Once more she drew near, her warm little heart longing to help, longing to bring the smile back to the eyes of her companion. She wore a dark-red rose in her belt, and drawing it out she pulled the red petals off, one by one, letting them drop over his bent head down upon the white marble at his feet. But Eric never looked up; the velvety petals lay, a fading little heap, unnoticed upon the marble step, till a small gust of wind swept them into the water which carried them away far out of sight. Poor little Oona rose to her feet; a great fear had come over her; and gathering up her long white skirts she fled back into the palace as if she were being pursued. Still Eric sat, gazing into space, till night came down and blotted out all things from his sight. II I run across hills and dales, I wander through nameless lands ... because I am hunting for a golden dream. TAGORE. The road was long and dusty, and stretched out before the wanderer's feet. He carried a small wallet on his back, and in his hand was a strong stick. The little birds on the trees sang glad songs because it was spring-time, and the branches were weighed down by the wealth of their blossoms. The wanderer was young, and his face was good to look upon; his clothes were new, and round his neck he wore a golden chain which was the royal gift of a King. His step was light and eager, and there was a look of hope in his eyes; he had a flute in his pocket upon which he played from time to time a sweet little tune--a little tune the end notes of which always sounded like an unanswered question. None had been able to keep him back; Eric of the golden locks, ... Eric the fairy-fingered, ... Eric the sweet-voiced, ... Eric the mad painter, had left the white castle of beauty, to wander the wide world over seeking for two eyes that had come to him in a dream. In the great hall King Wanda stood, looking on the unfinished frieze; it was a marvellous painting in glowing colours that ran all round the room. A master hand alone could have been capable of such perfect composition, such rich colouring, such charm and poetry. The great procession represented the triumph of Love. It was like a wondrous wedding-feast, and all the figures were moving, an army of joyous youths and maidens, towards a golden throne. On the throne sat a woman whose golden robe flowed, like a river seen at sunset, down towards the youths and maidens who were singing songs of praise, whilst they swung bloom-laden branches over their heads and cast white roses before the throne of Love. Behind this vision of youth came stern-faced warriors on snorting chargers, and pearl-crowned queens who led golden-haired children by the hand. Then came musicians who were followed by troops of beggars and the tattered forms of the poor, all hurrying, pressing, streaming towards that golden throne.... But the woman on the throne had no face.