THE KING OF ELFLAND’S DAUGHTER
far as the turn in the path of the comet, and had brought it again to the edge of the fields of men.
“Never,” he said, “can any rune but one, or spell or wonder or any magical thing, move our realm one wing’s width over the earthly border or bring anything thence here. And little they know in those fields that even one rune can do it.”
And still she would scarce believe that those accustomed powers of her wizard sire could not easily bring the things of Earth and the wonders of Elfland together.
“From those fields,” he said, “my spells are all beaten back, my incantations are mute, and my right arm powerless.”
And when he spoke thus to her of that dread right arm, at last perforce she believed him. And she prayed him again for that ultimate rune, that long-hoarded treasure of Elfland, that potency that had strength to work against the harsh weight of Earth.
And his thoughts went into the future all alone, peering far down the years. More gladly had a traveller at night in lonely ways given up his lantern than had this elvish king now used his last great spell, and so cast it away, and gone without it into those dubious years; whose dim forms he saw and many of their events, but not to the end. Easily had she asked for that dread spell, which should appease the only need she had, easily might he have granted it were he but human; but his vast wisdom saw so
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