“Have not these great ones a strange cowardice, my father?”
“Is not the cowardice of heroes the measure of their courage?”
“Can it be, O my father,” said the boy, with a deepening pallor, “that these great ones derive their valour from their craven hearts?”
“Truly, beloved, if they learn the secret.”
“The secret, my father?”
“The secret which is only to be learned in the school which is in the streets of the great city.”
The face of the boy grew like death. “To-morrow then, my father,” he said in a faint and small voice, “Achilles will adventure forth to this school which is in the streets of the great city, that he too may learn this secret. He should have known that one like himself should not only have great learning, wisdom and constancy, but also a noble valour.”
“True, a thousand times! This is indeed Achilles!”
“I give you good-night, my father. Pray remember me in your vigil.”
The boy threw his arms round the man’s neck, and pressed his cheek against him. It seemed to burn like a flame.