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diff --git a/old/52139-0.txt b/old/52139-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5303d08..0000000 --- a/old/52139-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15439 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Uther and Igraine - -Author: Warwick Deeping - -Illustrator: W. Benda - -Release Date: May 23, 2016 [EBook #52139] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UTHER AND IGRAINE *** - - - - -Produced by Christopher Wright and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - UTHER AND IGRAINE - - [Illustration: - "PELLEAS WATCHED HER AS HER GREY GOWN WENT AMID THE GREEN AND RED"] - - - - - UTHER AND IGRAINE - - - BY - - WARWICK DEEPING - - - _ILLUSTRATED BY W. BENDA_ - - - NEW YORK - THE OUTLOOK COMPANY - 1903 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY - - THE OUTLOOK COMPANY. - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. - - - PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1903. - - - - - To - - MAUDE MERRILL - - WITH THE AUTHOR'S HOMAGE - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BOOK I - - PAGE - - THE WAY TO WINCHESTER 1 - - BOOK II - - GORLOIS 93 - - BOOK III - - THE WAR IN WALES 199 - - BOOK IV - - TINTAGEL 325 - - - - -BOOK I - -THE WAY TO WINCHESTER - - - - -I - - -Beneath the dark cornices of a thicket of wind-stunted pines stood a -small company of women looking out into the hastening night. The half -light of evening lay over the scene, rolling wood and valley into -a misty mass, while the horizon stood curbed by a belt of imminent -clouds. In the western vault, a vast rent in the wall of grey gave out -a blaze of transient gold that slanted like a spear-shaft to a sullen -sea. - -A wind cried restlessly amid the trees, gusty at intervals, but tuning -its mood to a desolate and constant moan. There was an expression of -despair on the face of the west. The woods were full of a vague woe, -and of troubled breathing. The trees seemed to sway to one another, to -fling strange words with a tossing of hair, and outstretched hands. The -furze in the valley--swept and harrowed--undulated like a green lagoon. - -The women upon the hill were garbed after the fashion of grey nuns. -Their gowns stood out blankly against the ascetic trunks of the pines. -They were huddled together in a group, like sheep under a thorn hedge -when storms threaten. The dark ovals of their hoods were turned towards -the south, where the white patch of a sail showed vaguely through the -gathering grey. - -Between the hill and the cliffs lay a valley, threaded by a meagre -stream, that quavered through pastures. A mist hung there despite -the wind. Folded by a circle of oaks rose the grey walls of an -ecclesiastical building of no inconsiderable size, while the mournful -clangour of a bell came up upon the wind, with a vague sound as of -voices chanting. Valley, stream, and abbey were rapidly melting into -the indefinite background of the night. - -Suddenly a snarling murmur seemed to swell the plaining of the bell. -A dark mass that was moving through the meadows beneath like a herd -of kine broke into a fringe of hurrying specks that dissolved into -the shadows of the circle of oaks. The bell still continued to toll, -while the women beneath the pines shivered and drew closer together as -though for warmth and comfort. There was not one among them who had not -grasped the full significance of the sinister sound that had come to -them from the valley. A novice, taller than her sisters, stood forward -from the group, as though eager to catch the first evidence of the -deed that was to be done on that drear evening. She held up a hand to -those behind her, in mute appeal to them to listen. The bell had ceased -pulsing. In its stead sounded a faint eerie whimper, an occasional -shrill cry that seemed to leap out of silence like a bubble from a pool -where death has been. - -The women were shaken from their strained vigilance as by a wind. The -utter grey of the hour seemed to stifle them. Some were on their knees, -praying and weeping; one had fainted, and lay huddled against the trunk -of a pine. It was such a tragedy as was often played in those days of -disruption and despair, for Rome--the decrepit Saturn of history--had -fallen from empire to a tottering dotage. Her colonies--those Titans -of the past--still quivered beneath the doom piled upon them by the -Teuton. In Britain, the cry of a nation had gone out blindly into the -night. Vortigern had perished in the flames of Genorium. Reculbuum, -Rhutupiæ, and Durovernum had fallen. The fair fields of Kent were open -to the pirate; while Aurelius, stout soldier-king, gathered spear and -shield to remedy the need of Britain. - -The women upon the hill were but the creatures of destiny. Realism had -touched them with cynical finger. The barbarians had come shorewards -that day in their ships, and at the first breathing of the news the -abbey dependants had fled, leaving nun and novice to the mercies of the -moment. It had become a matter of flight or martyrdom. Certain fervent -women had chosen to remain beside their abbess in the abbey chapel, to -await with vesper chant and bell the coming of sword and saexe. Those -more frail of spirit had fled with the novices from the valley, and -now knelt numb with a tense terror on the brow of that windswept hill, -watching fearfully for the abbey's doom. They could imagine what was -passing in the shadowy chapel where they had so often worshipped. The -face of the Madonna would be gazing placidly on death--and on more than -death. It was all very swift--very terrible. Thenceforward cloister and -garden were theirs no more. - -A red gleam started suddenly from the black mass in the valley. The -nuns gripped hands and watched, while the gleam became a glare that -poured steadily above the dark outline of the oaks. A long flame leapt -up like a red finger above the trees. The belfry of the chapel rose -blackly from a circlet of fire, and gilded smoke rolled away nebulously -into the night. The barbarians had set torch to the place. The abbey of -Avangel went up in flame. - -The tall novice who had been kneeling in advance of the main company -rose to her feet, and turned to those who still watched and prayed -under the pines. The girl's hood had fallen back; the hair that -should have been primly coifed rolled down in billowy bronze upon her -shoulders. There was infinite pride on the wistful face--a certain -scorn for the frailer folk who wept and found sustenance in prayer. The -girl's eyes shone largely even in the meagre light under the trees, and -there was a straight courage about her lips. She approached and spoke -to the women who knelt and watched the burning abbey in a cataleptic -stupor. - -"Will you kneel all night?" she said. - -The words were scourges in their purpose. Several of the nuns looked up -from the flames in the valley. - -"Shame on you, worldling!" said one of thin and thankless visage; -"down on your knees, brat, and pray for the dead." - -The novice gave a curt, low laugh. The reproofs of a year rankled in -her like bitter herbs. - -"Let the dead bury their dead," quoth she. "I am for life and the -living." - -"Shame, shame!" came the ready response. "May the Mother of Mercy melt -your proud heart, and punish you for your sins. You are bad to the -core." - -"Shame or no shame," said the girl, "my heart can grieve for death as -well as thine, Sister Claudia; and now the abbey's burnt, you may couch -here and scold till dawn if you will. You may scold the heathen when -they come to butcher you all. I warrant they will give such a beauty -short shrift." - -The lean nun ventured no answer. She had been worsted before by this -rebellious tongue, and had discovered expediency in silence. Several -of the women had risen, and were thronging round the novice Igraine, -querulous and fearful. Implicit faith, though pious and admirable in -the extreme, neither pointed a path nor provided a lantern. Southwards -lay the sea and the barbarians; the purlieus of Andredswold came down -to touch the ocean. There was night in the sky; no refuge within miles, -and wild folk enough in the world to make travelling sufficiently -perilous. Moreover, the day's deed had harried the women's emotions -into a condition of vibrating panic. The unknown seemed to hem them in, -to smother as with a cloak. They were like children who fear to stir in -the dark, and shrink from impalpable nothingness as though a strange -hand waited to grip them to some spiritual torture. As it was, they -were fluttering among the pines like birds who fear the falcon. - -"It grows dark," said one. - -"Let Claudia pray for us." - -"Igraine, you are wiser in the world than we!" - -"Truth," said the girl, "you may bide and snivel with Claudia if you -will. I am for Anderida through the woods." - -"But the woods," said a child with wide, dark eyes, "the woods are -fearful at night." - -"They are kinder than the heathen," said Igraine, taking the girl's -hand. "Come with me; I will mother you." - -Even as she spoke the novice saw a point of fire disjoint itself from -the dark circle of the oaks below. Another and another followed it, and -began to jerk hither and thither in the meadows. The dashes of flame -gradually took a northern trend, as though the torch-bearers were for -ascending the long slope that idled up to the ragged thicket of pines. -She turned without further vigil, and made the most of her tidings in -an appeal to the women under the trees. - -"Look yonder," she said, pointing into the valley. "Let Sister Claudia -say whether she will wait till those torches come over the hill." - -There was instant hubbub among the nuns. Cooped as they had been within -the mothering arms of the Church, peril found them utterly impotent -when self-reliance and natural instinct were needed to shepherd them -from danger. The night seemed to sweep like a wheel with the burning -pyre in the meadows for axle. The torches were moving hither and -thither in fantastic fashion, as though the men who bore them were -doubling right and left in the dark, like hounds casting about for a -scent. The sight was sinister, and stirred the