had done on the high white tower, and loneliest of all when he held her
in his arms.

One day he found her crying. "Why do you cry, Beloved?" he asked her.

"I am lonely," she said.

"With me?"

"Yes," she sobbed, "with you. What have you to tell me but your tales of
the great winds? Other men have had their friends, their adventures. They
can relate stories of their boyhood, of their early life, but you came
from a far-off tower and know nothing of the world."

"It is true," he murmured. "I can only tell you of the skies; for all the
time of my former days on earth is dim to me."

That night they sat before the fire, for it was now autumn, and the
leaping flames showed her gold hair and her eyes like dark pools. Upon
the Golden Archer they shone, too, where he sat still and hurt, but
unable to tell his pain, because he had lived too high above the world.
The low, hoarse winds drove the flying leaves against the window glass
and whistled in the keyhole; at which Felice would shiver and cast
sidelong glances at her strange husband.

All at once on the wind came a caroling voice. Felice rushed to the
window and peered out. The voice sang:

"All that I knew of thee, my Love,
The great winds bore away.