And, if nothing else, she had memories.

"He will leave us," said Arbush. "He will move on." The movement of his hand on the fret made the note he plucked rise to the thin wail of an empty cry. "Do you think you are alone in your desire to want him to stay? I was nothing when we met; on the lowest rung of the ladder, one step from the mud of the gutter, bound to a swine by debts I couldn't pay. Chains which Earl broke. He saved my life-do you think I can forget that? Do you think that love must always be from a woman to a man?"

"Love?"

"Something deeper than friendship. The feeling a man has for his son. Not love as you know it, perhaps; but the thing which makes a man stand by his comrade, to kill for him, to die for him." Again the plucked string made its empty cry. "We have much in common, you and I."

The stink of taverns, bad food, poor clothing, the edge of poverty. Tunes played for bread and dances given for the sake of thrown coins. Avid faces and reaching hands, the demands on her flesh as much as her talent; the life she had once known and had almost forgotten. The stench had brought it back. The dirt of the settlement, the remembered faces, the need for money-always the need for money.

Five years in the city had made her soft. She said, bleakly, "There was a world I knew once; a small place with farms and animals and happy children. A dull place, I once thought, a world without excitement. I used to watch the ships land and long to ride with them. And then, one day, I did."

"An old tale," said Arbush. "I could tell one much the same."

"Would you go back if you could?"

To the world I left? No. A man has his pride. But there are other worlds on which a man could settle to end his days."

"Small worlds," she said. "Places where a man with the gift of music and the touch of song could make his way. Teaching, entertaining, making instruments for sale."

"And, where too, a dancer could teach her art," he pointed out. "As I said, Eloise, we have much in common. True I am old and have little to offer, but what I have is yours. Money for passage, enough left over to buy a modest place."

She said, "There's Earl."

He came towards them, touching their hands, the gesture of farewell.

Eloise said, quickly, "You're leaving, Earl. Let us come with you. To the next world at least."

"No."

"Me, then. Please!"

"To be left among strangers?" Dumarest glanced at the minstrel. "Here you have a friend."

"Earl!"

"Goodbye, Eloise."

Arbush took her arm as Dumarest walked to where the ships were waiting, turning her away, leading her towards the edge of the field.

"It's over," he said gently. "Earl has gone to find his dream. You can't go with him. No one can. It is something he must do alone."