And many and many a vision the dreamer saw in that enchanted shrine.
And dark night fell, with storm and tempest and the sound of rain upon the roof. Yet the dreamer never stirred. Suddenly there was a sound of hurrying feet without. A voice called loud, “My brother, my brother, my brother!...” In sprang the hunter through the golden temple doors.
“Where are you?” he cried, “my brother, my brother!” He had his swinging lantern in his hand and held it high, as he flung his long blown hair back over his shoulder. His face was bright with the rain upon it, his eyes were as keen as an eagle’s.
“O brother ...” said the dreamer, and ran to meet him.
“Now the dear gods be thanked that I have you safe and sound,” said the hunter. “Half the night I have sought you, wandering in the forest and by the stream’s side. I was all to blame for leaving you ... my little brother.” With that, he took his brother’s face between his two warm hands.
But the dreamer sighed, “I have been with the gods all night,” he said, “and I think I see them still. The place is holy.”
Then the hunter flashed his light upon the temple walls, upon the gilding and the bronze.
“I see no gods,” he said.
“What see you, brother?”
“I see a row of stones, broken images, grey, with moss-grown feet.”