But, even as I laughed, came one from the wood, with a horse and armor. And the armor he girded on me, and the horse I mounted. And there, in the moonlit glade, we fought, and strove together, my Other Self and I. And, sudden and strong he smote me, so that I fell down from my horse, and lay there dead, with my blood soaking and soaking into the grass. And, as I watched, there came a blackbird that perched upon my breast, carolling gloriously. Yet, little by little, this bird changed, and lo! in its place was a new Peter Vibart standing upon the old; and the New trampled the Old down into the grass, and—it was gone. Then, with his eyes on the stars, the new Peter Vibart fell a-singing, and the words I sang were these:
"For her love I carke, and care,
For her love I droop, and dare,
For her love my bliss is bare.
And I wax wan!"
And thus there came into my heart that which had been all unknown—undreamed of hitherto, yet which, once there, could never pass away.
"O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye—who is he that counteth True-love sweeter than Life—greater than Wisdom—stronger than Death? O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye!"
And the hushed voices chorused softly.
"Peter Vibart—Peter Vibart!" And, while I listened, one by one the voices ceased, till there but one remained—calling, calling, but ever soft and far away, and when I would have gone toward this voice—lo! there stood a knife quivering in the ground before me, that grew and grew until its haft touched heaven, yet still the voice called upon my name very softly:
"Peter!—Peter!—oh, Peter, I want you!—oh, Peter!—wake! wake!" I sat up in bed, and, as I listened, grew suddenly sick, and a fit of trembling shook me violently, for the whisper was still in my ears, and in the whisper was an agony of fear and dread indescribable.
"Peter!—oh, Peter, I am afraid!—wake! wake!"
A cold sweat broke out upon me and I glared helplessly, towards the door.
"Quick, Peter!—come to me—oh, God!"