women to renewed panic. - -"Igraine, help us," came the cry. - -Even tyranny is welcome in times of peril. Witless, resourceless, they -gathered about her in a dumb stupor. Even Claudia lost her greed for -martyrdom and became human. They were all eager enough for the forest -now, and hungry for a leader. Igraine stood up among them like a tall -figure of hope. Her eyes were on the east, where a weird glow above the -tree tops told her that the moon was rising. - -"See," she said, "we shall have light upon our way. There is a -bridle-path through the wold here that goes north, and touches the -road from Durovernum. I am going by that path, follow who will." - -"We will follow Igraine," came the answer. - -North, east, and west lay Andredswold, sinister as a sea at night. The -hill, tangled with gorse and bracken, and sapped by burrows, dipped to -it gradually like an outjutting of the land. To the east they could see -a wide tangle of pines latticing the light of the moon. It was dark, -and the ground more than dubious to the feet. The women, nine in all, -herded close on Igraine, who walked like an Eastern shepherdess with -the sheep following in her track. First came Claudia, who had held sway -over the linen, with Malt, the stout cellaress, next Elaine and Lily, -twin sisters, two nuns, and two novices. There was much stumbling, much -clutching at one another in the dark; but, thanks to holy terror, their -progress was in measure ungracefully speedy. - -The girl Igraine led with a keen gleam in her eyes and a queer -cheerfulness upon her face, as she stepped out blithely for the dark -mass where the wold began. Her sojourn in the abbey had been brief -and stormy, a curt attempt at discipline that had failed most nobly. -One might as well have sought to hem in spring with winter as to curb -desire that leapt towards greenness and the dawn like joy. She had ever -thought more of a net for her hair than of her rosary. The little pool -in the pleasaunce had served her as her mirror, casting back a full -face set with amber shadowed eyes, and a bosom more attuned to passion -than to dreams of quiet sanctity. She had been the wayward child of the -abbey flock, flooded with homilies, surrendered to eternal penances, -yet holding her own in a fair worldly fashion that left the good women -of the place wholly to leeward. - -Thrust out into the world again she took to the wild like a fox to -the woodland, while her more tractable comrades were like caged doves -baffled by unaccustomed freedom. Matins, complines, vespers were no -more. Cold stone arched no more to tomb her fancies. Above stretched -the free dome of the sky; around, the wilderness free and untainted; in -lieu of psalms she heard the gathering cry of the wind, and the great -voice of the forest at night. - -In due course they came to where a dark mass betokened the rampart -thickets of the wold, rising like a wall across the sky. Igraine hoped -for the track, and found it running like a white fillet about the brow -of a wood. They followed till it thrust into the trees, a thin thread -in the shadows. As they went, great oaks overreached them with sinuous -limbs. The vault was fretted innumerably with the faint overdome of -the sky. Now and again a solitary star glimmered through. To the women -that place seemed like an interminable cavern, where grotto on grotto -dwindled away into oblivious gloom. But for the track's narrow comfort, -Igraine and her company would have been impotent indeed. - -The prospect was sad for these folk who had lived for peace, and had -tuned their lives to placid chants and the balm of prayer. In Britain -Christ was worshipped and the Cross adored, yet abbeys were burnt, -and children martyred, and strong towns given over to sack and fire. -Truth seemed to taunt them with the apparent impotence of their creed. -The abbess Gratia had often said that Britain, for its sloth and sin, -deserved to meet the scourge of war, and here were her words exampled -by her own stark death. The nuns talked of the state of the land, as -they plodded on through the night. There was no soul among them that -had not been grossly stirred by the fate that had overtaken Avangel, -Gratia, and her more zealous nuns. It was but natural that a cry for -vengeance should have gained voice in the hearts of these outcast -women, and that a certain querulous bitterness should have found tongue -against those in power. - -Igraine, walking in the van, listened to their words, and laughed with -some scorn in her heart. - -"You are very wise, all of you," she said presently over her shoulder. -"You speak of war and disruption as though the whole kingdom were in -the dust. True, Kent is lost, the heathen have burnt defenceless places -on the coast, and have stormed a few towns. The abbey of Avangel is not -all Britain. Have we not Aurelius and the great Uther? Our folk will -gather head anon, and push these whelps into the sea." - -"God grant it," said Claudia, with a smirk heavenward. - -"We need a man," quoth Igraine. - -"Perhaps you will find him, pert one." - -"Peril will," said the girl; "there is no hero when there is no dragon -or giant in need of the sword. Britain will find her knight ere long." - -"Lud," said Malt, the cellaress, "I wish I could find my supper." - -Thereat they all laughed, Igraine as heartily as any. - -"Perhaps Claudia will pray for manna dew," she said. - -"Scoffer!" - -"It will be cranberries, and bread and water, till better seasons come. -I have heard that there are wild grapes in the wold." - -"Bread!" quoth Malt; "did some kind soul say bread?" - -"I have a small loaf here under my habit." - -"Ah, Igraine, girl, I would chant twenty psalms for a morsel of that -loaf." - -"Chant away, sister. Begin on the 'Attendite, popule.' I believe it is -one of the longest." - -"Don't trifle with a hungry wretch." - -"The psalms, Malt, or not a crust." - -"Keep it yourself, greedy hussy; I can go without." - -"We will share it, all of us, presently," said the girl, "unless Malt -wants to eat the whole." - -They held on under the ban of night, following the track like Theseus -did his thread. At times the path struck out into a patch of open -ground, covered with scrub and bracken, or bristling thick with furze. -Igraine had never seen such timid folk as these nuns from Avangel. -If a stick cracked they would start, huddle together, and vow they -heard footsteps. They mistook an owl's hoot for a heathen cry, and a -night-jar's creaking note made them swear they caught the chafe of -steel. Once they suffered a most shrewd fright. They drove a herd -of red deer from cover, and the rush and tumultuous sound of their -galloping created a most holy panic among the women. It was some time -before Igraine could get them on the march again. - -As the night wore on they began to lag from sheer weariness. Two or -three were feeble as sickly children, and the abbey life had done -little for the body, though it had done much to deform the mind. -Igraine had to turn tyrant in very earnest. She knew the women looked -to her for courage and guidance, and that they would be hopeless -without her stronger mind to lead them. She put this knowledge to -effect, and held it like a lash over their weakly spirits. - -Igraine found abundant scope for her ingenuity. When they voted a halt -for rest, she vowed she would hold on alone and leave them. The threat -made the whole company trail after her like sheep. When they grumbled, -she told tales of the savagery and lust of the heathen, and made their -fears ache more lustily than did their feet. By such devices she kept -them to it for the greater portion of the night, knowing that the -shrewdest kindness lay in seeming harshness, and that to humour them -was but mistaken pity. - -At last--heathen or no heathen--they would go no further. It was -some hours before dawn. The trees had thinned, and through more open -colonnades they looked out on what appeared to be a grass-grown valley -sleeping peacefully under the moon. A great cedar grew near, a pyramid -of gloom. Malt, the cellaress, grumbling and groaning, crept under its -shadows, and commended Igraine to purgatorial fire. The rest, limp -and spiritless, vowed they would rather die than take another step. -Huddling together under the branches, they were soon half of them -asleep in an ecstasy of weariness. Igraine, seeing further effort -useless, surrendered to the inevitable, and lay down herself to sleep -under the tree. - - - - -II - - -Day came with an essential stealth. The great trees stood without a -rustling leaf, in a stupor of silence. A vast hush held as though the -wold knelt at orisons. Soon ripple on ripple of light surged from the -hymning east, and the night was not. - -The sleep of the women from Avangel had proved but brief and fitful, -couched as they had been under so strange a roof. They were all awake -under the cedar. Igraine, standing under its green ledges, listened to -their monotonous talk as they rehearsed their plight dismally under -the shade. The nun Claudia's voice was still raised weakly in pious -fashion; she had learnt to ape saintliness all her life, and it was a -mere habit with her. The cellaress's red face was in no measure placid; -hunger had dissipated her patience like an ague, and she found comfort -in grumbling. The younger women were less voluble, as age and custom -behoved them to be. Unnaturally bred, they were like images of wax, -capable only of receiving the impress of the minds about them. Such a -woman as Malt owed her individuality solely to the superlative cravings -of the flesh. - -About them rose the slopes of a valley, set tier on tier with trees, -nebulous, silent in the now hurrying light. Grassland, moist and -spangled, lay dew-heavy in the lap of the valley, with the track -curling drearily into a further tunnel of green. - -Igraine, scanning the trees and the stretch of grassland, found on a -sudden something to hold her gaze. On the southern side of the valley -the walls of a building showed vaguely through the trees. It was so -well screened that a transient glance would have passed over the line -of foliage without discovering the white glimmer of stone. She pointed -it out to