Tcharn grew thoughtful again.
“I saw them approach in a moving house, that seemed alive and yet was not,” he remarked.
“That is but one proof of their might,” said she.
“And is my Princess now opposed to her father the King?”
“Yes, Tcharn, in this one thing.”
“Then,” said he, “I will stand by your side, for my blood is the blood of your dead mother, and not the blood of Nalig-Nad.”
“But the pebbles!” I cried, impatiently. “Tell us what you have done with them.”
He turned his sombre eyes in my direction.
“I carried the pebbles to my own dwelling,” he returned. “They are beautiful, and when the sun kisses them they borrow its light and glow like fireflies at dusk. I love the pebbles; so I took them, and they are mine.”
This was exasperating to a degree.