Garin, going on to the gate, pondered voice and air. They seemed to him not those of any customary sentinel, but of a knight of renown, a foster-brother of the princess. By the turret were other shadowy figures—three or four. These also kept silence, or, if they spoke among themselves, spoke briefly and too low for their words to be distinguished. Garin, Elias of Montaudon’s mantle close about him, sat down upon the bench in the angle made by wall and turret. He thought that the shadowy figures took note of him, but they did not speak to him nor he to them. They and he were silent. There fell the sentinel’s step, and sounds now vague, now distinct, from Black Tower and Eagle Tower, both of which were garrisoned. For the rest came the usual murmur of the armed and watchful night. Garin lifted his eyes to the starry sky. At first his faculties drank simply the splendour of the night, the blended personalities of scene and hour; then some slight thing brought Palestine into mind. There came before the inner vision the eve of his knighthood, when he had watched his armour in the chapel of a great castle, crusader-built. That was such a night as this. There had been an open window, and through the hours, as he knelt or stood, he had seen the stars climb upward. The emotion of that night rekindled. It came from the past like a slender youth and walked beside the stronger-thewed and older man. Garin watched the stars, then with a long, sighing breath, let his gaze fall to the sky-line, vast, irregular, imposing, and to the mass of buildings that the earth upheld. Here was deep shadow, here a pale, starlight illumination. Here light rayed out from narrow windows, or a carried torch or lanthorn displayed some facet of the whole. He turned toward the White Tower. He could see it dimly between two nearer buildings.... He rose from the bench. Figures were approaching, two or three. They also were mantled, face and form. Two stopped a few steps away, the third came on. He advanced to meet it. He could only tell that it was slender, somewhat less tall than himself. The mantle enveloped, the cowl-like hood enveloped. A hand held out a purse which he took. It felt heavy; he put it within the breast of his robe. “_Saint Martin’s summer_,” said a voice. He answered. “_Dreams may come true._” His heart beat violently, his senses swam. The stars overhead seemed to grow larger, to become vast, throbbing, living jewels. It appeared that the world slightly trembled....