ain, or Sir
Perceval, at the close of a hard day."

"Wait for the dawn, lad, and you will find it rather the castle
overgrown with briers."

"And, in the heart of them, the Rose!"

"You will find no Sleeping Beauty, though you hunt through all its
rooms. She lies yonder, Nat, somewhere out beyond the sea there."

"In a few hours we sail to her. O Prosper, and we will find her!
This is better than any dream, lad: and this is life!"

He gazed into my eyes for a moment in the moonlight, turned on his
heel, and strode away from me toward the great door, which--like
every door in the house--stood wide all the summer night. I was
staring at the shadow of the porch into which he had disappeared,
when my father touched my elbow.

"There goes a good lad," said he, quietly.

"And my best friend."

"He has sobered down strangely from the urchin I remember on
Winchester meads; and in the sobering he has grown exalted.
A man might almost say," mused my father, "that the imp in him had
shed itself off and taken flesh in that Master Fett I left snoring
with his head on my dining-table. An earthy spirit, that Master
Fett; earthy and yet somewhat inhuman. Your Nat Fiennes has the clue
of life--if only Atropos do not slit it."

Here the Vicar came out to take his leave, winding about his neck and
throat the comforter he always wore as a protective against the
night-air. It appeared later that he was nettled by Mr. Badcock's
collapsing beneath the table just as they had reached No. XX. of the
Thirty-nine Articles and passed it through committee by consent.

"God bless you, lad!" said he, and shook my hand. "In seeking your
kingdom you start some way ahead of Saul the son of Kish. You have
already discovered your father's asses."

He trudged away across the dewy park and was soon lost in the
darkness. In the dim haze under the moon, having packed Mr. Badcock
and Mr. Fett in a hand-cart, we trundled them down to the shore and
lifted them aboard. They resisted not, nor stirred.

By three o'clock our dispositions were made and Captain Pomery
professed himself ready to cast off. I returned to the house for the
last time, to awake and fetch Nat Fiennes. As I crossed the wet
sward the day broke and a lark sprang from the bracken and soared
above me singing. But I went hanging my head, heavy with lack of
sleep.

I tried five rooms and found them empty. In the sixth Nat lay
stretched upon a tattered silk coverlet.