"And Dardi's head?"
"Where it is, no one knows," concluded the story-teller, laughing.
The woman bent her head in thoughtful silence.
"Perhaps there is a hidden meaning in your tale," she said, after a pause. "Perhaps I have understood."
"Alas, yes! if there were any resemblance between my audacity and that of the master workman. Perhaps I too should wear a scarlet thread around my neck, as a sort of warning."
"You will have your great destiny. I have no fear for you."
He ceased to laugh.
"Yes, my friend, I must conquer. And you shall help me. Every morning I too receive my menacing visitor—the expectation of those that love me and those that hate me. Expectation should wear the dress of the executioner, for nothing on earth is so pitiless."
"But it is the measure of your power."
He felt the vulture's beak in his breast. Instinctively he straightened himself up, seized with an impatience of even their slow idling on the water. Why did he live in such idleness? Every hour and every minute he ought to be trying, struggling, fortifying himself against destruction, diminution, violation, contagion. Every hour and every minute his eyes should be fixed on his aim, and all his energies should be concentrated upon it.