le will remember at last, or whether they
will forget forever. Its lot is mine, for I was born here, and here my
life is rooted. But you are of the Children of the Unquiet Heart, whose
feet can never rest until their task of errors is completed and their
lesson of wandering is learned to the end. Until then go forth, and do
not forget that I shall remember always."

Behind her quiet voice I heard the silent call that compels us, and
passed down the street as one walking in a dream. At the place where the
path turned aside to the ruined vineyards I looked back. The low sunset
made a circle of golden rays about her head and a strange twin blossom
of celestial blue seemed to shine in her tranquil eyes.

Since then I know not what has befallen the city, nor whether it is
still called Saloma, or once more Ablis, which is Forsaken. But if
it lives at all, I know that it is because there is one there who
remembers, and keeps the hour of visitation, and treads the steep way,
and breathes the beautiful name over the spring, and sometimes I think
that long before my seeking and journeying brings me to the Blue Flower,
it will bloom for Ruamie beside the still waters of the Source.

THE MILL

I

How the Young Martimor would Become a Knight and Assay Great Adventure

When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red Launds where he did many deeds
of arms, he rested him long with play and game in a land that is, called
Beausejour. For in that land there are neither castles nor enchantments,
but many fair manors, with orchards and fields lying about them; and the
people that dwell therein have good cheer continually.

Of the wars and of the strange quests that are ever afoot in Northgalis
and Lionesse and the Out Isles, they hear nothing; but are well content
to till the earth in summer when the world is green; and when the autumn
changes green to gold they pitch pavilions among the fruit-trees and the
vineyards, making merry with song and dance while they gather harvest of
corn and apples and grapes; and in the white days of winter for pastime
they have music of divers instruments and the playing of pleasant games.

But of the telling of tales in that land there is little skill, neither
do men rightly understand the singing of ballads and romaunts. For one
year there is like another, and so their life runs away, and they leave
the world to God.

Then Sir Lancelot had great ease for a time in this quiet land, and
often he lay