‘If only I could get through this one night without seeing her I should be saved!’ was his silent cry. If only some one would detain him by force! If the old man would revive and hold him fast by the hem of his robe!

He sat down again and cast about for some excuse for delaying his departure. The sun had now sunk below the edge of the high plateau, and the trunks of the oaks stood out boldly against the red glow of the sky like the pillars of some gigantic portico, surmounted by an immense black roof. Not even the presence of death could mar the peace of that majestic solitude. Paul was weary and, as in the morning at the foot of the altar, he would have liked to lie down upon the stones and fall asleep.

Meanwhile the keeper had come to a decision on his own account. He entered the hut and, kneeling down beside the dying man, whispered something into his ear. The grandson looked on with suspicion and contempt, then approached the priest and said:

‘Now that you have done your duty, depart in peace. I know what has to be done now.’

At that moment the keeper came outside again.

‘He is past speaking,’ he said, ‘but he gave me to understand by a sign that he has put all his affairs in order. Nicodemus Pania,’ he added, turning towards the grandson, ‘can you assure us on your conscience that we may leave here with quiet minds?’

‘Except for the holy sacrament of extreme unction, you need not have come at all. What business have you to meddle in my affairs?’ answered the grandson truculently.

‘We must carry out the law! And don’t raise your voice like that, Nicodemus Pania!’ retorted the keeper.

‘Enough, enough, no shouting,’ said the priest, pointing to the hut.

‘You are always teaching that there is only one duty in life, and that is to do one’s own duty,’ said the keeper sententiously.

Paul sprang to his feet, struck by those words. Everything he heard now seemed meant specially for him, and he thought God was making known His will through the mouths of men. He mounted his horse and said to the old man’s grandson:

‘Stay with your grandfather until he is dead. God is great, and we never know what may happen.’

The man accompanied him part of the way, and when they were out of earshot of the keeper he said:

‘Listen, sir. My grandfather did give his money into my charge; it’s here, inside my coat. It is not much, but whatever it is, it belongs to me, doesn’t it?’

‘If your grandfather gave it to you for yourself alone, then it is yours,’ replied Paul, turning round to see if the others were following.

They were following. Antiochus was leaning on a stick he had fashioned for himself out of the branch of a tree, and the keeper, the glazed peak of his cap and the buttons of his tunic reflecting the last rays of the evening light, had halted at the corner of the path and was giving the military salute in the direction of the hut. He was saluting death. And from his rocky perch the eagle answered the salute with a last flap of his great wings before he too went to sleep.