Natalie turned a stony face to Garth. "It is he," she whispered.
Garth thought of an old photograph she had shown him of a dark-haired youth sitting on a horse, with a charming, imperious grace of body and feature, in which there was something godlike and unanswerable; and looking at this wreck of a man, toothless, bald and livid, he was struck with awe.
"You have seen," he whispered to Natalie. "Let us ride back."
She shook her head. "I must say what I came for," she said.
"Will you dismount?" he asked.
Natalie shuddered. "Never, here!" she whispered.
In a moment she had commanded herself again. "Please speak to him," she said.
"Mabyn!" called Garth peremptorily.
The man's lids parted. Natalie was directly in front of him. As his sleep-stupefied eyes slowly took her in, he raised himself to an upright position, and struck his eyeballs sharply with his knuckles.
Garth instinctively drew away a little.