Hal took it down and cradled it in his hands, almost fearfully. "I thank you greatly," he said, "but you can hardly know the value of the gift. This was fashioned by Llewys Lay-Maker, in the time of Veran, first of the Blessed Kings. It is centuries old, and none better has been made since. A generation ago it would have been kept in the treasure room of the Old Castle at Welden, along with the crowns of kings." He gently dusted it as he spoke, and as he turned it to the light they could see its graceful carving.

"Then is not now," said Pelys sadly, yet with keen in- terest in his eyes. "And no one deserves it better than you, who value it highly. It does no good there on the wall. So take it, lad, and play us a tune."

Hal swallowed, and tuned its eight strings as carefully as if they were made of gossamer. Then he sat down and strummed thoughtfully. The strings sounded in a bitter- sweet mode as Hal began to sing.

All my days have passed in vision Of a place beneath western skies Where peace flows like golden honey From the comb.

But the east shows forth my burden With the rays of bright sunrise.

In this land of strife my fate is Long to roam.

All my nights have passed in dreaming Of the haunts of the sinking stars, Where the people of the reaches Make their home.

But the east blots out night's gleaming Of fair Elwestrand afar,

Celydon 97 Where the elf-ships cleave the silver Salt-sea foam.

Elwestrand! Elwestrand!

Be you realm but of my mind,

Yet you've lived ten thousand lines

Of soaring song,

Elwestrand. Is the soul more sooth

Than that for which it pines?

Are there ties that closer bind

Than call so strong?

All my journey's passed in faring Through a bitter glare of gore.

But the gloaming in the west Imparts its calm.

When the burden seems past bearing, Sunset speaks of ancient lore, Of immortal sadness healed With mortal balm.

Elwestrand! Elwestrand!

Where untamed the white steed runsi

When my life's last light is gone

Will you be mine?

Or, my weary battle won,

When I reach the setting sun,

Must I farther journey on

Some rest to find,

Elwestrand?

The notes of the song died away, and the four sat in silence for a moment. Pelys stirred, shaking himself from a reverie. "Wherever did you learn to play?" he asked admiringly.

"My mother taught me. She was Welandais."

Although his curiosity was aroused to its highest pitch, Pelys knew instinctively that further questions would be unwelcome. With the courtesy of a true gentleman, he changed the subject. "It has long been my wish that my daughter might have some musical instruction, but there is no one here to teach her. Can you?"

"What?"

**Tut, tut, teach her, lad, of course!"

98 THE SILVER SUN.

Hal looked across at Lady Rosemary. "I shall do roy best," he pledged, stupefied.

"Good," snapped Pelys cheerfully. "Come in the after- noons, whenever you have time. Now let us go in to dinner."

He clapped for his retainer. The meal was waiting in a towertop chamber that caught the light of the setting sun.

Hal sat at the table with the plinset in his lap.

"I understand you have been working around the castle," Lord Pelys remarked as he passed the sweet- breads. "It is not necessary, you know. You are my guests."

Hal was still spellbound, whether from the plinset or the lady Alan could not tell. "We do not like to be idle while others work," Alan replied. "And we have learned much that is of good use."

"Well, well, since you have chosen to make yourselves useful, you must let me give you some pay." Hal was stirred back from his trance to protest, but Pelys insisted.

"Only a few pence, forsooth! I will not have you desti- tute. And I will not have you overworking, either," he added, shaking a menacing finger at the two. "You are not to neglect your exercise, your horsemanship, or your education. I have a library of fine books here, and I would take it kindly if you would use them."

"Thank you, my lord," they murmured, stunned by this peculiar manner of bestowing favors.

"And I expect you to eat with me now and then," growled his lordship. "You can't always be eating in the kitchen or the barracks. Moreover, I expect you to start sleeping in beds. I shall have rooms prepared for you."

To Alan's surprise, Hal seemed disconcerted. "With your permission, my lord, might we stay on in the stables?

I mean, if Alan will. ... It is handy to be near the horses."

Wondering what the real reason was, Alan quickly agreed. Lord Pelys looked pained, but graciously ac- quiesced.

"Won't you freeze?" asked Rosemary, astonished.

"Perhaps," Hal answered wryly-

They walked back to the stable that night in silence.

Hal stopped at a carpenliy shop for a soft rag and a little flask of oil. In the loft he sst their lantern well away from

Celydon 99

the hay and started carefully rubbing the dust and grime from his ancient, precious instrument.

"We could move into the keep if you would rather, Alan," he said without looking up. "It is a lot to ask, that you should spend your winter in a drafty stable."