The soldiers burst into a loud laugh, in which their leader
joined.

"Thou hast drunk deep, my friend!" he observed, putting up his
sword with a sharp clatter into its shining sheath,--"What name
sayst thou? ... ARDATH? We know it not, nor dost thou, I warrant,
when sober! Go to--make for thy home speedily! Aye, aye! the
flavor of good wine clings to thy mouth still,--'tis a pleasant
sweetness that I myself am partial to, and I can pardon those who,
like thee, love it somewhat too well! Away!--and thank the gods
thou hast fallen into the hands of the King's guard, rather then
Lysia's priestly patrol! See! the gates are open,--in with thee!
and cool thy head at the first fountain?"

"The gates?" ... What gates? Removing his hand from his eyes Alwyn
gazed around confusedly. He was standing on an open stretch of
level road, dustily-white, and dry, with long-continued heat,--and
right in front of him was an enormously high wall, topped with
rows of bristling iron spikes, and guarded by the gates alluded
to,--huge massive portals seemingly made of finely molded brass,
and embellished on either side by thick, round, stone watch
towers, from whose summits scarlet pennons drooped idly in the
windless air. Amazed, and full of a vague, trembling terror, he
fixed his wondering looks once more upon his strange companions,
who in their turn regarded him with cool military indifference."

"I must be mad or dreaming," he thought,--then growing suddenly
desperate he stretched out his hands with a wild appealing
gesture: