uld think of
nothing else; he was dazzled.

A little while after, Mark asked him whether, as they were near at
hand, he would turn aside to see Mistress Alison's grave. And Paul
said, "No; I would rather feel it were all as it used to be!"--and
then seeing that Mark looked surprised and almost grieved, Paul, with
the gentle hypocrisy of childhood, said, "I cannot bear it yet," which
made Mark silent, and he said no more, but used Paul more gently than
ever.

One day Mark said to him, very gravely, as if he had long been
pondering the matter, "It is time for me to take another pupil, Paul.
I have taught you all I know; indeed you have learned far more than I
can teach." Then he told him that he had arranged all things meetly.
That there was a certain Duke who lacked a minstrel, and that Paul
should go and abide with him. That he should have his room at the
castle, and should be held in great honour, making music only when he
would. And then Mark would have added some words of love, for he loved
Paul as a son. But Paul seemed to have no hunger in his heart, no
thought of the days they had spent together; so Mark said them not.
But he added very gently, "And one thing, Paul, I must tell you. You
will be a great master--indeed you are so already--and I can tell you
nothing about the art that you do not know. But one thing I will tell
you--that you have a human heart within you that is not yet awake: and
when it awakes, it will be very strong; so that a great combat, I
think, lies before you. See that it overcome you not!" And Paul said
wondering, "Oh, I have a heart, but it is altogether given to song."
And so Mark was silent.

Then Paul went to the Duke's Castle of Wresting and abode with him
year after year. Here, too, he made no friend; he was gracious with
all, and of a lofty courtesy, so that he was had in reverence; and he
made such music that the tears would come into the eyes of those who
heard him, and they would look at each other, and wonder how Paul
could thus tell the secret hopes of the heart. There were many women
in the castle, great ladies, young maidens, and those that attended on
them. Some of these would have proffered love to Paul, but their
glances fell before a certain cold, virginal, almost affronted look,
that he turned to meet any smile or gesture that seemed to hold in it
any personal claim, or to offer any gift but that of an equal and
serene friendship. As a maiden of the castle once said, p