After many days he came to a small long valley rich in woods and water-courses, but no road ran through it. More and more it seemed like the world’s end, a place unknown, or forgotten of its old inhabitants. Just at the end of the valley, where the woods opened into clear slopes and hollows toward the west, he saw before him, low and overgrown, the walls of a little tumble-down grange. “There,” he said to himself when he saw it, “I can find shelter for to-night. Never have I felt so tired before, or such a pain at my heart!” Before long he came to a little gate and a winding path that led in among lawns and trees to the door of an old house. The house seemed as if it had been once lived in, but there was no sign of any life about it now. He pushed open the door, and suddenly there was a sharp rustling of feathers, and nine white peahens rose up from the ground and flew out of the window into the garden. The Prince searched the whole house over, and found it a mere ruin; the only signs of life to be seen were the white feathers that lifted and blew about over the floors. Outside, the garden was gathering itself together in the dusk, and the peahens were stepping daintily about the lawns, picking here and there between the blades of grass. They seemed to suit the gentle sadness of the place, which had an air of grief that has grown at ease with itself. The Prince went out into the garden, and walked about among the quietly stepping birds; but they took no heed of him. They came picking up their food between his very feet, as though he were not there. Silence held all the air, and in the cleft of the valley the day drooped to its end. Just before it grew dark, the nine white peahens gathered together at the foot of a great elm, and lifting up their throats they wailed in chorus. Their lamentable cry touched the Prince’s heart; “where,” he asked himself, “have I heard such sorrow before?” Then all with one accord the birds sprang rustling up to the lowest boughs of the elm, and settled themselves to roost. The Prince went back to the house, to find some corner amid its half-ruined rooms to sleep in. But there the air was close, and an unpleasant smell of moisture came from the floor and walls: so, the night being warm, he returned to the garden, and folding himself in his cloak lay down under the tree where the nine peahens were at roost. For a long time he tried to sleep, but could not, there was so much pain and sorrow in his heart. Presently when it was close upon midnight, over his head one of the birds stirred and ruffled through all its feathers; and he heard a soft voice say: “Sisters, are you awake?” All the other peahens lifted their heads, and turned toward the one that spoke, saying, “Yes, sister, we are awake.” Then the first one said again, “Our brother is here.” They all said, “He is our enemy; it is for him that we endure this sorrow.” “To-night,” said the first, “we may all be free.”