I knew that I only heard them because I had been listening.
Out of the mist they rode a company of wild-looking men wearing garments
such as I had never seen before. Most of them were savage and uncouth,
and their clothes were disordered and stained as if with hard travel and
fight. I did not know--or even ask myself--why they did not frighten me,
but they did not. Suddenly I seemed to know that they were brave men
and had been doing some brave, hard thing. Here and there among them I
caught sight of a broken and stained sword, or a dirk with only a
hilt left. They were all pale, but their wild faces were joyous and
triumphant. I saw it as they drew near.
The man who seemed their chieftain was a lean giant who was darker but,
under his darkness, paler than the rest. On his forehead was a queer,
star-shaped scar. He rode a black horse, and before him he held close
with his left arm a pretty little girl dressed in strange, rich clothes.
The big man's hand was pressed against her breast as he held her; but
though it was a large hand, it did not quite cover a dark-red stain on
the embroideries of her dress. Her dress was brown, and she had brown
hair and soft brown eyes like a little doe's. The moment I saw her I
loved her.
The black horse stopped before me. The wild troop drew up and waited
behind. The great, lean rider looked at me a moment, and then, lifting
the little girl in his long arms, bent down and set her gently on her
feet on the mossy earth in the mist beside me.
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