Life had been difficult before, but he had been stronger, or more ignorant. He had made blithe songs when he was anything but gay at heart; he had laughed when others were weeping and howling; he had danced to his own music when every inch of his body ached with weariness; and it had all come to this. He had been turned out of his poor lodgings because he had no money; he had been driven out of the town because he would not take money earned in a certain way. He seemed to have come to the end. If that were the case he might as well make a song about it and see what it would be like. He took up the rote, and began to work out a refrain that was singing itself in his head. Zipero listened; he was quieter when he heard the familiar sound. The song was flung like a challenge into the silent arena. The Planet of Love in the cloud-swept night Hangs like a censer of gold, And Venus reigns on her starlit height Even as she ruled of old. Yet the Planet of War is abroad on earth In a chariot of scarlet flame, And Mercy and Loyalty, Love and Mirth Must die for his grisly fame. Ravens are croaking and gray wolves prowl On the desolate field of death, The smoke of the burning hangs like a cowl-- Grim Terror throttles the breath. Yet a white bird flies in the silent night To your window that looks on the sea, To bear to my Lady of All Delight This one last song from me. "Princess, the planets that rule our life Are the same for beggar or King,-- We may win or lose in the hazard of strife, There is ever a song to sing! We are free as the wind, O heart of gold! The stars that rule our lot Are netted fast in a bond ninefold,-- The twist of Solomon's Knot." "So you believe that, my son?" asked a voice behind him. He sat up and looked about; an old man in a long dusky cloak and small flat cap had come over the brow of the hill. He answered, a trifle defiantly, "Perhaps I do. At any rate, that is the song." "Oh, it is true," the old man said quietly as he knelt beside Zipero on the turf. He examined the bandages on the little dog's neck and forelegs, undid them, laid some bruised leaves from his basket on the wounds. The small creature, with his eyes on his master's face, licked the stranger's hand gratefully to show that he was more at ease. "Man alone is free. This herb cannot change itself; it must heal; that one must slay. Saturn is ever the Greater Malignant; our Lady Venus cannot rule war, nor can Mars rule a Court of Love. The most uncertain creature in the world is a man. The stars themselves cannot force me to revile God." Ranulph was silent. After months and years among rude street crowds, the dignity and kindliness of the old man's ways were like a voice from another world.