common ground
they had; beyond it, distance immeasurable and impassable.

* * * * *

That night Nicanor was once more seeking, always seeking, for something
vague and left unnamed; past the river-ford of Thorney, where ever that
night-long search began; and so through all the world to where a garden
lay in moonlight. Here also he would have sought, for he knew that what
he strove to find was waiting. But a web of moonlight held him back from
entering; and from the outer darkness an old man's voice came to him,
clear as a deep-toned bell, which said:

"The price of heart's blood and heart's desire is pain, and for what
thou gainest, thou must pay the price."

III

In the garden was a little narrow door, vine-hung, which led to the
outer world. No one ever used this door; for long years it had stood
locked, and the key to it was lost,--so long lost that no one ever
thought to look and see that the lock was clean and newly oiled that it
might turn without noise; and the vines which half hid it on the inner
side could tell no tales.

Marcus, oldest of all the many household slaves, white-headed and
shrunken, and bent with the toil of years, squatted by the fire in the
court of the slaves' quarters, cleaning a copper pot with a swab of
twigs soaked in oil to pliancy. Within the house a feast was in
progress, so that all the slaves were there on service, and Marcus had
the fire to himself. He crooned softly as he scrubbed; and the flames
struck gleams of light from the collar of brass about his neck and the
round shining sides of the kettle, as it turned and twisted in his
hands.

Presently Nicanor came into the circle of firelight, staggering under
the weight of a great cask upon his back, with sweat-matted hair that
streaked his face, and straining muscles. Out of the zone of light he
passed, with only the panting of labored breath and the pad of naked
feet; and the darkness swallowed him. Following came another, also
laden; and another, with a squat stone jar upon his shoulder; and yet
another, each giving out every ounce of power within him, straining like
a beast of burden beneath the yoke, that those in the great house might
be served perfectly and without fault. They passed; and from the
kitchens came a rattle of crockery, a hiss of burning fat, the shrill
voices of cooks and scullery women.

Marcus flung his mop into the fire, got himself to his feet, and went
after them, ke