George had repeated this to himself a thousand times, but he had remained
firm, had kept his counsel and had not ceased to hope that by righteous
energy and industry he might accomplish the "great and good task" which
had been required of him in Misdral's cave. When his grey lock grew, the
fairy Clementine's fish had said to him, then would he know that he had
achieved something great and good, and that he might bear once more the
name of his proud race and return home without exposing his family to any
danger. He had reached the goal, the task was completed, he might call
himself a Greylock once more, for the curl which was the pride of his
race now adorned his head too.
"The prince watched him turn very red then very pale and finally said
inquiringly "Well, my Peregrinus?" The architect fell upon his knee,
kissed the prince's hand and cried:
"I am not Peregrinus. Henceforth I am a Greylock, I am George, the
second son of the Duke Wendelin, of whom you have heard, and I must
confess to you, my noble lord, that I love your daughter Speranza,
and I would not exchange places with any god if you would but give
us your blessing.
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