her companions, who were quickly up from under the cedar -at the thought of the meal and the material comforts such a forest -habitation might provide. They were soon deep in the tall grass, their -habits wet to the knee with dew, as they held across the valley for the -manor amid the trees. - -The place gathered distinctness as they approached. Two horns of -woodland jutted out--enclosing and holding it jealously from the -track through the valley. There were outhouses packed away under the -trees. A garden held it on the north. The building itself was modelled -somewhat after the fashion of a Roman villa, with a porch--whitely -pillared--leading from a terrace fringed with flowers. - -The silence of the place impressed itself upon Igraine and the women as -they drew near from the meadowlands. The manor seemed lifeless as the -woods that circled it. There were no cattle--no servants to be seen, -not even a hound to bay warning on the threshold. Passing over a small -stone bridge, they went up an avenue of cypresses that led primly to -the garden and the terrace. They halted at the steps leading to the -portico. The garden, broken in places, and somewhat unkempt, glistened -with colour in the early sun; terrace and portico were void and silent; -the whole manor seemed utterly asleep. - -The women halted by the stairway, and looked dubiously into one -another's faces. There was something sinister about the place--a -prophetic hush that seemed to stand with finger on lip and bid the -curious forbear. After their march over the meadows, and considering -the hungry plight they were in, it seemed more than unreasonable to -turn away without a word. None the less, they all hesitated, beckoning -each to her fellow to set foot first in this house of silence. Igraine, -seeing their indecision, took the initiative as usual, and began to -climb the steps that led to the portico. Claudia and the rest followed -her in a body. - -Within the portico the carved doors were wide. The sun streamed down -through a latticed roof into a peristylum, where flowers grew, and a -pool shone silverly. There were statues at the angles; one had been -thrown down, and lay half buried in a mass of flowers. The place looked -wholly deserted, though, by the orderly mood of court and garden, it -could not have been long since human hands had tended it. - -The women gathered together about the little font in the centre of the -peristylum, and debated together in low tones. They were still but -half at ease with the place, and quite ready to suspect some sudden -development. The house had a scent of tragedy about it that was far -from comforting. - -Said Malt, "I should judge, sisters, that the folk have fled, and that -we are to be sustained by the hand of grace. Come and search." - -Claudia demurred a moment. - -"Is it lawful," quoth she, "to possess one's self of food and raiment -in a strange and empty house?" - -"Nonsense," said the cellaress with a sniff. - -"But, Malt, I never stole a crust in my life." - -"Better learn the craft, then. King David stole the shewbread." - -"It was given him of the priests." - -"Tut, sister, then are we wiser than David; we can thieve with our own -hands. I say this house is God-sent for our need. May I stifle if I -err." - -"Malt is right," said Igraine, laughing; "let us deprive the barbarians -of a pie or a crucifix." - -"Aye," chimed Malt, "want makes thieving honest. _Jubilate Deo._ I'm -for the pantry." - -A colonnade enclosed the peristylum on every quarter. Beneath the -shadows cast by the architrave and roof, showed the portals of the -various chambers. Igraine led the way. The first room that they essayed -appeared to have been a sleeping apartment, for there were beds in it, -the bedding lying disordered and fallen upon the floor as though there -had been a struggle, or a sudden wild flight. It was a woman's chamber, -judging by its mirror of steel, and the articles that were scattered -on floor and table. The next room proved to be a species of parlour or -living-room. A meal had been spread upon the table, and left untouched. -Platter and drinking cups were there, a dish of cakes, a joint on a -great charger, bread, olives, fruit, and wine. Armour hung on the -walls, with mirrors of steel, and paintings upon panels of wood. - -The women made themselves speedily welcome after the trials of the -night. Each was enticed by some special object, and character leaked -out queerly in the choosing. Malt ran for a beaker of wine; the cakes -were pilfered by the younger folk; Claudia--whispering of Saxon -desecration--possessed herself with an obeisance of a little silver -cross that hung upon the wall. Igraine took down a bow, a quiver -of arrows, and a sheathed hunting knife; she slung the quiver over -her shoulder, and strapped the knife to her girdle. The clear kiss -of morning had sharpened the hunger of a night, and the meal spread -in that woodland manor proved very comforting to the fugitives from -Avangel. - -Satisfied, they passed out to explore the rooms as yet unvisited. A -fine curiosity led them, for they were like children who probe the dark -places of a ruin. The eastern chambers gave no greater revealings than -did those upon the west. The kitchen quarters were empty and soundless, -though there was a joint upon the spit that hung over the ashes of a -spent fire. It seemed more than likely that the inmates had fled in -fear of the barbarians, leaving the house in the early hours of some -previous dawn. - -As yet they had not visited a room whose door opened upon the southern -quarter of the peristyle. Judging by its portal, it promised to be a -greater chamber than any of the preceding, probably the banqueting or -guest room. The door stood ajar, giving view of a frescoed wall within. - -Malt, who had waxed jovial since her communion with the tankard, pushed -the door open, and went frankly into the half light of a great chamber. -She came to an abrupt halt on the threshold, with a fat hand quavering -the symbol of a cross in the air. The women crowded the doorway, and -looked in over the cellaress's stout shoulders. - -In a gilded chair in the centre of the room sat the figure of a man. -His hands were clenched upon the lion-headed arms of the siege, and -his chin bowed down upon his breast. He was clad in purple; there were -rings upon his fingers, and his brow was bound with a band of gold. At -his feet crouched a great wolf-hound, motionless, dead. - -The women in the doorway stared on the scene in silence. The man in the -chair might have been thought asleep save for a certain stark look--a -bleak immobility that contradicted the possibility of life. Here they -had stumbled on tragedy with a vengeance. The mute face of death lurked -in the shadows, and the vast mystery of life seemed about them like a -cold vapour. It was a sudden change from sunlight into shade. - -Igraine pushed past Malt, and ventured close to the crouching hound. -Bending down, she looked into the dead man's face. It was pinched and -grey, but young, none the less, and bearing even in death a certain -sensuous haughtiness and dissolute beauty. The man had been dark, with -hair turbulent and lustrous. In his bosom glinted the silver pommel of -a knife, and there were stains upon cloak and tessellated pavement. -Clasped in one hand was a small cross of gold that looked as though it -had been plucked from a chain or necklet, and held gripped in the death -agony. The wolf-hound had been thrust through the body with a sword. - -"Hum," said Malt, with a sniff,--"Christian work here. And a comely -fellow, too--more's the pity. Look at the rings on his fingers; -I wonder whether I might take one for prayer money? It would buy -candles." - -Igraine was still looking at the dead man with strange awe in her heart. - -"Keep off," she said, thrusting off Malt; "the man has been stabbed." - -"Well, haven't I eyes too, hussy?" - -Claudia came in, white and quavering, with her crucifix up. - -"Poor wretch!" said she; "can't we bury him?" - -"Bury him!" cried Malt. - -"Yes, sister." - -"Thanks, no. It would spoil my dinner." - -Claudia gave a sudden scream, and jumped back, holding her skirts up. - -"There's blood on the floor! Holy mother! did the dog move?" - -"Move!" quoth Malt, giving the brute a kick; "what a mouse you are, -Claudia." - -"Are you sure the man's dead?" - -"Dead, and cold," said Igraine, touching his cheek, and drawing away -with a shiver. "Come away, the place makes my flesh creep. Shut the -door, Malt. Let us leave him so." - -The women from Avangel had seen enough of the manor in the forest. -Certainly, it held nothing more perilous than a corpse, perched -stiffly in a gilded chair; but the dead man seemed to exert a sinister -influence upon the spirits of the company, and to stifle any desire for -a further sojourn in the place. Folk with murder fresh upon their hands -might still be within the purlieus of the valley. The women thought -of the glooms of the forest, and of the strong walls of Anderida, and -discovered a very lively desire to be free of Andredswold, and the -threats of the unknown. - -They left the man sitting in his chair, with the hound at his feet, -and went to gather food for the day's journey. Bread they took, and -meat, and bound them in a sheet, while Malt filled a flask with wine, -and bestowed it at her girdle. Igraine still had her bow, shafts, -and hunting knife. Before sallying, they remembered the dead. It was -Igraine's thought. They went and stood before the door of the great -chamber, sang a hymn, and said a prayer. Then they left the place, and -held on into the forest. - -Nothing befell them on their way that morning. It was noon before they -struck the road from Durovernum to Anderida, a straight and serious -highway that went whitely amid wastes of scrub, thickets, and dark -knolls of trees. The women were glad of its honest comfort, and blessed -the Romans who had wrought the road of old. Later in the day they -neared the sea again. Between masses of trees, and over the slopes, -they caught glimpses of the blue plain that touched the sky. From a -little hill that gave broader view, they saw the white sails of ships -that were ploughing westward with