s rolled
up in front of him on his horse and his frying-pan slung behind him.

"Which way?" said Rodriguez.

"Home," said Don Alderon.

"But I cannot go to your home," said Rodriguez.

"Come," said Don Alderon, as one whose plans were made. Rodriguez
without a home, without plans, without hope, went with Don Alderon as
thistledown goes with the warm wind. They rode through the forest till
it grew all so dim that only a faint tinge of greenness lay on the dark
leaves: above were patches of bluish sky like broken pieces of steel.
And a star or two were out when they left the forest. And cantering on
they came to Lowlight when the Milky Way appeared.

And there were Dona Mirana and Serafina in the hall to greet them as
they entered the door.

"What news?" they asked.

But Rodriguez hung back; he had no news to give. It was Don Alderon
that went forward, speaking cheerily to Serafina, and afterwards to his
mother, with whom he spoke long and anxiously, pointing toward the
forest sometimes, almost, as Rodriguez thought, in fear.

And a little later, when the ladies had retired, Don Alderon told
Rodriguez over the wine, with which he had tried to cheer his forlorn
companion, that it was arranged that he should marry Serafina. And when
Rodriguez lamented that this was impossible he replied that the King of
Shadow Valley wished it. And when Rodriguez heard this his astonishment
equalled his happiness, for he marvelled that Don Alderon should not
only believe that strange man's unsupported promise, but that he should
even obey him as though he held him in awe.

And on the next day Rodriguez spoke with Dona Mirana as they walked in
the glory of the garden. And Dona Mirana gave him her consent as Don
Alderon had done: and when Rodriguez spoke humbly of postponement she
glanced uneasily towards Shadow Valley, as though she too feared the
strange man who ruled over the forest which she had never entered.

And so it was that Rodriguez walked with his lady, with the sweet
Serafina in that garden again. And walking there they forgot the need
of house or land, forgot Shadow Valley with its hopes and its doubts,
and all the anxieties of the thoughts that we take for the morrow: and
when evening came and the birds sang in azaleas, and the shadows grew
solemn and long, and winds blew cool from the blazing bed of the Sun,
into the garden now all strange and still, they forgot our Earth and,
beyond the mundane coasts, drifted on