THE KING OF ELFLAND’S DAUGHTER
tale of profitless wandering where Alveric haunted horizons year after year like a ghost. And sometimes out of Vand’s sadness that had come from those profitless years a smile would shine as he told of some foolish happening that had taken place in the camp. But all was told by one that had lost hope in the quest. This was not the way to tell of it, not with doubts, not with smiles. For such a quest may only be told of by those who are fired by its glory: from the mad brain of Niv or the moonstruck wits of Zend we might have news of that quest which could light our minds with some gleam of its meaning; but never from the story, be it made out of facts or scoffs, told by one whom the quest itself was able to lure no longer. The stars stole out and still Vand was telling his stories, and one by one the people went back to their houses, caring to hear no more of the hopeless quest. Had the tale been told by one who clung yet to the faith that still was leading Alveric’s wanderers on, the stars would have weakened before those folk left the teller, the sky would have brightened so widely before they left him that one would have said at last “Why! It is morning.” Not till then would they have gone.
And the next day Vand went back to the downs and the sheep and troubled himself with romantic quests no more.
And during that Spring men spoke of Alveric again, wondering awhile at his quest, speaking awhile of
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