For a time a sort of stupor fell on him, dulling in part the pain of body and soul. A sick man half delirious he felt himself, tortured by very evil dreams. Mocking faces surrounded him, and in their midst one face very cold, looking at him with eyes full of scorn and hatred. Then, for a while, the lapse of years escaping him, he believed himself a child burying a hot face in his mother’s gown, weeping out his woes in her lap. Later he found the lap to be that of Mother Earth, her gown the cool green of the moss against his cheek. Turning his head he saw the green-leaved branches above him, had a glimpse of summer blue sky. This brought him back to the present. He sat up feeling the swelled stiffness of his back and limbs. Some hundred yards or so before him his eye caught the glint of water among the trees. He remembered that he was very thirsty. He rose stiffly to his feet, made his way towards the pond. It lay clear as a mirror, reflecting the trees. Peregrine, kneeling at the margin, bent towards it, saw a haggard-faced Jester looking up at him. For a moment startled by his own reflection he drew back; then laughed. Hard-eyed he looked at his own image; on a sudden saw himself Jester to Fate. Here was his rôle with a vengeance. He looked at his own face again, and with new interest, grinned at it a moment very diabolically. The next, he dashed his fist in the water. The reflection shivered to a thousand sparkling fragments. “To Fate’s Jester,” he cried. And he drank thirstily from his cupped hand. A crackling in the woods behind him brought him to his feet. His frayed nerves tensioned he gazed towards the bushes. From among them came a small figure in blue and silver, glancing anxious-eyed to right and left. Seeing Peregrine the boy rushed forward, flung himself before him, clasped his knees. “Peregrine, Peregrine,” he sobbed. “Oh! the brutes. Would I were a man!” Peregrine hauled the child gently to his feet. “Tut, lad,” he said lightly, “’tis all in the day’s work.” The boy snivelled in his sleeve. His cheeks were very tear-glazed. “An’ thou wert the man thou desirest to be thou wouldst not weep,” said Peregrine seating himself on the ground, drawing the child beside him. “My heart would,” choked the boy. Peregrine finding grim truth in the reply made no answer. “I hate them all,” said Pippo, his young face very vicious. At that Peregrine laughed mirthlessly. “I will not return to the Castle,” said the boy stubbornly, “I will come with you.” Peregrine fell grave on the instant. He saw not a child travelling by the road he was like to follow. “Nay,” he responded firmly. “I must,” choked Pippo. “Thou wilt return to the Castle,” said Peregrine very levelly. “Why?” demanded Pippo. Peregrine smiled. “Firstly, not being my property I cannot carry thee away with me; secondly, my road is not like to be one for a child; thirdly, I wish thee to return, Pippo.”