that day the servants were sent many times to observe through spy-holes.
"Go," he would say, "and find out if the worshipper of new gods has taken himself away."
But the servants returned each time with the same information.
"The new druid is still there," they said.
All through that day no one could leave the stronghold. And the enforced seclusion wrought on the minds of the servants, while the cessation of all work banded them together in small groups that whispered and discussed and disputed. Then these groups would disperse to peep through the spy-hole at the patient immobile figure seated before the door, wrapped in a meditation that was timeless and unconcerned. They took fright at the spectacle, and once or twice a woman screamed hysterically, and was bundled away with a companion's hand clapped on her mouth, so that the ear of their master should not be affronted.
"He has his own troubles," they said. "It is a combat of the gods that is taking place."
So much for the women; but the men also were uneasy. They prowled up and down, tramping from the spy-hole to the kitchen, and from the kitchen to the turreted roof. And from the roof they would look down on the motionless figure below, and speculate on many things, including the staunchness of man, the qualities of their master, and even the possibility that the new gods might be as powerful as the old. From these peepings and discussions they would return languid and discouraged.
"If," said one irritable guard, "if we buzzed a spear at that persistent stranger, or if one slung at him with a jagged pebble!"
