They were silent a long time as they trudged the way homeward. The shadows of the forest giants reached out across the river as the sun slipped behind them. For a distance they walked hand in hand, but as they reached the path of pebbly brightness near the house, Galatea drew away and sped swiftly before him. Dan followed as quickly as he might; when he arrived, Leucon sat on his bench by the portal, and Galatea had paused on the threshold. She watched his approach with eyes in which he again fancied the glint of tears. "I am very tired," she said, and slipped within. Dan moved to follow, but the old man raised a staying hand. "Friend from the shadows," he said, "will you hear me a moment?" Dan paused, acquiesced, and dropped to the opposite bench. He felt a sense of foreboding; nothing pleasant awaited him. "There is something to be said," Leucon continued, "and I say it without desire to pain you, if phantoms feel pain. It is this: Galatea loves you, though I think she has not yet realized it." "I love her too," said Dan. The Grey Weaver stared at him. "I do not understand. Substance, indeed, may love shadow, but how can shadow love substance?" "I love her," insisted Dan. "Then woe to both of you! For this is impossible in Paracosma; it is a confliction with the laws. Galatea's mate is appointed, perhaps even now approaching." "Laws! Laws!" muttered Dan. "Whose laws are they? Not Galatea's nor mine!" "But they are," said the Grey Weaver. "It is not for you nor for me to criticize them--though I yet wonder what power could annul them to permit your presence here!" "I had no voice in your laws." The old man peered at him in the dusk. "Has anyone, anywhere, a voice in the laws?" he queried. "In my country we have," retorted Dan. "Madness!" growled Leucon. "Man-made laws! Of what use are man-made laws with only man-made penalties, or none at all? If you shadows make a law that the wind shall blow only from the east, does the west wind obey it?" "We do pass such laws," acknowledged Dan bitterly. "They may be stupid, but they're no more unjust than yours." "Ours," said the Grey Weaver, "are the unalterable laws of the world, the laws of Nature. Violation is always unhappiness. I have seen it; I have known it in another, in Galatea's mother, though Galatea is stronger than she." He paused. "Now," he continued, "I ask only for mercy; your stay is short, and I ask that you do no more harm than is already done. Be merciful; give her no more to regret." He rose and moved through the archway; when Dan followed a moment later, he was already removing a square of silver from his device in the corner. Dan turned silent and unhappy to his own chamber, where the jet of water tinkled faintly as a distant bell. Again he rose at the glow of dawn, and again Galatea was before him, meeting him at the door with her bowl of fruit. She deposited her burden, giving him a wan little smile of greeting, and stood facing him as if waiting.