f him who is the bravest she
shall keep eternal vigil." As yet he had not risen above the level of
his forbears' bravery, only up to it. Now 'twas impossible to show the
world a greater courage, shorn as he was of strength. And even had her
horoscope willed otherwise, and she should come to him all filled with
maiden pity to share his ruined hearth, he could not say her yea. His
man's pride rose up in him, rebellious at the thought of pity from one
in whose sight he fain would be all that is strong and comely. Looking
down upon his twisted limbs, the pain that racked him was greater
torture than mere flesh can feel. Although 'twas casting heaven from
him, he drew his mantle closer, hiding his disfigured form, and prayed
with groans and writhings that she might never look on him again. So
days went by.

There came a time when, even through his all-absorbing thought of self,
there pierced the consciousness that he no longer could impose upon the
goat-herds' bounty. Food was scarce within the hut, and even though he
groaned to die, the dawns brought hunger. So at the close of day he
dragged him down the mountainside, thinking that under cover of the
dusk he would steal into the village and seek a chance to earn his
bread.

But as he neared the little town and the sound of evening bells broke on
his ear, and lighted windows marked the homes where welcome waited other
men, he winced as from a blow. This was the village he had thought to
enter in the midst of loud acclaims, its brave deliverer from the
Province Terror. Then every window in the hamlet would have blazed for
him. Then every door would have been set wide to welcome Aldebaran, the
royal son of kings, fittest to bear the Sword of Conquest. And now
Aldebaran was but the crippled makeshift of a man, who could not even
draw that Sword from out its scabbard; at whose wry features all must
turn away in loathing, and some perchance might even set the dogs to
snarling at his heels, in haste to have him gone.

"In all the world," he cried in bitterness, "there breathes no other man
whom Fate hath used so cruelly! Emptied of hope, robbed of my all, life
doth become a prison-house that dooms me to its lowest dungeon! Why
struggle any longer 'gainst my lot? Why not lie here and starve, and
thus force Death to turn the key, and break the manacles which bind me
to my misery?"

While he thus mused, footsteps came up the mountainside, a lusty voice
was raised in song, and be