a temperate wind. They took them for -the galleys of the Saxons, and the thought hurried them on their way -the more. - -Presently they came to a mild declivity, with a broken toll-house -standing by the roadside, and two horsemen on the watch there, as the -distant galleys swept over the sea towards the west. The men belonged -to the royal forces in Anderida. They were reticent in measure, and in -no optimistic mood. They told how the heathen had swept the coast, how -their ships had ventured even to Vectis, to burn, slay, and martyr. The -women learnt that Andred's town was some ten miles distant. There was -little likelihood, so the men said, of their getting within the walls -that night, for the place was in dread of siege, and was shut up like a -rock after dusk. - -Igraine and the nuns elected, none the less, to hold upon their way. -Despite their weariness, the women preferred to push on and gain -ground, rather than to lag and lose courage. For all they knew, the -Saxons might be soon ashore, ready to raid and slay in their very path. -They left the soldiers at the toll-house, and went downhill into a long -valley. - -Possibly they had gone a mile or more when they heard the sound of -galloping coming in their wake. On the slope of the hill they had left, -they could see a distant wave of dust curling down the road like -smoke. The two men from Andred's town were coming on at a gallop. They -were very soon within bowshot, but gave no hint of halting. Thundering -on, they drew level with the women, shouted as they went by, and held -on fast,--dust and spume flying. - -"God's curse upon the cravens," said Malt, the cellaress. - -Cravens they were in sense; yet the men had reason on their side, -and the women were left staring at the diminishing fringe of dust. -There was much frankness in the phenomenon, a curt hint that carried -emphasis, and advised action. "To the woods," it said; "to the woods, -good souls, and that quickly." - -The road ran through the flats at that place, with marsh and meadowland -on either hand. Further westward, the wold thrust forth a finger from -the north to touch the highway. Southward, scrub and grassland swept -away to the sea. It was when looking southwards that the nuns from -Avangel discovered the stark truth of the soldier's warning. Against -the skyline could be seen a number of jerking specks, moving fast over -the open land, and holding north-west as though to touch the road. They -were the figures of men riding. - -The outjutting of woodland that rolled down to edge the highway was a -quarter of a mile from where the women stood. A bleak line of roadway -parted them from the mazy refuge of the wold. They started away at -a run; Igraine and another novice dragging the nun Claudia between -them. The display was neither Olympic nor graceful; it would have been -ridiculous but for the stern need that inspired it. Igraine and her -fellows made the best of the highway. In the west, the wold seemed to -stretch an arm to them like a mother. - -The heathen raiders were coming fast over the marshes. Igraine, -dragging the panting Claudia by the hand, looked back and took measure -of the chase. There were some score at the gallop three furlongs or -more away, with others on foot, holding on to stirrups, running and -leaping like madmen. The girl caught their wild, burly look even at -that distance. They were hallooing one to another, tossing axe and -spear--making a race of it, like huntsmen at full pelt. Possibly there -was sport in hounding a company of women, with the chance of spoil and -something more brutish to entice. - -Igraine and her flock were struggling on for very life. Their feet -seemed weighted with the shackles of an impotent fear, while every -yard of the white road appeared three to them as they ran. How they -anguished and prayed for the shadows of the wood. A frail nun, winded -and lagging, began to scream like a hare when the hounds are hard on -her haunches. Another minute, and the trees seemed to stride down to -them with green-bosomed kindness. A wild scramble through a shallow -dyke brought them to bracken and a tangled barrier about the hem of the -wood. Then they were amid the sleek, solemn trunks of a beech wood, -scurrying up a shadowed aisle with the dull thudding of the nearing -gallop in their ears. - -It was borne in upon Igraine's reason as she ran that the trees would -barely save them from the purpose of pursuit. The women--limp, witless, -dazed by danger--could hardly hold on fast enough to gain the deeper -mazes of the place, and the sanctuary the wold could give. Unless the -pursuit could be broken for a season, the whole company would fall to -the net of the heathen, and only the Virgin knew what might befall them -in that solitary place. Sacrifice flashed into the girl's vision--a -sudden ecstasy of courage, like hot flame. These abbey folk had been -none too gentle with her. None the less she would essay to save them. - -She cast Claudia's hand aside, and turned away abruptly from the rest. -They wavered, looking at her as though for guidance, too flurried for -sane measures. Igraine waved them on, with a certain pride in her that -seemed to chant the triumph song of death. - -"What will you do, girl? Are you mad?" - -"Go!" was all she said. "Perhaps you will pray for me as for Gratia the -abbess." - -"They will kill you!" - -"Better one than all." - -They wavered, unwilling to be wholly selfish despite their fear and -the sounding of pursuit. There shone a fine light on the girl's face -as they beheld her--tyrannical even in heroism. Her look awed them and -made them ashamed; yet they obeyed her, and like so many winging birds -they fled away into the green shadows. - -Igraine watched them a moment, saw the grey flicker of their gowns -go amid the trees, and then turned to front her fortune. Pursing her -lips into a queer smile, she took post behind a tree bole, and waited -with an arrow fitted to her string. She heard a sluthering babel as -the men reined in, with much shouting, on the forest's margin. They -were very near now. Even as she peered round her tree trunk a figure -on foot flashed into the grass ride, and came on at the trot. The bow -snapped, the arrow streaked the shadows, and hummed cheerily into the -man's thigh. Igraine had not hunted for nothing. A second fellow edged -into view, and took the point in his shoulder. Igraine darted back some -forty paces and waited for more. - -In this fashion--slipping from tree to tree, and edging north-west--she -held them for a furlong or more. The end came soon with an empty -quiver. The wood seemed full of armed men; they were too speedy for -her, too near to her for flight. She threw the empty quiver at her -feet, with the bow athwart it, put a hand in the breast of her habit, -and waited. It was not for long. A man ran out from behind a tree and -came to a curt halt fronting her. - -He was young, burly, with a great tangle of hair, and a yellow beard -that bristled like a hound's collar. A naked sword was in his hand, -a buckler strapped between his shoulders. He laughed when he saw the -girl--the coarse laugh of a Teuton--and came some paces nearer to her, -staring in her face. She was very rich and comely in a way foreign to -the fellow's fancy. There was that in his eyes that said as much. He -laughed again, with a guttural oath, and stretched out a hand to grip -the girl's shoulder. - -An instant shimmer of steel, and Igraine had smitten him above the -golden torque that ringed his throat. Life rushed out in a red -fountain. He went back from her with a stagger, clutching at the place, -and cursing. As the blood ebbed he dropped to his knees, and thence -fell slantwise against a tree. He had found death in that stroke. - -A hand closed on the girl's wrist. The knife that had been turned -towards her own heart was smitten away and spurned to a distance. There -were men all about her--ogrish folk, moustachioed, jerkined in skins, -bare armed, bare legged. Igraine stood like a statue--impotent--frozen -into a species of apathy. The bearded faces thronged her, gaped at her -with a gross solemnity. She had no glance for them, but thought only of -the man twitching in the death trance. The wood seemed full of gruff -voices, of grotesque words mouthed through hair. - -Then the barbaric circle rippled and parted. A rugged-faced old man -with white hair and beard came forward slowly. There was a tense -silence over the throng as the old man stood and looked at the figure -at his feet. There were shadows on the earl's face, and his hands -shook, for the smitten man was his son. - -Out of silence grew clamour. Hands were raised, fingers pointed, a -sword was poised tentatively above the girl's head. The wood seemed -full of bearded and grotesque wrath, and the hollow aisles rang with -the clash of sword on buckler. But age was not for sudden violence, -though the blood of youth ebbed on the grass. The old man pointed to a -tree, spoke briefly, quietly, and the rough warriors obeyed him. - -They stripped Igraine, cast her clothes at her feet, and bound her to -the trunk of the tree with their girdles. Then they took up the body of -the dead man, and so departed into the forest. - - - - -III - - -It was well towards evening when the men disappeared into the wood, -leaving the girl bound naked to the tree. The day was calm and -tranquil, with the mood of June on the wind, and a benign sky above. -Igraine's hair had fallen from its band, and now hung in bronze masses -well-nigh to her knees, covering her as with a cloak. Her habit, shift, -and sandals lay close beside her on the grass. The barbarians had -robbed her of nothing, according to their old earl's wishes. She was -simply bound there, and left unscathed. - -When the men were gone, and she began to realise what had passed, she -felt a flush spread from face to ankle, a glow of shame that was keen -as fire. Her whole body seemed rosily flaked with blushes. The very -trees had eyes, and the wind seemed to whisper mischief. There were -none to see, none to wonder, and yet she felt like Eve in Eden when -knowledge had smitten the pure flesh with gradual shame. Though the -place was solitary as a dry planet, her