ould fail not in the keeping of that oath.

With the godspeed of the villagers ringing in his ears, he rode away.
Only once he paused to look back, when a white hand fluttered at a
casement, and Vesta's sorrowful face shone down on him like a star. Then
she, too, saw the bloodstone on his finger as he waved her a farewell,
and she, too, knew by that token he would fail not in the keeping of his
oath.

'Twas passing wonderful how soon Aldebaran began to taste the sweets of
great achievement. His name was on the tongue of every troubador, his
deeds in every minstrel's song. And though he travelled far to alien
lands, scarce known by hearsay even to the folk at home, his fame was
carried back, far over seas again, and in his father's court his name
was spoken daily in proud tones, as they recounted all his honours.

Young, strong, with the impetuous blood begotten of success tingling
through all his veins, he had no thought that dire mishap could seize on
_him_; that pain or malady or mortal weakness could pierce _his_ armour,
which youth and health had girt about him. From place to place he went,
wherever there was need of some brave champion to espouse a weak one's
cause. It mattered not who was arrayed against him, whether a tyrant
king, a dragon breathing fire, or some hideous scaly monster that preyed
upon the villages. His Sword of Conquest was unsheathed for each; and as
his courage grew with every added victory, he thirsted for some greater
foe to vanquish, remembering his youthful vow.

And as he journeyed on he pictured often to himself the day of his
returning, the day on which his vow should find fulfilment. How wide the
gates would be thrown open for his welcome! How loud would swell the
cheers of those who thronged to do him honour! His dreams were always of
that triumphal entrance, and of Vesta's approving smile. Never once the
shadow of a thought stole through his mind that it might be far
otherwise. Was not he born for conquest? Did not the very stars foretell
success?

One night, belated in a mountain pass, he sought the shelter of a
shelving rock, and with his mantle wrapped about him lay down to sleep.
Upon the morrow he would sally forth and beard the Province Terror in
his stronghold; would challenge him to combat, and after long and
glorious battle would rid the country of its dreaded foe. Already
tasting victory, he fell asleep, a smile upon his lips.

But in the night a storm swept down the m