At length the rising sun began to warm the air, and the king, exhausted with pain, left off bearing it for them. After a few languid movements the children sank down on a comfortable bank into a state of absolute torpor. The king looked at them; it seemed inconceivable that they could be the same children who had been running about so merrily a few moments ago. Thus far he had received no advantage from the rays the old man had given him, except that he could touch the children more easily. He turned wearily and looked around. His horse stood there. But instead of whinnying and running up to greet him, the faithful animal stood still, looking across the ravine. “Perchance without my burden, and with the strength these rays may impart,” thought the king, “he might manage the leap.” The horse was standing opposite the remains of the natural bridge over which the two had so rashly crossed the day before. The king touched the horse with his rays. As with a sudden thrust of the spur, the noble animal rushed forward and leapt madly from the fragments of the arch. His fore feet gained the opposite brink, and with a terrible struggle he raised himself on the firm ground. Then he stood still. With a crash the remaining fragments of the bridge fell into the gulf, leaving the vast gap unnarrowed at any part. The horse stood looking over the ravine. But though the king called him by name, the faithful creature who used to come to him at the slightest whisper paid no heed. In a few moments he galloped off along the track the courtiers had pursued. CHAPTER III. The king being left thus with the children, applied himself to thought. He directed his rays to one of the children and caused it to stand up, and, following the counsel of the old man, he thought of an action. The action he thought of was that of walking, and he separated it into two acts; the one act moving the right foot, the other act moving the left foot. And he separated the apathy in which the child was into pleasure and pain; pleasure connected with the act of moving the right foot, pain connected with the act of moving the left foot. Immediately the child moved forward its right foot, but the left foot remained motionless. The child had taken the pleasure, but the pain was left; or, since the king had connected the pleasure and pain with two acts, it may be said, had done the pleasant act and left the painful act undone.