[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had readily accepted the invitation, but his manner, while cheery and polite, was rather subdued still. Argeleafa watched him with the deepest concern, but he hardly glanced in her direction. For the most part he gazed out of whatever window was closest at hand, but his face, far from being peaceful and dreamy, was full of shadows.

Leafa moved closer to him, but he did not look up at her presence, or even seem to sense it. She hesitated briefly, but decided that she ought to try to speak to him again.

"Liornung," she said, sitting down beside him.

He made no answer.

She bit her lip, wondering if he had not heard her, or if he chose not to hear.

"Liornung," she said again, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He started, and looked up at her in surprise. "Why, Leafa!" he said, with a smile that was too strained for her comfort. "I didn't hear you come up. How you startled me!"

His voice was cheerful, to be sure, but it seemed so force. "Liornung, they want you to sing," she said.

"Do they now?" he said. "How kind of them. After dinner perhaps I shall sing." He smiled up into her face for a moment more, and then turned his face back to the window. When she saw the shadows returning, she hastened to distract his attention.

"Liornung!" she cried.

The urgency of her tone was unmistakeable, and he immediately looked to her again. She looked desperately into his eyes, and spread out her hands. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?" she said.

He opened his mouth as if to deny any worry on his part, but saw that she would not be put aside. There was a pause, and then he heaved a deep sigh and, getting to his feet, strode over to the window. He could see naught but his own reflection, and the reflections of the others, sitting and talking, or getting the dinner ready, all looking at ease and glad for a rest, safe for Leafa, who was still sitting with worry etched on her features. And his own self. He saw the haunted expression on his face and could not blame Leafa for her worry.

The reflections of the window seemed to fade, until they were moving about the room like so many ghosts, with echoing voices and laughter, and swift floating movements. The room seemed to reel, and the ghosts vanished, so he could see only his own face in the window, and the stars in the sky. And then everything cleared, cleared more than they ought, for the reflections were no longer hazy figures in the window, but sharp and real images that moved before his eyes. He did not recognise them at first, for he was seeking for Bella, or for Ædegard amongst them.

And then, slowly, his mind cleared, as the window had done, and the faces became familiar to him. He caught his breath, and at that sound they ceased in what they were doing, and turned their heads to him, smiling in welcome. He saw Master Ealdor, the innkeeper from home. The Inn was quite empty of guests, so Ealdor was sitting by the fire, laughing and talking with an old man. It was Old Secgrof, and he looked older and more worn than ever. Indeed, he looked as though another winter would bring not only the cold, but his death as well. And yet his face was cheerful, and he raised a hand in greeting to Liornung.

There was one more figure in the quiet Inn. She was sitting in a chair, a little distance from the fire, leaning back and watching Liornung with a little smile on her face. It was Blostma, the innkeeper's daughter. She wore an old faded apron over her gown, as if she had just come from the kitchen. Her foot was slowly beating out the time of some unheard song... some song she was waiting for him to sing. They were all watching him, just as they had in the days before he had left home. They would cease their talk, and watch him... and any moment one of them would ask him to play and sing. Blostma would ask, for she always asked, with a breathless tone of voice, and eyes full of eagerness. Did they delight in his music so much? Did it truly bring such joy to their hearts that they waited in such an anxious manner?

She was standing up. And now she would ask.

But she did not say a word. She simply came mutely to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gazed at her, through the reflection in the window. There was a long silence, and at last she spoke.

"Liornung," she said.

He waited for the request, but it did not come. His mind was filled with bewilderment. Did she not want him to sing?

"Liornung," she said again, and shook him.

And when she did so, everything faded. The stars vanished into a blackness, and the blackness began to glow softly with a golden haze. Blostma was gone... she had dispelled herself into nothingness. For a moment there was only the blackness with its faint glow, and he was tempted to let it go no farther. He should like to remain in the blackness, and imagine that he would be back at the Inn again. If he left the blackness behind, he knew what he would find. And yet, with a sinking heart, he knew he could not remain. The glow grew stronger, and the figures began to take shape again. The hand still remained on his shoulder, a for a wild moment he thought that perhaps Blostma was still there. But when all reflections had returned, it was Leafa's worried face that stood behind him, and her hand that lay on his shoulder.

"Oh, Liornung, what is wrong?" she said.

He turned away from the window, and looked about the room, studying each face in turn. As he recognised each face, his own was filled with disappointment. Truly, Blostma, her father, and Old Secgrof had disappeared, to the other side of that blackness. But when his eyes fell on Bella that lingered there, and he smiled a smile full of sorrow.

"How I envy dear Bella," he said, "for she is home."

He patted Leafa's hand, and then slipped from her grip and returned to his chair.