138 THE SILVER SUN.

a ledge cut into the face of Veran's Mountain, spiraling around it like the staircase of a tower. Alan was hardly aware of the steep ascent, but when he finally noticed hawks circling far below, he pulled Alfie to a halt, waiting for his faintness to pass. Lysse paused anxiously, but they soon pressed on- Alan did not look down again, but fol- lowed her closely, and did not find it strange that he trusted her with his life and his love.

At the top of the mountain curved a valley, a giant cir- cle protected on all sides by ramparts of rock, filled with dells and streams, green trees and sunny meadows. Alan did not notice when they arrived. Only gradually he real- ized that Alfie's hooves fell on grass instead of rock, and that they were moving down, not up, a slope. With great effort he raised his head and focused his eyes. Lysse was leading him toward some brightly colored cloth shelters scattered amidst a grove of trees. People were coming out of them, calling to each other. Perhaps the fever was af- fecting his mind, Alan thought, or perhaps he had died and reached some realm of the blessed. He had thought no living creature could be as lovely as Lysse, but these folk were beautiful beyond description. There was a light all about them, an unworldly glow like the shimmer of Lysse's eyes. In spite of his pain and sorrow Alan felt bis heart smiling, though he could barely see their faces.

Then one of them rushed through the group, running to meet him. One of them and yet not one of them! Alan reeled in his saddle as relief and happiness struck him with all the force of unbearable sorrow. "Hal!" he tried to shout; his voice came out a husky whisper. Then strong arms helped him down from the saddle, and he wept un- ashamedly in Hal's tearful embrace.

Chapter Two.

Alan awoke to the feel of soft blankets on his bare skin, and found himself lying on a thick bed of down comfort- ers. He found it hard to believe that he had ever been exhausted and burning with feverish pain. Overhead shimmered a canopy of finely woven gold cloth; the glow of the sunlight that filtered through was like the glow of health he now felt. Luxuriously he stretched himself be- neath his covers, but stopped as a stabbing pain in his shoulder reminded him that his troubles were not a dream.

More cautiously, he raised himself on his good elbow and looked around. Hal lay sleeping a few feet away, one muscular arm thrown across his blanketed chest with childlike abandon. Alan thought that Hal looked rather pale and worn. He did not realize that he himself looked considerably worse than he felt.

He vaguely recalled his illness, the many people that ran to meet him and Lysse, and Hal's arms supporting him. He remembered Hal's broken words of comfort, the horrible pain as his wound was lanced and drained, the cool water and fresh bandages, and a springtime fragrance which made him forget he had ever known sorrow. But it all seemed so long ago.

There was a slight sound outside, and Lysse peeked

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in at the tent flap. When she saw he was awake, she en- tered, carrying a tray with a pitcher and two goblets. Her eyes were shining.

"Lysse," Alan whispered, and reached out to her with his good hand. She put down her tray and settled herself on the grass beside him, taking his hand in both of hers.

Her touch was warm, like the glow in her eyes.

"You are feeling better," she said softly.

"Much better. How long have I slept?"

"Only a night. It is the rooming of the day after we arrived. Veran's flower works quickly. They gave it to me also, for I was overwrought, and now I feel as rested as if I had never left the valley."

"And they cared for your wrists," Alan said, touching the fresh white bandages. "It is well."

"Not so much talk," she smiled, "till you are stronger.

Drink this." She poured him a goblet full of sparkling amber liquid and helped him raise it to his lips. It was delicious, cool and tangy. Alan lowered his drained glass in wonder.

"What a marvelous draught," he said. "It makes me think of nectar and honey and the juices of bright-colored fruits I have never known- What is it?"

"All of those things and more," she replied, but her eyes glanced past him.

Alan turned and saw Hal staring at him with a startled look. "What is wrong, Hal?" he asked.

"Nothing," answered Hal, bis expression changing to one of joy and wonder. "I am taken aback, that is aU.

How did you learn to speak the Old Language?"

Alan had not even realized that he and Lysse were conversing in this tongue which had once been strange to him, so natural had it now become. And Hal was speak- ing to him in the same tongue. This, then, was Hal's mysterious language that had puzzled him for so long!

He was staggered, and hard put to reply to Hal's query.

"I hardly know," he murmured. "From her eyes, I think."

"In very truth, your brother is a marvel among men, Mireldeyn," Lysse replied gravely to Hal. "His soul touched mine fearlessly. His name shall be Elwyndas among my people, for he is a brave man, and great of heart. It is no wonder you love him so."

She poured Hal a drink of her nectar, and as he took

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it Alan saw that he made no effort to conceal his scars from her. "You call him Mireldeyn?" he blurted.

"Ay. What do you call him?"

"Hal. Does it mean something to you?"

"Ay, indeed; it suits him well." She took a deep breath. "It means 'he who rules.' "

Lysse took her goblets and rose. "My father will come to you soon," she said. "Pray make your needs known to us," She gracefully took her leave.

Alan's eyes followed her, and his confused thoughts formed themselves into one compelling question. "Who are these folk, Hal?" he demanded, this time speaking in the language of Isle. "Are they of mankind, as we are, or not?"

Hal came and sat close beside him. His scarred body glowed golden in the diffused morning light. "Ah, Alan,"

he replied in a voice low with wonder, "by my troth, my dreams come alive and walk in the light of day. They are elves."

"Elves!" exclaimed Alan. A hundred childhood tales flickered through his mind, stories of cold-blooded, heart- less creatures who stole babies from cradles and ensnared the soul with their eyes. Hal saw the alarm in his face, and glanced at him keenly.

"Ay," he stated, "elves. Remember your friends of the barrow, and take care how you heed the tales of ignorant folk. These elves are not much like the pixies which old women use to frighten children."

Alan smiled, shamefaced. "Tell me about them."

"They are the true immortals," Hal said with a sort of awe. "They will never sicken or grow old, though they can be killed. They face death bravely if need be. But the death of one of their number is a terrible tragedy, a cause of deeper mourning than we can well imagine, for it is not the necessary end of their lives. All of them are deeply grateful to you for saving Lysse from such a fate."

"She could have saved herself," Alan protested, re- calling how the men bad fled before her. "She could have killed them all with a thought!"

"If she has that power, she could not, or would not use it; not for her own sake." Hal sighed. "There is much I do not understand about the People of Peace, Alan; until yesterday I did not dare to hope that they existed except in my dreams. But this much I know: like the spirits of

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the dead, they may not, or will not, intervene in the affairs

of men or the coming of fate."

"But she did intervene. She saved my life!"

"You must be a very special person, Ehvyndas."

Alan understood now that his elwedeyn name meant

"elf-friend, elf-spirit," like Veran before him. But if he

was an elf-friend, was not Hal the same?