“William Jordan, William Jordan,” repeated the boy softly. A look of strange disappointment crept into his face. “William Jordan!” he said, “William Jordan!”
“What’s in a name, beloved one?” said his father, with his secret and beautiful smile.
Under his father’s patient eyes the look of strange disappointment passed from the boy’s face.
“And each bearer of our name, my father, must write in this book?” said the boy.
“It is so decreed,” said his father. “And for a thousand years past each of our dynasty has done so, with the exception, Achilles, of you and me.”
The boy’s heart began to beat wildly.
“Then I, too, must write in it, my father?”
As he spoke the frail and gaunt form shook like gossamer.
“We can but fulfil our destiny, beloved one,” said the boy’s father. “And it is written that when a bearer of our name ceases to write in the Book of the Ages our dynasty is at an end.”