And Trove ran, but the way was
long between them. And the tinker called to him; "Who drains the
cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet." Quickly he was
alone, groping for his path in black darkness and presently coming
down a stairway into the moonlit chamber of his inheritance. Then
the men of the dark and a feeling of faintness and great surprise
and a broad, blue field all about him and woods in the distance,
and above the growing light of dawn. His bones were aching with
illness and overwork, his feet sore. "I have been asleep," he
said, rubbing his eyes, "and all night I have been walking."
He was in the middle of a broad field. He went on slowly and soon
fell of weakness and lay for a time with his eyes closed. He could
hear the dull thunder of approaching hoofs; then he felt a silky
muzzle touching his cheek and the tickle of a horse's mane. He
looked up at the animal, feeling her face and neck. "You feel like
Phyllis, but you are not Phyllis--you are all white," said the
young man, as he patted her muzzle. He could hear other horses
coming, and quickly she, that was bending over him, reared with an
open mouth and drove them away. She returned again, her long mane
falling on his face.
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