Stream’d through my cell a cold and silver beam,
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail,
Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive,
Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed
With rosy colours leaping on the wall...’”
Her words fell softly into the silence.
“That’s it,” said David, his cheeks flushing. “I used to care for that a lot,” he went on slowly. “I used to play I was one of those knights going in search. But it’s years since I’ve thought of the poem, or had any of those fancies. Perhaps working around knocks them out of one’s head. Now, what I am going to say will sound pure nonsense. One day, here, in a wood, the whole thing came back to me.”
“Yes?” said Elizabeth gently.
“I came up through the wood to the edge of the park,” said David, “and I found myself by the Castle Chapel. A bell rang. I can’t in the least explain what happened then, but I might have been a little chap again, fancying myself near the end of my quest, only it was about a thousand times more real. Well, it’s just that. What I played at as a little fellow has got hold of me again.” He stopped.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth again, and very softly.