“Well he knew the store of treasure in that house bound the nymph to him, for light was she as a weaver’s shuttle, and her thoughts little longer in the same place. And as he thought thus, he became greatly wrath with the old woman, so that he cried out, ‘Who art thou, who darest so to speak to me? Who art thou, I say?’
“And very quietly the words came in answer, ‘It is the nymph Ia who speaks to thee—it is Ia who speaks.’
“Then the king would have laughed aloud at the old woman, but something in her countenance held him back. For as he gazed on her he saw, as a man may see the picture of the skies in summer, dimmed and wrinkled in the broken surface of a pool, even so in the countenance of the old woman did the king see Ia’s youth.
“And as he gazed the truth came to him, and he shook, as one who after long watching, sees dawn break on a frozen sea. For he knew the day would come when the nymph la would look even as this old woman before him. When her eyes, deep and fringed as the forest pools, would be no longer bright with the splinters of stars in them, but sunken, aye, sunken and filled with rheum. And the sound of her voice would be scrannel, and the swiftness of her feet fail. And what would his treasure avail him, with the core of his treasure gone?
“And again he thought upon his country and the necessity that was knocking at his door. And he beheld with the eyes of his soul, this sacrifice, growing and shining, with the years. He saw it take radiant form unto itself, and rising above the fears of a little moment, he beheld it mount gloriously to the habitations of eternity, clapping its hands for joy.
“And as he beheld this, his heart cried out suddenly within him, for the good that is born in men’s souls is born in pain.
“And with that cry the king stirred in his sleep uneasily. And lo, it had been a dream.
“He was alone in his chamber in the palace, his great dog slumbering by the fire, nose couched up on slender paws.
“And the perched macaw at the king’s elbow, bowed and scrambled at its chain.
“Only the remembrance of the king’s dream stayed with him, till he loathed the tag of an old rhyme.