"Is there truly a happy man in this dark place?" he asked sadly, "to my mind all is vanity and vexation of spirit."
"Away with pessimism," cried the other, "look! our host demands silence while he delivers himself of the speech which if I mistake not he has been preparing for the occasion ever since he came of age. Hark! what is he saying?"
But the lad's first words were drowned by the prolonged cheers and clanging of the glasses of his guests, and he had to wait patiently for a hearing. And when at last the speech was made it was disappointing to some who had expected greater things from the speaker. He was evidently not in good form, for he paused again and again with a far away look in his eyes as if he heard some voice calling him, and had difficulty in concentrating his attention. As he closed however with a joke amid the cheers of his companions, there was suddenly a dead silence, as across the street came the loud and piercing sound of a trumpet.
"It is the herald again," someone exclaimed.
"Aye, It is the herald! He won't leave us alone, what do we want with him here?" grumbled another.
"He's enough to throw a gloom over the merriest feast," cried a third.
"Right you are. I could not sleep the other night for thinking of his prophecies about Punon. All are doomed to death who stay here," said the first speaker.
"We need not believe every fool who prates," cried Amer, "come and let's hear the man again and get some fun by questioning him as to the truth of his words."
"'Why, Amer, I began to think you half believed in him," laughed one of his companions as a stir began and a hasty exit was made from the house.
The herald was standing in the market-place.