“Is it thou, indeed, this time?” said the boy, catching at his cloak.
“Why, who should it be?”
“Thy wraith! Thy double-ganger has been here Richard.”
“What, dreaming again?”
“No no! I am well, I am strong. But this is the land of enchantment! Thou knowst it is. Did we not see a fleet of fairy boats sailing on the sea? and a leaf eat up a fly here on this very tent pole? And did not the Fay Morgaine show us towns and castles and churches in the sea? Thou didst not call me light-headed then, Richard; thou sawest it too!”
“But this wraith of mine! Where didst see it?”
“In this tent. I was lying on the sand, trying if I could make it hold enough to build a castle of it, when the curtain was put back, and there thou stoodest, Richard!”
“Well, did I speak or vanish?”
“Oh, thou spakest—I mean the thing spake, and it said, ‘Is this the tent of the young Lord of Montfort?’ How now—what have I said?”
“Whom did he ask for?” demanded Richard breathlessly.