“Then the king would have laughed aloud at the old woman, but something in her countenance held him back. For as he gazed on her he saw, as a man may see the picture of the skies in summer, dimmed and wrinkled in the broken surface of a pool, even so in the countenance of the old woman did the king see Ia’s youth. “And as he gazed the truth came to him, and he shook, as one who after long watching, sees dawn break on a frozen sea. For he knew the day would come when the nymph la would look even as this old woman before him. When her eyes, deep and fringed as the forest pools, would be no longer bright with the splinters of stars in them, but sunken, aye, sunken and filled with rheum. And the sound of her voice would be scrannel, and the swiftness of her feet fail. And what would his treasure avail him, with the core of his treasure gone? “And again he thought upon his country and the necessity that was knocking at his door. And he beheld with the eyes of his soul, this sacrifice, growing and shining, with the years. He saw it take radiant form unto itself, and rising above the fears of a little moment, he beheld it mount gloriously to the habitations of eternity, clapping its hands for joy. “And as he beheld this, his heart cried out suddenly within him, for the good that is born in men’s souls is born in pain. “And with that cry the king stirred in his sleep uneasily. And lo, it had been a dream. “He was alone in his chamber in the palace, his great dog slumbering by the fire, nose couched up on slender paws. “And the perched macaw at the king’s elbow, bowed and scrambled at its chain. “Only the remembrance of the king’s dream stayed with him, till he loathed the tag of an old rhyme. “‘If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains, If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains.’ * * * * * “But the king, did he make common store of his treasure, and loose his soul for ever from the nymph?” CHAPTER XVII _For mine enemies have constrained me, as a bird, without cause._ THE APOCRYPHA. It happened one day Granny had been longer than usual, and the children sat waiting her return. When she entered the cottage it was with a hurried step and her hood drawn over her countenance. She stood listening with a scared face by the closed door, and had no word for the children. But gradually as the afternoon wore on, and she sat at her herb-bundles, she became quieter, and more at rest. “Folk’ll come to me fast enough when they’re ailing,” she said to Martin. “‘Have you got anything to cure the dizziness?’ they’ll say. ‘So soon as ever I do go to stoop down to reach anything, I come up all over the hot blooms,’ they’ll say. “And I always give them something to take for it, but they won’t willingly come into my cottage for all that.