"Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye--who is he that walketh to and
fro in the world, and having eyes, seeth not, and ears, heareth
not--a very Fool of Love?"
Once again the voices cried in answer: "Peter Vibart!--Peter Vibart!"
"Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye--who is he that shall love with
a love mightier than most--who shall suffer greatly for love and
because of it--who shall think of it by day, and dream of it o'
nights--who is he that must die to find love and the fulness of
life?--O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye!"
And again from out the green came the soft, hushed chorus: "Peter Vibart--Peter Vibart!"
But, even as I laughed, came one from the wood, with a horse and
armor. And the armor he girded on me, and the horse I mounted.
And there, in the moonlit glade, we fought, and strove together,
my Other Self and I. And, sudden and strong he smote me, so that
I fell down from my horse, and lay there dead, with my blood
soaking and soaking into the grass. And, as I watched, there
came a blackbird that perched upon my breast, carolling
gloriously. Yet, little by little, this bird changed, and lo! in
its place was a new Peter Vibart standing upon the old; and the
New trampled the Old down into the grass, and--it was gone.
Then, with his eyes on the stars, the new Peter Vibart fell
a-singing, and the words I sang were these: "For her love I carke, and care,
For her love I droop, and dare,
For her love my bliss is bare.
And I wax wan!"
And thus there came into my heart that which had been all
unknown--undreamed of hitherto, yet which, once there, could
never pass away.
"O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye--who is he that counteth
True-love sweeter than Life--greater than Wisdom--stronger than
Death? O Spirits of the Wood, I charge ye!"
And the hushed voices chorused softly.
"Peter Vibart--Peter Vibart!" And, while I listened, one by one
the voices ceased, till there but one remained--calling, calling,
but ever soft and far away, and when I would have gone toward
this voice--lo! there stood a knife quivering in the ground before
me, that grew and grew until its haft touched heaven, yet still
the voice called upon my name very softly: "Peter!--Peter!--oh, Peter, I want you!--oh, Peter!--wake! wake!"
I sat up in bed, and, as I listened, grew suddenly sick, and a
fit of trembling shook me violently, for the whisper was still
in my ears, and in the whisper was an agony of fear and dread
indescribable.