pon the world once
more. Before Wardo could move or speak it came again, changed this time
and strained, all the thrill gone out of it and only weariness left, the
voice of one again in chains.

"Eh, thou little Christus, thou hast been brother and comrade both to me
in this my loneliness! But now am I indeed fast stuck in a quagmire of
uncertainty. Wherein did lie thy power? This I must know or ever the
tale can end. I have the Kings, their might and majesty, their robes,
and the gifts they bring. I have thy Mother, young and fair and tender,
with holy eyes. I have her man, who was not sire to thee, his care for
her, his human doubt and questionings. I have the servants of the inn,
the shepherds.--Thou great bully Rag, thou hast stood model more often
than thou knowest!--I have the cattle dozing in the stalls, the tumult
and the shouting of the inn. All this I can paint so that it shall stand
forth quick with life; for give me a word, a thought, an action, and I
can find the tale in it. But on my life I cannot find why men should
worship thee, thou little helpless Child. And until I can, I have no
motive for my tale; a thing eludes me which I cannot catch. What power
didst hold over men that they should bow to thee? Wherein did lie thy
strength? For men will worship only that which is stronger than
they--and how wert thou stronger? Was it through fear?--who would fear a
babe?--A child, little and ugly and very red, as I have seen babes in
the arms of slave-women in the mart at Londinium, with a crumpled mouth
wet with his mother's milk--in the name of the high gods, what should
men see in such a thing to worship? Thus ever do I question, and until I
find my answer the tale is not complete."

There was a restless movement in the dark, a soft shuffle of sandalled
feet pacing up and down, endlessly up and down. The voice dropped to a
broken mutter in which but a word now and then was to be caught.

"Oh, for a ray of sun or moon to tell if it be day or night! The
darkness beats upon mine eyelids like a thousand hammers, until my brain
is sick and reeling.... Hath one ever made of this a tale before me, I
wonder? The girl did not say. Where is she now, that black-haired love
of Hito's? Is she caught and brought back like a rabbit to the kennels
of the hounds? That is quite likely, and will be no fault of mine."

Again the voice stopped, and with it the pacing footsteps.

"Thou here, Momus?" Nicanor said suddenly. "So th