ss
Alison sate musing a long time, smiling when she met Paul's eye, till
he said at last, "Will you not speak, mother?" "I know," she said at
last, "whom you have met, dear child--that is Mark, the great
minstrel. He travels about the land, for he is a restless man, though
the king himself would have him dwell in his court, and make music for
him. Yet I have looked for this day, though it has come when I did not
expect it. And now I must tell you a story, Paul, in my turn. Many
years ago there was a boy like you, and he loved music too and the
making of songs, and he grew to great skill therein. But it was at
last his ruin, for he got to love riotous company and feasting too
well; and so his skill forsook him, as it does those that live not
cleanly and nobly. And he married a young wife, having won her by his
songs, and a child was born to them. But the minstrel fell sick and
presently died, and his last prayer was that his son might not know
the temptation of song. And his wife lingered a little, but she soon
pined away, for her heart was broken within her; and she too died. And
now, Paul, listen, for the truth must be told--you are that child, the
son of sorrow and tears. And here you have lived with me all your
life; but because the tale was a sad one, I have forborne to tell it
you. I have waited and wondered to see whether the gift of the father
is given to the son; and sometimes I have thought it might be yours,
and sometimes I have doubted. And now, child, we will talk of this no
more to-day, for it is ill to decide in haste. Think well over what I
have said, and see if it makes a difference in your wishes. I have
told you all the tale."

Now the story that Mistress Alison had told him dwelt very much in
Paul's mind that night; but it seemed to him strange and far off, and
he did not doubt what the end should be. It was as though the sight of
the minstrel, his songs and words, had opened a window in his mind,
and that he saw out of it a strange and enchanted country, of woods
and streams, with a light of evening over it, bounded by far-off
hills, all blue and faint, among which some beautiful thing was hidden
for him to find; it seemed to call him softly to come; the trees
smiled upon him, the voice of the streams bade him make haste--it all
waited for him, like a country waiting for its lord to come and take
possession.

Then it seemed to him that his soul slipped like a bird from the
window, and rising in th