nt, in horror and bitterness, over his soul.
He did not contend or cry out; but he knew that the light had fallen
out of his life, and had left him dark and dead.

So he went slowly back to the castle through the wood, hating his
life and all that he was; once or twice he felt a kind of passion rise
within him, and he said to himself, "She is pledged to me, and she
shall be mine." And then there smote upon him the thought that in
thinking thus he was rather brute than man. And he fell at last into
an agony of prayer that God would lead him to the light, and show him
what he should do. When he reached the castle he put a strong
constraint upon himself; he went down to the hall; he even sang; but
it was like a dream; he seemed to be out of the body, and as it were
to see himself standing, and to hear the words falling from his own
lips. The Duke courteously praised him, and said that he was well
content to hear his minstrel again.

As he left the hall, he passed through a little ante-room, that was
hung with arras, on the way to his chamber; and there he saw sitting
on a bench, close to the door that led to the turret stair, the young
Knight, Sir Richard; and there rose in his heart a passion of anger,
so strong that he felt as though a hand were laid upon his heart,
crushing it. And he stood still, and looked upon the Knight, who
raised so pale and haggard a face upon him, that Paul, in spite of his
own misery, saw before him a soul as much or more vexed than his own;
and then the anger died out of his heart, and left in him only the
sense of the bitter fellowship of suffering; the Knight rose to his
feet, and they stood for a moment looking at each other; and then the
Knight said, pale to the lips, "Sir Paul, we are glad to welcome you
back--I have heard of the Duke's gift, and rejoice that your
inheritance should thus return to you." And Paul bowed and said, "Ay,
it is a great gift; but it seems that in finding it I have lost a
greater." And then, seeing the Knight grow paler still, if that were
possible, he said, "Sir Richard, let me tell you a parable; there was
a little bird of the wood that came to my window, and made me glad--so
that I thought of no other thing but my wild bird, that trusted me:
and while I was absent, one hath whispered it away, and it will not
return." And Sir Richard said, "Nay, Sir Paul, you are in this unjust.
What if the wild bird hath seen its mate? And, for you know not the
other side of