"Look—behold and know thyself, O Blind and more than blind!" And, leaning down, he raised his visor so that the moonlight fell upon his face, and the face I looked upon was my own; and, while I gazed, he lifted up his voice, and cried:
"Ye Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye—who is he that rideth in the green, dreaming ever of her beauty, and sighing forth his love everlastingly, Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye?"
And out of the gloom of the wood, from every rustling leaf and opening bud, came a little voice that rose and blended in a soft, hushed chorus, crying:
"Peter Vibart—Peter Vibart!"
"Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye—who is he that walketh to and fro in the world, and having eyes, seeth not, and ears, heareth not—a very Fool of Love?"
Once again the voices cried in answer:
"Peter Vibart!—Peter Vibart!"
"Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye—who is he that shall love with a love mightier than most—who shall suffer greatly for love and because of it—who shall think of it by day, and dream of it o' nights—who is he that must die to find love and the fulness of life?—O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye!"
And again from out the green came the soft, hushed chorus:
"Peter Vibart—Peter Vibart!"