aspen fancy peopled it with -life. She could still see the heavy-jowled barbaric faces staring at -her like the malign masks of a dream. - -The west was already prophetic of night. There was the golden glow of -the decline through the billowy foliage of the trees, and the shadows -were very still and reverent, for the day was passing. A beam of gold -slanted down upon Igraine's breast, and slowly died there amid her -hair. The west flamed and faded, the east grew blind. Soon the day was -not. - -Igraine watched the light faint above the trees, wondering in her heart -what might befall her before another sun could set. She had tried her -bonds, and had found them lacking sympathy in that they were staunch -as strength could make them. She was cramped, too, and began to long -for the hated habit that had trailed the galleries of Avangel, and had -brought such scorn into her discontented heart. There was no hope for -it. She was pilloried there, bound body, wrist, and ankle. Philosophy -alone remained to her, a poor enough cloak to the soul, still worse for -things tangible. - -Her plight gave her ample time for meditation. There were many chances -open to her, and even in mere possibilities fate had her at a vantage. -In the first place, she might starve, or other unsavoury folk find her, -and her second state be worse than her first. Then there were wolves in -the wold; or country people might find and release her, or even Claudia -and the women might return and see how she had fared. There was little -comfort in this last thought. She shrewdly guessed that the abbey folk -would not stop till they happened on a stone wall, or the heathen took -them. Lastly, the road was at no very great distance, and she might -hear perchance if any one passed that way. - -Presently the moon rose upon Andredswold with a stupendous splendour. -The veil of night seemed dusted with silver as it swept from her -tiar of stars. Innumerable glimmering eyes starred the foliage of -the beeches. Vague lights streamed down and netted the shadows with -mysterious magic. Here and there a tree trunk stood like a ghost, -splashed with a phosphor tunic. - -The wilderness was soundless, the billowy bastions of the trees -unruffled by a breath. The hush seemed vast, irrefutable, supreme. Not -a leaf sighed, not a wind wandered in its sleep. The great trees stood -in a silver stupor, and dreamt of the moon. The solemn aisles were -still as Thebes at midnight; the smooth boles of the beeches like ebony -beneath canopies of jet. - -The scene held Igraine in wonder. There was a mystery about a moonlit -forest that never lessened for her. The vasty void of the night, -untainted by a sound, seemed like eternity unfolded above her ken. She -forgot her plight for the time, and took to dreaming, such dreams as -the warm fancy of the young heart loves to remember. Perhaps beneath -such a benediction she thought of a pavilion set amid water lilies, and -a boy who had looked at her with boyish eyes. Yet these were childish -things. They lost substance before the chafing of the cords that bound -her to the tree. - -Presently she began to sing softly to herself for the cheating of -monotony. She was growing cold and hungry, too, despite all the magic -of the place, and the hours seemed to drag like a homily. Then with -a gradual stealthiness the creeping fear of death and the unknown -began to steal in and cramp even her buoyant courage. It was vain for -her to put the peril from her, and to trust to day and the succour -that she vowed in her heart must come. Dread smote into her more -cynically than did the night air. What might be her end? To hang there -parched, starved, delirious till life left her; to hang there still, -a loathsome, livid thing, rotting like a cloak. To be torn and fed -upon by birds. She knew the region was as solitary as death, and that -the heathen had emptied it of the living. The picture grew upon her -distraught imagination till she feared to look on it lest it should be -the lurid truth. - -It was about midnight, and she was beginning to quake with cold, when -a sound stumbled suddenly out of silence, and set her listening. It -dwindled and grew again, came nearer, became rhythmic, and ringing in -the keen air. Igraine soon had no doubts as to its nature. It was the -steady smite of hoofs on the high-road, the rhythm of a horse walking. - -Now was her chance if she dared risk the character of the rider. Doubts -flashed before her a moment, hovered, and then merged into decision. -Better to risk the unknown, she thought, than tempt starvation tied to -the tree. She made her choice and acted. - -"Help, there! Help!" - -The words went like silver through the woods. Igraine, listening -hungrily, strained forward at her bonds to catch the answer that might -come to her. The sound of hoofs ceased, and gave place to silence. -Possibly the rider was in doubt as to the testimony of his own hearing. -Igraine called again, and again waited. - -Stillness held. Then there was a stir, and a crackling as of trampled -brushwood, followed by the snort of a horse and the thrill of steel. -The sounds came nearer, with the deadened tramp of hoofs for an -underchant. Igraine, full of hope and fear, of doubt and gratitude, -kept calling for his guidance. Presently a cry came back to her in turn. - -"By the holy cross, who are you that calls?" - -"A woman," she cried in turn, "bound here by the heathen." - -"Where?" - -"Here, in a grass ride, tied to a tree." - -The words that had come to her were very welcome, heralding, as they -did, a friend, at least in race, and there was a manly depth in the -voice, too, that gave her comfort. She saw a glimmer of steel in the -shadows of the wood as man and horse drew into being from the darkness. -Moonlight played fitfully upon them, weaving silver gleams amid a smoke -of gloom, making a white mist about the man's great horse. A single -ray burnt and blazed like a halo about the rider's casque, and his -spear-point flickered like a star beneath the vaultings of the trees. -He had halted, a solitary figure wrapped round with night, and rendered -grand and wizard by the misty web of the moon. - -The sight was pathetic enough, yet infinitely fair. Light streamed -through, and fell full upon the tree where Igraine stood. The girl's -limbs were white and luminous against the dark bosom of the beech, -and her rich hair fell about her like mist. As for the strange rider, -he could at least claim the inspiration accorded to a Christian. -The servant of the Galilean has, like Constantine, a symbol in the -sky, prophetic in all need, generous of all guidance. The Cross is a -perpetual Delphi oracular on trivial matters as on the destinies of -kingdoms. The man dismounted, knelt for a moment with sword held before -him, and then rose and strode to the tree with shield held before his -face. - -Igraine was looking at the figure in armour, kindly, redly, from amid -the masses of her hair. The small noblenesses of his bearing towards -her had won her trust with a flush of gratitude. The man saw only -the white feet like marble amid the moss as he cut the thongs where -they circled the tree. The bands fell, he saw the white feet flicker, -a trail of hair waving under his shield. Then he turned on his heel -without a word, and went to tether his horse. - -The interlude was as considerate as courtesy had intended. Igraine -darted for her habit with a rapturous sigh. When the man turned -leisurely again, a tall girl met him, cloaked in grey, with her hair -still hanging about her, and sandals on her feet. - -"Mother Virgin, a nun!" - -The words seemed sudden as an echo. Igraine bent her head to hide -the half-abashed, half-smiling look upon her face. It had been thus -at Avangel. Nun and novice had worn like habits, and there had -been nothing to distinguish them save the final solemn vow. The -man's notions were plainly celibate, and, with a sudden twinkling -inspiration, she fancied they should bide so. It would make matters -smoother for them both, she thought. - -"My prayers are yours, daily, for this service," she said. - -The man bent his head to her. - -"I am thankful, madame," he answered, "that I should have been so good -fortuned as to be able to befriend you. How came you by such evil -hazard?" - -"I was of Avangel," she said. - -"You speak as of the past," quoth he, with a keen look. - -"Avangel was burnt and sacked but yesterday," she said. "Many of the -nuns were martyred; some few escaped. I was made captive here, and -bound to this tree by the heathen." - -Igraine could see the man's face darken even in the moonlight, as -though pain and wrath held mute confederacy there. He crossed himself, -and then stood with both hands on the pommel of his sword, stately and -statuesque. - -"And the Lady Gratia?" he said. - -"Dead, I fear." - -A half-heard groan seemed to come from the man's helmet. He bent his -head into the shadows and stood stiff and silent as though smitten into -thought. Presently he seemed to remember himself, Igraine, and the -occasion. - -"And yourself, madame?" he said, with a twinge of tenderness in his -voice. - -The girl blushed, and nearly stammered. - -"I am unscathed," she hastened to say, "thanks to heaven. I am safe and -whole as if I had spent the day in a convent cell. My name is Igraine, -if you would know it. I fear I have told you heavy tidings." - -The man turned his face to the sky like one who looks into other worlds. - -"It is nothing," he said, gazing into the night; "nothing but what -we must look for in these stark days. Our altars smoke, our blood is -spilt, and yet we still pray. Yet may I be cursed, and cursed again, if -I do not dye my sword for this." - -There was a sudden bleak fierceness in his voice that betrayed his -fibre and the strong thoughts that were stirring in his heart that -moment. His face looked almost fanatical in the cold gloom, gaunt, -heavy-jawed, lion-like. Igraine watched this thunder-cloud of thought -and passion in silence, thinking she would meet the man in the wrack of -life rather as friend than as foe. The brief mood seemed to pass, or at -least to lose expression. Again, there was that in the kindness of his -face that