For six months, then, he enjoyed himself mightily, held his Council of Arts wherein his speeches were most largely adorned with flowery rhetoric; sang to the ladies in the garden, and heard their praises of his songs very complacently; ate delicate food; drank rare wines; watched dances wherein harmony, rhythm, and colour lent every lure to please the senses. At the end of six months he began to weary, and for the succeeding three stifled mental yawns to the best of his ability. Now and again pleasure would rekindle only to die away to dull ashes. For the last three of the twelve months he was heartily sick of his life as it was, but custom by now having wedded him to the Castle he was somewhat loth to leave. Also, having in mind the memory of his travels before he reached the Castle, he saw not to what end he should depart. Therefore he dallied. He disguised his weariness and dislike of the over-soft life well. None suspected what he thought. It was at this time he had a dream, which brought his dilatory spirit to action. One noontide, lying in the garden with the autumn sun striking full upon him, he drowsed to slumber. At first, through the slumber, he was conscious of where he lay, felt the warmth of the sun upon his cheek; was aware, though with closed eyes, of the forest which hemmed in the Castle on all sides. Gradually consciousness lost its hold upon him, he slid into a deep silence whence all externals left him. Then it was that the dream came to him. With no beginning he found himself in the midst of it. This is what he dreamed. He dreamed that he was walking on the far white road climbing the hillside, the same that he had seen a year agone. The sun beat hotly upon it, burning his face, causing the blood in his temples to drum madly. In front of him he saw a figure, a cloaked woman moving swiftly over the road before him. He strained every nerve in pursuit of her, but for all his straining she kept ever ahead. The road became steeper, the sun beat more fiercely upon him. Yet his desire to reach the figure before him was so intense that he would not have halted if he could. But he could not. He knew that till he reached her he must keep ever onward. Then beyond her he saw the tree, its withered branches flung cross-like from the dead trunk. And on a sudden he knew that unless he gained her before she had passed it by he would never reach her. He tried to run and could not, his feet were leaden. He could only keep on at the same dull pace. He saw her now within a yard of the tree. She had gained it. Some cry burst from his throat, half prayer, wholly imploring. At the very foot of the tree she stopped and turned. With laboured steps he came abreast her. He saw her face....