s by adding also that, however famous, he must needs be to
all eternity--nameless?

We conversed long and earnestly in the coolness. He very frankly
counselled me not to venture unconducted further into this country.
The land of Tragedy was broad. And though on this side it lay adjacent
to the naive and civil people of Comedy; on the further, in the shadow
of those bleak, unfooted mountains, lurked unnatural horror and
desolation, and cruelty beyond all telling.

He very kindly offered me too, if I was indeed bent on seeking the
sea, an old boat, still seaworthy, that lay in a creek in the river
near by, from which he was wont to fish. As for Rosinante, he supposed
a rest would be by no means unwelcome to so faithful a friend. He
himself rode little, being indolent, and a happier host than guest;
and when I returned here, she should be stuffed with dainties awaiting
me.

To this I cordially and gratefully agreed; and also even more
cordially to remain with him the next day; and the next night after
that to take my watery departure.

So it was. And a courteous, versatile, and vivacious companion I found
him. Rare tales he told me, too, of better days than these, and rarest
of his own never-more-returning youth. He loved his childhood, talked
on of it with an artless zeal, his eyes a nest of singing-birds. How
contrite he was for spirit lost, and daring withheld, and hope
discomfited! How simple and urbane concerning his present lowly
demands on life, on love, and on futurity! All this, too, with such
packed winks and mirth and mourning, that I truly said good-night for
the second time to him with a rather melancholy warmth, since
to-morrow ... who can face unmoved that viewless sphinx? Moreover, the
sea is wide, has fishes in plenty, but never too many coraled grottoes
once poor mariners.

XV

_'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day._

--JOHN WEBSTER.

On the stroke of two next morning the doctor conducted me down to the
creek in the river-bank where he kept his boat. There was little light
but of the stars in the sky; nothing stirring. She floated dim and
monstrous on the softly-running water, a navy in germ, and could have
sat without danger thirty men like me. We stood on the bank, side by
side, eyeing her vacancy. And (I can answer for myself) night-thoughts
rose up in us at sight of her. Was it indeed only wind in the reeds
that sighed around us? only the restless water insistently whispe