made the girl feel beneath the eye of a brother. - -"You will ride with me?" he asked. - -Igraine hesitated a moment. - -"I was for Anderida," she said, "and it is only three leagues distant. -Now that I am free I can go through the wold alone, for I am no child." - -"An insult to my manhood," said the stranger. - -"But the heathen are everywhere, and I should but cumber you." - -"Madame, you talk like a fool." - -There was a sheer sincerity about the speech that pleased Igraine. His -spirit seemed to overtop hers, and to silence argument. Proud heart! -yet without thought of debate she gave way in the most placid manner, -and was content to be shepherded. - -"I might walk at your stirrup," she said meekly. - -The man seemed to ponder. He merely looked at her with dark, solemn -eyes, showing a quiet disregard for her humility. - -"Listen to me," he said, "you, a woman, must not attempt Anderida -alone. The town will be beleaguered, or I am no prophet. To Anderida -I cannot go, for I have folk at Winchester who wait my coming. If you -can put trust in me, and will ride with me to Winchester, you will find -harbour there." - -She considered a moment. - -"Winchester," she said, "yes, and most certainly I trust you." - -The man stretched out a hand to her with a smile. - -"God willing," he said, "I will bear you safe to the place. As for your -frocks and vows, they must follow necessity, and pocket their pride. It -will not damn you to ride before a man." - -"I trow not," she said, with a little laugh that seemed to make the -leaves quiver. So they took horse together, and rode out from the beech -wood into the moonlight. - - - - -IV - - -When they were clear of the solemn beeches, and saw the road white -as white before them, Igraine began to tell the man of the doom of -Avangel, and the great end made by Gratia the abbess. The knight had -folded his red cloak and spread it for her comfort. Her tale seemed -very welcome to him despite its grievous humour, and he questioned -her much concerning Gratia, her goodness and her charity. Now it had -been well known in Avangel that Gratia had come of noble and excellent -descent, and seeing that this stranger had been familiar with her in -the past, Igraine guessed shrewdly that he himself was of some ancient -and goodly stock. To tell the truth, she was very curious concerning -him, and it was not long before she found a speech ready to her tongue -likely to draw some confession from his lips. - -"I have promised to pray for you," she said, "and pray for you I will, -seeing that you have done me so great a blessing to-night. When I bow -to the Virgin and the Saints, what name may I remember?" - -The man did not look at her, for her face was in the shadow of her hood -and his clear and white in the light of the moon. - -"To some I am known as Sir Pelleas," he said. - -"And to me?" - -"As Sir Pelleas, if it please you, madame." - -Igraine understood that she was to be pleased with the name, whether -she liked it or not. - -"Then for Sir Pelleas I will pray," she said, "and may my gratitude -avail him." - -There was silence for a space, broken by the rhythmic play of hoofs -upon the road, and the dull jar of steel. Igraine was meditating -further catechism, adapting her questions for the knowledge she wished -for. - -"You ride errant," she said presently. - -"I ride alone, madame." - -"The wold is a rude region set thick with perils." - -"Very true," quoth the man. - -"Perhaps you are a venturesome spirit." - -"I believe that I am often as careful as death." - -Igraine made her culminating suggestion. - -"Some high deed must have been in your heart," she said, "or probably -you would not have risked so much." - -The man Pelleas did not even look at her. She felt the bridle-arm that -half held her tighten unconsciously, as though he were steeling himself -against her curiosity. - -"Madame," he said very gravely, "every man's business should be for his -own heart, and I do not know that I have any need to share the right or -wrong of mine with others. It is a grand thing to be able to keep one's -own counsel. It is enough for you to know my name." - -Igraine none the less was not a bit abashed. - -"There is one thing I would hear," she said, "and that is how you came -to know of the abbess Gratia." - -For the moment the man looked black, and his lips were stern-- - -"You may know if you wish," he said. - -"Well?" - -"Madame, the Lady Gratia was my mother." - -Igraine felt a flood of sudden shame burst redly into her heart. Gratia -was the man's mother, and she had been plying him with questions, -cruelly curious. She caught a short, shallow breath, and hung her head, -shrinking like a prodigal. - -"Set me down," she said. "I am not worthy to ride with you." - -"Pardon me," quoth the man; "you did not think, not knowing I was in -pain." - -"Set me down," was all she said; "set me down--set me down." - -The man Pelleas changed his tone. - -"Madame," he said, with a sudden gentleness that made her desire to -weep, "I have forgiven you. What, then, does it matter?" - -Igraine hung her head. - -"I am altogether ashamed," she said. - -She drew her hood well over her face, and took her reproof to heart -like a veritable penitent. Even religious solemnities make little -change in the notorious weaknesses of woman. Igraine was angry, not -only for having blundered clumsily against the man's sorrow, but also -because of the somewhat graceless part she seemed to have played after -the deliverance he had vouchsafed her. As yet her character seemed to -have lost honour fast by mere brief contrast with the man's. - -Pelleas meanwhile rode with eyes watching the wan stretch of road to -the west. On either hand the woods rose up like nebulous hills bowelled -by tunnelled mysteries of gloom. He had turned his horse to the grass -beside the roadway, so that the tramp of hoofs should fall muffled on -the air. Igraine, close against his steeled breast, with his bridle-arm -about her, looked into his face from the shadows of her hood, and found -much to initiate her liking. - -If she loved strength, it was there. If she desired the grand reserve -of silent vigour, it was there also. The deeply caverned eyes watching -through the night seemed dark with a quiet destiny. The large, finely -moulded face, gaunt and white in its meditative repose, seemed fit to -front the ruins of a stricken land. It was the face of a man who had -watched and striven, who had followed truth like a shadow, and had -found the light of life in the heavens. There was bitterness there, -pain, and the ghost of a sad desire that had pleaded with death. The -face would have seemed morose, but for a certain something that made -its shadows kind. - -Instinctively, as she watched the mask of thought beneath the dark arch -of his open casque, she felt that he had memories in his heart at that -moment. His thoughts were not for her, however much she pitied him or -longed to tell him of her shame and sympathy. Nothing could come into -that sad session of remembrances, save the soul of the man and the -memories of his mother. That he was grieving deeply Igraine knew well. -His was a strong nature that brooded in silence, and felt the more; -it must be a terrible thing, she thought, to have the martyrdom of a -mother haunting the heart like a fell dream at night. - -Slipping from such a reverie, the turmoil and weariness of the past -days returned to take their tribute. Despite the strangeness of the -night, Igraine began to feel sleepy as a tired child. The magnetic -calm of the man beside her seemed to lull to slumber, while the motion -of the ride cradled her the more. The noise of hoofs, the dull clink -of scabbard against spur or harness, grew faint and faint. The woods -seemed to swim into a mist of silver. She saw, as in a dream, the -strong face above her staring calmly into the night, the long spear -poised heavenwards. Her head was on the man's shoulder. With scarcely a -thought she was asleep. - -It was then that Pelleas discovered the girl heavy in his arms, and -looked down to find her sleeping, with hood fallen and a white face -turned peacefully to his. Strangely enough, the sorrow that had taken -him seemed to make his senses vibrate strongly to the more human things -of life. The supple warmth of the girl's slim body crept up the sinews -of his arm like a subtle flame. From her half-parted lips the sigh of -her breathing came into his bosom. Over his harness clouded her hair, -and her two hands had fastened themselves upon his sword-belt with a -restful trust. - -The man bent his head and watched her in some awe. Her lips were like -autumn fruit fed wistfully on moonlight. To Pelleas, woman was still -wonderful, a creature to be touched with reverence and soft delight. -The drab, the scold, and the harlot had failed to debase the ideals -of a staunch spirit, and the fair flesh at his breast was as full of -mystery as a woman could be. - -He took his fill of gazing, feeling half ashamed of the deed, and half -dreading lest Igraine should wake suddenly and look deeply into his -eyes. He felt his flesh creep with magic when she stirred or sighed, -or when the hands upon his belt twitched in their slumber. Pelleas -had seen stark things of late, burnt hamlets, priests slaughtered and -churches in flames, children dead in the trampled places of the slain. -He had ridden where smoke ebbed heavenwards, and blood clotted the -green grass. Now this ride beneath the quiet eyes of night, with the -bosomed silence of the woods around, and this lily plucked from death -in his arms, seemed like a passage of calm after a page of tempest. -Little wonder that he looked long into the girl's face, and thrilled -to the soft sway of her bosom. He thanked God in his heart that he -had plucked her blemishless from gradual death. It was even thus, he -thought, that a good soldier should ride into Paradise bearing the soul -of the woman he loved. - -Igraine stirred little in her sleep. "Poor child," thought Pelleas, -"she has suffered much, has feared death, and is weary. Let her sleep -the night through if she can." So he drew the cloak gently about her, -said his prayers in his heart, and, holding as much as possible