"Messire," quoth be; "how like you my song?"
"But little, sir—to be plain with you, not a whit," I answered.
"And, beseech you—wherefore?"
"Because it is folly—away with it, for, if your head be full of such, how shall you achieve any lasting good—Glory, Learning, Power?" But, sighing, he shook his head; quoth he:
"O Blind One!—Glory is but a name, Learning but a yearning emptiness, and whither leadeth Ambition? Man is a mote dancing in a sun-ray—the world, a speck hanging in space. All things vanish and pass utterly away save only True-love, and that abideth everlastingly; 'tis sweeter than Life, and stronger than Death, and reacheth up beyond the stars; and thus it is I pray you tell me—where is she?"
"She?"
"She whom ye love?"
"I love no woman," said I.
"Liar!" cried he, in a terrible voice, and the voice was the voice of
Black George.
"And who are you that says so?" I demanded, and stood upon my feet.