his gift will be accepted or cast upon the ground.

Now if that old man, perhaps not understanding, had not taken what he
offered, turning from him then, it must surely have been that Nicanor
would have shrugged his shoulders, and flung the food upon the road, and
shut up once more within his shell of surliness, with his opinion of
mankind fully justified in his own mind. But whether he wanted it or
not, the old man took his gift, with eyes grave yet always smiling upon
his lowering, half-shamed face, and said in a voice like a deep-toned
bell, so clear was it and vibrant:

"I thank thee, my son."

He ate the food, slowly; and Nicanor watched him slyly, as he ate his
own supper, fancying himself vastly indifferent to all ancient smiling
strangers. But deep down in his rough shy heart he was pleased for that
he had succeeded in not turning another soul away from him--so small a
thing has power to change the balance sometimes; and when the old man
spoke he did not wish to repulse him, as often. The stranger said, quite
as though he had a right to know:

"Son, art sure that it will be well for thee to go to Londinium? Is what
thou seekest there?"

Nicanor answered with immense surprise:

"I seek nothing."

"So?" the old man said, and smiled. "Now I thought that surely thou wert
seeking something, and very near to black despair because thou hadst not
found it."

And at once, like an echo from another world, there came to Nicanor the
memory of a time when he had wandered seeking for something which he
could not name, upon the downs, under gray skies and desolation. And he
did not know if this had really happened or had been but a dream. But he
began to think the old man very strange and rather to be feared. He
said:

"Old man, how may you tell that I seek for what I cannot find; and why
would it be not well for me in Londinium?"

The old man's face changed then, so that for an instant Nicanor was
frightened. For into it there came a high far look of utter peace, such
as the face of a holy saint who has suffered all might wear, if he
awakened. And while Nicanor stared, not knowing what to think about it,
the old man said gently:

"Son, I may tell by right of having known myself what thou art knowing
now. For the faces of men are as an open scroll to those who have
learned to read what is writ therein, and thy story is upon thee very
clear. Thou art in a world of thine own creation, but this world of men
hath a