under -the shadows of the trees, kept watch patiently on the track before him. - -All that night Pelleas rode, thinking of his mother, with the girl -sleeping in his arms. He saw the moon go down in the west, while the -grey mist of the hour before dawn made the forest gaunt like an abode -of the dead. He heard the birds wake in brake and thicket. He saw the -red deer scamper, frightened into the glooms, and the rabbits scurrying -amid the bracken. When the east mellowed he found himself in fair -meadowlands lying locked in the depths of the wold, where flowers were -thick as on some rich tapestry, and where the scent of dawn was as the -incense of many temples. With a calm sorrow for the dead he rode on, -threading the meadowland, till the girl woke and looked up into his -face with a little sigh. Then he smiled at her half sadly, and wished -her good-morning. - -Igraine, wide-eyed, looked round in a daze. - -"Day?" she said, "and meadows? It was moonlight when I fell asleep." - -"It has dawned an hour or more." - -"Then I have slept the night through? You must be tired to death, and -stiff with holding me." - -"Not so," said Pelleas. - -"I am sorry that I have been selfish," she said. "I was asleep before I -could think. Have you ridden all night?" - -"Of course," quoth he, with a smile, "and not a soul have I seen. I -have been watching your face and the moon." - -Igraine coloured slightly, and looked sideways at him from under her -long lashes. Her sleep had chastened her, and she felt blithe as a -bird, and ready to sing. Putting the man's scarlet cloak from her, she -shook her hair from her shoulders, and sprang lightly from her seat to -the grass. - -"I will run at your side awhile," she said, "and so rest you. Perhaps -you will halt presently, and sleep an hour or two under a tree. I can -watch and keep guard with your sword." - -Pelleas smiled down at her like the sun from behind a cloud. - -"Not yet," he said; "a soldier needs no sleep for a week, and I feel -lusty as Christopher. We will go awhile before breakfast, if it please -you. There is a stream near where I can water my horse, and we can make -a meal from such stuff as I have. When you are tired, tell me, and I -will mount you here again." - -She nodded at him gravely. Grass and flowers were well-nigh to her -waist. Her gown shook showers of dew from the feathery hay. Foxgloves -rose like purple rods amid the snow webs of the wild daisy. Tangled -domes of dogrose and honeysuckle lined the white track, and there were -countless harebells lying like a deep blue haze under the green shadows -of the grass. - -Presently they came to where red poppies grew thickly in the golden -meads. Igraine ran in among them, and began to make a great posy, while -Pelleas watched her as her grey gown went amid the green and red. In -due course she came back to him holding her flowers in her bosom. - -"Scarlet is your colour," she said, "and these are the flowers of sleep -and of dreams for those that grieve. Hold them in the hollow of your -shield for me." - -Pelleas obeyed her mutely. She began to sing a soft slumberous dirge -while she walked beside the great black horse and plaited the flowers -into its mane. The man watched her with a kind of wondering pain. The -song seemed to wake echoes in him, like sea surges wake in the caverns -of a cliff. He understood Igraine's grace to him, and was grateful in -his heart. - -"How long were you mewed in Avangel?" he said, presently. - -"Long enough," quoth she, betwixt her singing, "to learn to love life." - -"So I should judge," said Pelleas, curtly. - -His tone disenchanted her. She threw the rest of the flowers aside, and -walked quietly beside him, looking up with a frank seriousness into his -face. - -"I was placed there by my parents," she said, by way of explanation, -"and against my will, for I had no hope in me to be a nun. But the -times were wild, and my father--a solemn soul--thought for the best." - -"But your novitiate. You had your choice." - -"I had my choice," she answered vaguely. "Did ever a woman choose for -the best? Avangel was no place for me." - -Pelleas eyed her somewhat sadly from his higher vantage. "The nun's is -a sorry life," he said, "when her thoughts fly over the convent walls." - -A level kindness in the words seemed to loose her tongue like magic. -Twelve long months had her sympathies been outraged, and her young -desires crushed by the heel of a so-called godliness. Never had so kind -a chance for the outpouring of her discontent come to her. Women love -an honest grumble. In a moment all her bitterness found ready flight -into the man's ears. - -"I hated it!" she said, "I hated it! Avangel had no hold on me. What -were vigils, penitences, and long prayers to a girl? They made us kneel -on stone, and sleep on boards. The chapel bell seemed to ring every -minute of the day; we had vile food, and no liberty. It was Saint This, -Saint That, from morning till night. We saw no men. We might never -dress our hair; and, believe me, there were no mirrors. I had to go to -a little pool in the garden to see my face. - -"And they were so dull,--so dismal. No one ever laughed; no one ever -told romances; all our legends were of pious things in petticoats. And -what was the use of it all? Was any one ever a jot the better? I used -to get into my cell and stamp. I felt like a corpse in a charnel-house, -and the whole world seemed dead." - -Pelleas scanned her half smilingly, half sadly. - -"I am sorry for your heart," he said. - -"Sorry! You needs must be when you are a soldier, with life in your -ears like a clarion cry." - -"Life is a sorry ballad, Sister Igraine, unless we remember the Cross." - -"Ah, yes, I have all the saints in mind--dear souls; but then, Sir -Pelleas, one cannot live on one's knees. I was made to laugh and -twinkle, and if such is sin, then a sorry nun am I." - -"You misunderstand me," said the man. "I would that a Christian held -his course over the world, with a great cross set in the west to lead -him. He can laugh and joy as he goes, sleep like the good, and take -the fruits of life in his time. Yet ever above him should be the glory -of the cross, to chasten, purge, and purify. There is no sin in living -merrily if we live well, but to plot for pleasure is to lose it. Look -at the sun; there is no need for us to be ever on our knees to him, yet -we know well it would be a sorry world without his comfort." - -"Ah," she said, with a little gesture. "I see you are too devout for -me, despite my habit. Take me up again, Sir Pelleas, and I will ride -with you, though I may not argue." - -Pelleas halted his horse, and she was soon in the saddle before him, -somewhat subdued and pensive in contrast to her former vivacity. The -man believed her a nun, and she had a character to play. Well, when she -wearied of it, which would probably be soon, she could tell him and -so end the matter. It was not long before they came to the ford across -the stream Pelleas had spoken of. It was a green spot shut in by thorn -trees, and here they made a halt as the knight had purposed. - -Before the meal Pelleas knelt by the stream and prayed. Igraine, seeing -him so devout, did likewise, though her eyes were more on the man than -on heaven. Her thoughts never got above the clouds. When they were at -their meal of meat and bread, with a horn of water from the stream, she -talked yet further of her life at Avangel, and the meagre blessing it -had been to her. It was while she talked thus that she saw something -about the man's person that fired her memory, and set her thinking of -the journey of yesterday. - -Pelleas was wearing a gold chain that bore a cross hanging above the -left breast, but with no cross over the right. Looking more keenly, -Igraine saw a broken link still hanging from the right portion of the -chain. Instinctively her thoughts fled back to the silent manor in the -wood, and the dead man seated stiffly in the great carved chair. - -Without duly weighing the possible gravity of her words, she began to -tell Pelleas of the incident. - -"Yesterday," she said, "I saw a strange thing as we fled through the -wold. We came to a villa, and, seeking food there, found it deserted, -save for a dead man seated in a chair, and stricken in the breast. The -dead man had a small gold cross clutched in his fingers, and there was -a dead hound at his feet." - -The man gave her a keen look from the depths of his dark eyes, and then -glanced at the broken chain. - -"You see that I have lost a cross," he said. - -Igraine nodded. - -"Your reason can read the rest." - -She nodded again. - -"There is nothing like the truth." - -Igraine stared at the man in some astonishment. He was cold as a frost, -and there was no shadow of discomfort on his strong face. Knowledge -had come to her so sharply that she had no answer for him at the -moment. Yet there stood a sublime certainty in her heart that this -violent deed was deserving of absolute approval, so soon had her faith -in him become like steel. - -"The man deserved death," she said presently, with a curt and ingenuous -confidence. - -Pelleas eyed her curiously. - -"How should you know?" he asked. - -"I have faith in you," was all she said. - -Pelleas smiled, despite the subject. - -"No man deserved death better." - -"And so you slew him." - -He nodded without looking at her, and she could see still the embers of -wrath in his eyes. - -"I slew him in his own manor, finding him alone, and ready to justify -himself with lies. Honour does not love such deeds; but what would -you?