But the spell had fallen--king and courtier, queen and lady and page
and scullion, hawk and hound, slept a sleep past waking--"while I,
roamed and roam yet in a solitary watch beyond all sleeping.
Wherefore, sir, I only of the most hospitable house in these lands am
awake to bid you welcome. But as for that, a few dwindling and harsh
fruits in my orchards, and the cold river water that my dogs lap with
me, are all that is left to offer you. For I who never sleep am never
hungry, and they who never wake--I presume--never thirst. Would, sir,
it were otherwise! After such long silence, then, conceive how
strangely falls your voice on ears that have heard only wings
fluttering, dismal water-songs, and the yelp and quarrel and
night-voice of unseen hosts in the forests."

He glanced at me with a mild austerity and again lowered his eyes. I
cannot now but wonder how the rhythm of a voice so soft, so
monotonous, could give such pleasure to the ear. I almost doubted my
own eyes when I looked upon his yellow, on that unmoved, sad, mad,
pale face.

I had no doubt of his dogs, however, and walked scarcely at ease
beside him, while they, shadow-footed, closely followed us at heel.

"Prince Ennui" conducted me with shining lantern into a dense orchard
thickly under-grown, marvellously green, with a small, hard fruit upon
its branches, shaped like a medlar, of a crisp, sweet odour and,
despite its hardness, a delicious taste. The interwoven twigs of the
stooping trees were thickly nested; a veritable wilderness of moonlike
and starry flowers ran all to seed amid the nettles and nightshade of
this green silence. And while I ate--for I was hungry enough--Prince
Ennui stood, his hand on Sallow's muzzle, lightly thridding the dusky