s of mine hosts' larder were opened wide
in his honour; but Rodriguez ate sparingly, as do weary men.

And soon he sought his bed. And on the old echoing stairs as he and
mine host ascended they met Morano leaning against the wall. What shall
I say of Morano? Reader, your sympathy is all ready to go out to the
poor, weary man. He does not entirely deserve it, and shall not cheat
you of it. Reader, Morano was drunk. I tell you this sorry truth rather
than that the knave should have falsely come by your pity. And yet he
is dead now over three hundred years, having had his good time to the
full. Does he deserve your pity on that account? Or your envy? And to
whom or what would you give it? Well, anyhow, he deserved no pity for
being drunk. And yet he was thirsty, and too tired to eat, and sore in
need of refreshment, and had had no more cause to learn to shun good
wine than he had had to shun the smiles of princesses; and there the
good wine had been, sparkling beside him merrily.

And now, why now, fatigued as he had been an hour or so ago (but time
had lost its tiresome, restless meaning), now he stood firm while all
things and all men staggered.

"Morano," said Rodriguez as he passed that foolish figure, "we go sixty
miles to-morrow."

"Sixty, master?" said Morano. "A hundred: two hundred."

"It is best to rest now," said his master.

"Two hundred, master, two hundred," Morano replied.

And then Rodriguez left him, and heard him muttering his challenge to
distance still, "Two hundred, two hundred," till the old stairway
echoed with it.

And so he came to his chamber, of which he remembered little, for sleep
lurked there and he was soon with dreams, faring further with them than
my pen can follow.

THE EIGHTH CHRONICLE

HOW HE TRAVELLED FAR

One blackbird on a twig near Rodriguez' window sang, then there were
fifty singing, and morning arose over Spain all golden and wonderful.

Rodriguez descended and found mine host rubbing his hands by his good
table, with a look on his face that seemed to welcome the day and to
find good auguries concerning it. But Morano looked as one that, having
fallen from some far better place, is ill-content with earth and the
mundane way.

He had scorned breakfast; but Rodriguez breakfasted. And soon the two
were bidding mine host farewell. They found their horses saddled, they
mounted at once, and rode off slowly in the early day. The horses were
tired and, slowly tro