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Updated: June 22, 2025
This is obviously the place for the story, based, of course, on the very modest and slender account given me by the hero of it, of young Bohun's knightly adventure. In its inception the whole affair is still mysterious to me. Looking back from this distance of time I see that he was engaged on one knightly adventure after another first Vera, then Markovitch, lastly Nina.
He always gave the impression of being half asleep, he had a way of suddenly lurching on his legs as though in another moment his desire for slumber would be too strong for him, and would send him crashing to the ground. He would be smoking an ancient briar, and his thick red hands would be clasped behind his back.... No encouraging figure for Bohun's aestheticism.
Fortune favoured him because he had no need of her favours; the discovery of coal under his Westerly acres was wholly adventitious, but it made him far and away the richest man in Radville with the possible exception of old Colonel Bohun's traditional millions. In person he is as beautiful as a snake-fence, as alluring as a stone wall.
I felt the poignancy of my age, of the country where I was, of Bohun's youth and confidence, of the war, of disease and death but behind it all happiness at the strange sense that I had to-night, that came to me sometimes from I knew not where, that the undercurrent of the river of life was stronger than the eddies and whirlpools on its surface, that it knew whither it was speeding, and that the purpose behind its force was strong and true and good....
Recognizing the King, who was arraying his ranks, Bohun sped down upon him, apparently hoping to take him. "He thought that he should dwell lightly, Win him, and have him at his will." But Bruce, in this fatal movement, when history hung on his hand and eye, uprose in his stirrups and clove Bohun's helmet, the axe breaking in that stroke.
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