King Wanda had given orders that he should be left entirely undisturbed; and there he painted from early morn as long as the daylight lasted. Even King Wanda dared not trouble his peace—he had a feeling that this work was being done with a love that no stranger's eye should watch.
Indeed, it was with his very life's blood that the painter was now completing his masterpiece; he felt that each day he was giving some of his strength—that little by little his force was going with each fresh stroke of his brush.
At times his face was corpse-like, as one no more of this earth.
Once little Oona had peeped through an opening in the window-curtain, and had then run quickly back, with a feeling that she had seen a ghost.
But the face that Eric was creating upon King Wanda's wall was of a beauty no words can describe.
The woman on the throne, with the golden dress that flowed down like a river seen at sunset, was leaning slightly forward, her eyes looking away over the heads of the crowd that was calling upon her name in praise.
She seemed to see no one; but other visions more beautiful than earthly eyes could conceive filled her gaze. The two palms of her hands were pressed down at her side in a strained attitude, as one who is half afraid, or perhaps awakening to some astounding knowledge.
But her eyes was the spot within which Eric Gundian had concentrated all his inimitable art: they were the most marvellous wells of light and shade that had ever been painted by mortal hand.
They were a mighty realization of his eternal dream—that dream that had led him through distant countries and deadly dangers to the very fount of love. Eric now lived only sustained by his feverish desire to leave those eyes, he had so loved, for ever upon that frieze that would be a living incorporation of his one great aim.
But behind those shut doors he was wasting away; he was but a spirit whose body was an overcome burden, living by the soul alone, only a breath of that human life he had spent in the eternal effort to reach his glorious dream. Near by sat the snow-white hawk, who would never leave his side except for short moments when Eric opened the window, upon the beauties of spring, letting the bird out to search for its daily food.