the
bowmen were singing about the death of a boar. Its sheer merriment
constrained them. Then Miguel spoke again. "You should not leave the
forest," he said sadly.

Rodriguez sighed: it was decided. Then Miguel told him of his road,
which ran north-eastward and would one day bring him out of Spain. He
told him how towns on the way, and the river Ebro, and with awe and
reverence he spoke of the mighty Pyrenees. And then Rodriguez rose, for
the start was to be at dawn, and walked quietly through the singing out
of the hall to the room where the great bed was. And soon he slept, and
his dreams joined in the endless hunt through Shadow Valley that was
carved all round the timbers of his bed.

All too soon he heard voices, voices far off at first, to which he drew
nearer and nearer; thus he woke grudgingly out of the deeps of sleep.
It was Miguel and Morano calling him.

When at length he reached the hall all the merriment of the evening was
gone from it but the sober beauty of the forest flooded in through both
windows with early sunlight and bird-song; so that it had not the sad
appearance of places in which we have rejoiced, when we revisit them
next day or next generation and find them all deserted by dance and
song.

Rodriguez ate his breakfast while the bowmen waited with their bows all
strung by the door. When he was ready they all set off in the early
light through the forest.

Rodriguez did not criticise his ambition; it sailed too high above his
logic for that; but he regretted it, as he went through the beauty of
the forest among these happy men. But we must all have an ambition, and
Rodriguez stuck to the one he had. He had another, but it was an
ambition with weak wings that could not come to hope. It depended upon
the first. If he could win a castle in the wars he felt that he might
even yet hope towards Lowlight.

Little was said, and Rodriguez was all alone with his thoughts. In two
hours they met a bowman holding two horses. They had gone eight miles.

"Farewell to the forest," said Miguel to Rodriguez. There was almost a
query in his voice. Would Rodriguez really leave them? it seemed to say.

"Farewell," he answered.

Morano too had looked sideways towards his master, seeming almost to
wonder what his answer would be: when it came he accepted it and walked
to the horses. Rodriguez mounted: willing hands helped up Morano.
"Farewell," said Miguel once more. And all the bowmen shouted
"Farewell."