And thus they both did.
And trustfully flew one of the doves from Thoril's hand to Halfred's broad shoulder, and cooed lovingly to the other.
And when the song was ended, Halfred seized again the two hands of the boy, and drew them slowly slowly over his forehead, and his moist eyes.
And it all was as it stands written in the sacred books of the Jews, of the King full of sadness and heaviness, who could only be healed by the harp-playing of the son of Jesse.
[CHAPTER XII.]
And this lasted many days; and upon Halfred's forehead the lines and furrows disappeared, one after another. And once more he could draw a deep full breath without sighing.
And he carried his head again proudly erect, when he did not purposely bend down to look into the golden eyes of the boy, which ever again and again he did.
And so much did Halfred dread to lose Thoril again, that he never left his side the live-long day. And because Thoril's couch and sleeping chamber were, as he said, so small that Halfred could not share them, he lay before the door upon the threshold.
Nevertheless he still could not sleep; but now, because with ardent yearning he listened to the breathing of the sleeper. And with the earliest dawn of morning he would rouse Thoril from sleep and his sleeping chamber.
And it seemed as if the old gift of Oski was given back to Halfred, the winning of all hearts. For the two guardians of the boy, who full of mistrust had seen the strange man approach their cottage, holding Thoril's hand--the ancient Moëngal had rushed at him with a spear--were at once gentle and won, when he begged, with the old smile of Oski--"Let me be healed at Thoril's golden eyes."