cannot cure fate; nor will a wise man ask it. Pain you must suffer, but I can soothe it; sorrow, but I can help you to forget; death, but I can brace you for it."
"Can death be welcomed," asked Graul, "save by those who find life worse?"