He said:
"Name any terms, reverend sir, even to the halving of my kingdom;
but banish this calamity, spare the sun!"
My fortune was made. I would have taken him up in a minute, but
I couldn't stop an eclipse; the thing was out of the question. So
I asked time to consider. The king said:
"How long--ah, how long, good sir? Be merciful; look, it groweth
darker, moment by moment. Prithee how long?"
"Not long. Half an hour--maybe an hour."
There were a thousand pathetic protests, but I couldn't shorten up
any, for I couldn't remember how long a total eclipse lasts. I was
in a puzzled condition, anyway, and wanted to think. Something
was wrong about that eclipse, and the fact was very unsettling.
If this wasn't the one I was after, how was I to tell whether this
was the sixth century, or nothing but a dream? Dear me, if I could
only prove it was the latter! Here was a glad new hope. If the boy
was right about the date, and this was surely the 20th, it _wasn't_
the sixth century. I reached for the monk's sleeve, in considerable
excitement, and asked him what day of the month it was.
Hang him, he said it was the _twenty-first_! It made me turn cold
to hear him.
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