."

"Well, then," said Sir Martimor, taking Lirette by the hand, "this
Maid is to me liefer to have and to wield as my wife than any dame or
princess that is christened."

"What, brother," said Sir Lancelot, "is the wind in that quarter? And
will the Maid have thee?"

"I will well," said Lirette.

"Now are you well provided," said Sir Lancelot, "with knighthood, and a
castle, and a lady. Lacks but a motto and a name for the Blue Flower in
thy shield."

"He that names it shall never find it," said Sir Martimor, "and he that
finds it needs no name."

So Lirette rejoiced Sir Martimor and loved together during their
life-days; and this is the end and the beginning of the Story of the
Mill.

SPY ROCK

I

It must have been near Sutherland's Pond that I lost the way. For there
the deserted road which I had been following through the Highlands
ran out upon a meadow all abloom with purple loose-strife and golden
Saint-John's wort. The declining sun cast a glory over the lonely field,
and far in the corner, nigh to the woods, there was a touch of the
celestial colour: blue of the sky seen between white clouds: blue of the
sea shimmering through faint drifts of silver mist. The hope of finding
that hue of distance and mystery embodied in a living form, the old hope
of discovering the Blue Flower rose again in my heart. But it was only
for a moment, for when I came nearer I saw that the colour which had
caught my eye came from a multitude of closed gentians--the blossoms
which never open into perfection--growing so closely together that their
blended promise had seemed like a single flower.

So I harked back again, slanting across the meadow, to find the road.
But it had vanished. Wandering among the alders and clumps of gray
birches, here and there I found a track that looked like it; but as I
tried each one, it grew more faint and uncertain and at last came to
nothing in a thicket or a marsh. While I was thus beating about the bush
the sun dropped below the western rim of hills. It was necessary to make
the most of the lingering light, if I did not wish to be benighted in
the woods. The little village of Canterbury, which was the goal of my
day's march, must lie about to the north just beyond the edge of the
mountain, and in that direction I turned, pushing forward as rapidly as
possible through the undergrowth.

Presently I came into a region where the trees were larger and the
travelling was easier. It was