Even as I looked she moved toward me, with all the grace and lightness which spirits may possess.
“You are dull of seeing, dull of hearing, dull at recognising,” she said, and I heard the siren’s voice and remembered my lost ring. I had no voice to answer, till with an effort I had roused myself.
“And you, it seems, are duller at receiving.”
“How so?” she asked, and laughed and drew much nearer, so that I recognised the more this spirit beauty.
“I come like an unwelcome guest, finding no preparation at the end of travel.”
“Indeed,” she answered, “all has been prepared, but it was done in silence. We knew your hatred of display. And is it true that you are here without one bite, one ugly serpent twist to mar your strength or beauty? Then indeed you are welcome. Come this way.”
She led me by the steps of alabaster under the shade of heavy drooping trees. We passed along the margin of a river, by many statues of exceeding beauty, whose images were reflected in its bed. But to me, foreign to this nature, the gloom and heavy grandeur were oppressive. Even to my feet the hard, unbending marble brought weariness and pain.
“Lady,” I said at last, “this kingdom is in need of something. It lacks a joyful element of sound.”
At this she laughed, and there was beauty in it, maybe some merriment.
“You are dull of hearing,” she repeated, and looked back at me and stayed, then laughed again. She pointed toward the river.