The fire had burnt low, and the great shadow of the night lay dark upon them.  Trove got to his feet and came to the side of Darrel.

“Tell me, for God’s sake, man, tell me where is my father,” said he.

“Hush, boy!  Listen.  Hear the wind in the trees?” said Darrel.

There was a breath of silence broken by the hoot of an owl and the stir of high branches.  “Ye might as well ask o’ the wind or the wild owl,” Darrel said.  “I cannot tell thee.  Be calm, boy, and say how thou hast come to know.”

Again they sat down together, and presently Trove told him of those silent men who had ever haunted the dark and ghostly house of his inheritance.

“‘Tis thy mother’s terror,—­an’ thy father’s house,—­I make no doubt,” said Darrel, presently, in a deep voice.  “But, boy, I cannot tell any man where is thy father; not even thee, nor his name, nor the least thing, tending to point him out, until—­until I am released o’ me vow.  Be content; if I can find the man, ere long, thou shalt have word o’ him.”

Trove leaned against the breast of Darrel, shaking with emotion.  His tale had come to an odd and fateful climax.

The old man stroked his head tenderly.

“Ah, boy,” said he, “I know thy heart.  I shall make haste—­I promise thee, I shall make haste.  But, if the good God should bring thy father to thee, an’ thy head to shame an’ sorrow for his sin, forgive him, in the name o’ Christ, forgive him.  Ay, boy, thou must forgive all that trespass against thee.”

“If I ever see him, he shall know I am not ungrateful,” said the young man.

A while past twelve o’clock, those two, lying there in the firelight, thinking, rose like those startled in sleep.  A mighty voice came booming over the still water and echoed far and wide.  Slowly its words fell and rang in the great, silent temple of the woods:—­

“’Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

“’And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

“’And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

“’Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up,

“’Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

“’Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

“’Charity never faileth:  but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.’”

As the last words died away in the far woodland, Trove and Darrel turned, wiping their eyes in silence.  That flood of inspiration had filled them.  Big thoughts had come drifting down with its current.  They listened a while, but heard only the faint crackle of the fire.