On the confines of the valley, where the ravine struck its vast depth between this land and that, vast and endless as the sea stretched the plain whence the king had come. It was struck silvery grey by the light of the moon, dark shadows marked the nearer strands, and gradually the rocks which cast them showed their sharp outlines, hardly distinguishable from the ground out of which they rose.
Over the great gulf floated the sounds of a pipe, the strains were low, winning the soul with the sweetness of an unearthly melody, throbbing as with a call to a distant land away and beyond.
And when the eye found the source of the sounds, there stood, once more, solitary in the untenanted vast, the king’s devoted friend, the same old man who before had hailed him. Gradually the music sank lower and lower, till at length silence spread in folds unruffled. Then on the edge of the valley a form appeared. It came and seemed to gaze across the gulf, standing motionless and intent. At length a voice came.
“Art thou there?”
“Yea, O king, what wouldst thou? Art weary?”
No answer came.
Then the old man spoke. “Behold the roads where they stretch gleaming white in the moonlight; behold the fields, the villages; see in the distance the great walls of the palace. Have not these risen up for thee, O king?”
Then the king made answer: “I am weary.”
Suddenly the old man raised his pipe with both his hands to his lips. Wave after wave of triumphant sound pealed forth. Great harmonies such as marching nations might hear and rejoice, noble notes of unbounded gladness.
Then, crossing by an unknown way, he came and stood by the king’s side. After a while the two moved on together, and by a secret path passed away from the valley—whither I know not.