--Britain is free of a viper." - -"And you have blood on your hand." - -He winced slightly, and glanced at his fingers as though she had not -spoken in metaphor. - -"All is blood in these days," he said. - -"And what think you of such laws?" she ventured, with a supreme -reaching after the requirements of her Order. "What of the Cross?" - -"There was blood upon it." - -"But the blood of self-sacrifice." - -Her words moved him more than she had purposed. His dark face flushed, -and light kindled in his eyes as though the basal tenets of his life -had been called in question. He glowed like a man whose very creed -is threatened. Igraine watched the fire rising in him with a secret -pleasure,--the love of a woman for the hot courage of a man. - -"Listen to me," he said strongly; "which think you is the worthier -life: to dream in a stone cell mewed from the world like a weak weed -in a cellar, or to go forth with a red heart and a mellow honour; to -strive and smite for the weak and the wounded; to right the wrong; to -avenge the fatherless? Choose and declare." - -"Choose," she said, with a shrill laugh and a kindling colour, "truth, -and I will. Away with the rosary; give me the sword." - -Like a wild echo to her human choice came the distant cry of a horn -borne hollowly over the sleeping meadows. Both heard it and started. -The great war-horse, grazing near by, tossed his head, snorted, and -stood listening with ears twitching and head to the east. Pelleas rose -up and scanned the road from under his hand, with the girl Igraine -beside him. - -"A Saxon horn," he said laconically; "the heathen are in the woods." - - - - -V - - -As they watched, looking down betwixt two thorn trees, a faint puff -of dust rose on the road far to the east, and hung like a diminutive -cloud over the meadows. This danger signal counselled the pair. Pelleas -caught his horse and sprang to selle; Igraine clambered by his stirrup, -and was lifted to her seat before him. Pelleas slung his shield -forward, and loosened his sword. - -"If it comes to battle," he said, "I will set you down, and you must -hide in the meadows or woods, while I fight. You would but cumber me, -and be in great peril here. Rest assured, though, that I shall not -desert you while I live." - -With that he turned his horse to the road, and halted, gazing down amid -the placid fields to where the little cloud of dust had hinted at life. -It was there still, only larger, and sounded on by the distant triple -canter of horses at the gallop. Pelleas and Igraine could see three -mounted figures coming up the road amid a white haze, moving fast, as -though pressed by some as yet unseen enemy. It was soon evident to -Pelleas and the girl that one of the fugitives was a woman. - -"We will abide them," said the man, "and learn their peril. We shall be -stronger, too, for company, and may succour one another if it comes to -smiting. Look! yonder comes the heathen pack." - -A second and larger cloud of dust had appeared, a mile or less beyond -the first. Pelleas watched it awhile, and then turned and began riding -at a trot towards the west, so that the three fugitives should overtake -him. He bade Igraine keep watch over his shoulder while he scanned the -meadows before them for sign of peril or of friendly harbour. - -"Have no fear, child," he said; "I could vow, by these fields, that -there is a manor near. I trust confidently that we shall find refuge." - -Igraine smiled at him. - -"I am no coward," she said. - -"That is well spoken." - -"I would, though, that you would give me your dagger, so that, if -things come to an evil pass, I shall know how to quit myself." - -"My dagger!" he said, with a sudden stare. "I left it in the man's -heart in Andredswold." - -"Ah!" said Igraine; "then I must do without." - -The dull thunder of the nearing gallop came up to them--a stirring -sound, full of terse life and eager hazard. Pelleas spurred to a -canter, while Igraine's hair blew about his face and helmet as they -began to meet the kiss of the wind. She clung fast to him with both -hands, and told what was passing on the road in their rear. - -"How they ride," she said; "a tangle of dust and whirling hoofs. -There is a lady in blue on a white horse, with an armed man on either -flank. They are very near now. I can see the heathen far away over the -meadows. They are galloping, too, in a smoke of dust. Our folk will be -with us soon." - -In a minute the lady and her men were hurtling close in Pelleas's wake. -He spurred to a gallop in turn, and bade Igraine wave them on to his -side. The three were soon with them, stride for stride. The girl on the -white horse drew up on Pelleas's right flank. She was habited in blue -and silver--a flaxen-haired damosel, with the round face of a child. -Seemingly she was possessed of little hardihood, for her mouth was a -red streak in a waste of white, and her blue eyes so full of fear that -Igraine pitied her. She cried shrilly to Pelleas, her voice rising -above the din like the cry of a frightened bird. - -"The heathen!" she cried. - -"Many?" shouted the man. - -"Two score or more. There is a strong manor near. If we gain it we may -live." - -"How far?" - -"Not a mile over the meadows." - -"Lead on," said Pelleas; "we will follow as we may." - -The damosel on the white horse turned from the road, and headed -southwards over the meadows, with her men galloping beside her. The -long grass swayed, water-like, before them, its summer seed flying like -a mist of dew. Wood and pasture slid back on either hand. The ground -seemed to rise and fall before them as a sea, while rocks here and -there thrust up bluff noses in the grass like great lizards stirred by -the hurtling thunder of the gallop. - -On they went, with white spume on breast and bridle; leaping, swerving -where rough ground showed. To Igraine the ride was life indeed, -bringing back many a whistling gallop from the past. She felt her heart -in her leaping to the horse's stride. Now and again she took a sly look -at Pelleas's face, finding it calm and vigilant--the face of a man -whose thought ran a silent course unruffled by the breeze of peril. -She felt his bridle-arm staunchly about her like a girdle of steel. -Although she could see the dust gathering thickly on the distant road, -she felt blithe as a new bride in the man's company, and there was no -fear at all in her thought. - -The grassland began to slope gradually towards the south. A quavering -screech of joy came back to them from the woman riding in the van. -Pelleas spoke his first word during the gallop. - -"Courage," he said. "Southwards lies our refuge." - -Igraine looked over his shoulder, and saw how their flight tended down -the flank of a gentle hill into the lap of a fair valley. The grass -stretch was broken by great trees--oaks, beeches, and huge, corniced -cedars. Down in the green hollow below them a mere shone with the soul -of the sky steeped in its quiet waters. It was ringed with trailing -willows, and an island held its centre, piled with green shadows and -the grey shape of a fair manor. The place looked as peaceful as sleep -in the eye of the morning. - -The woman on the white horse bade one of her men take his bugle-horn -and blow a summons thereon to rouse the folk upon the island. Twice the -summons sounded down over the water, but there was no answering stir to -be marked about the house or garden. The place was smokeless, lifeless, -silent. Like many another home, its hearths were cold for fear of the -barbarian sword. - -As they held downhill, Igraine wove the matter through her thought like -swift silk through a shuttle. - -"Should there be no boat," she said, giving voice to her misgivings, -"what can you do for us?" - -"We must swim for it," said Pelleas, keenly. - -"It is a broad, fair water, and the horse cannot bear us both." - -"He shall, if needs be." - -She felt that the brute would, after Pelleas had spoken so. She patted -the arched black neck, and smiled at the sky as they came down to the -mere's edge at a canter. The water was lapping softly at the sedges -amid a blaze of marsh marigolds and purple flags, the surface gleaming -like glass in the sun. Half a score water-hens went winging from the -reeds, and skimming low and fast towards the island. A heron rose from -the shallows, and laboured heavenwards with legs trailing. - -Riding round the margin, they found to their joy a barge grounded in -a little bay, with sweeps ready upon the thwarts, and a horse-board -fitted at the prow. A purple cloak hung over one bulwark, trailing in -the water; a small crucifix and a few trinkets were scattered on the -poop, as though those who had used the ferry last had fled in fear, -forgetful of everything save flight. - -Then came the embarkation. The barge would but hold three horses at one -voyage, so Pelleas ordered Igraine and the rest into the boat, and bade -the men row over and return. Igraine demurred a moment. - -"Leave your horse," she said; "they may come before the boat can take -you." - -Pelleas refused her with a smile, running his fingers through the -brute's black mane. - -"I have a truer heart than that," he said. - -The men launched away, and pulled at the sweeps with a will, Igraine -helping, and doing her devoir for the man Pelleas's sake. The barge -slid away, with ripples playing from the prow, and a gush of foam -leaping from each smile of the blades. It was a hundred yards or more -to the island, and the craft was ponderous enough to make the crossing -slow. - -Pelleas sat still and watched the meadows. Suddenly--bleakly--a figure -on horseback topped the low hill on the north, and held motionless on -the summit, scanning the valley. A second joined the first. Pelleas -caught a shout, muffled by the wind, as the two plunged down at full -gallop for the mere, sleeping in its bed of green. Here were two -gentlemen who had outstripped their fellows, and were as keen as could -be to catch Pelleas before the barge could recross, and set the mere -betwixt them. Pelleas saw his hazard in a moment. Even if the barge -came before the heathen, there would be some peril of its capture in -the shallows. - -He would have to fight for it, unless he cared to swim the mere. -Provided he could deal with these two outriders before the main company -came up, well and good, the raiders would find clear water between -the quarry and their swords. He thought of Avangel, and grew iron of -heart. Then there was the nun, Igraine, with the wonderful eyes, and -hair warm as the dun woods in autumn. He was her sworn knight as far -as Winchester. God helping him, he thought, he would yet see her face -again. So he rode out grimly to get fair field for horsecraft, and -waited for the two who swept the meadows. - -Igraine, standing on the wooden stage at the water's edge, saw Pelleas -taking ground and preparing for a tussle. The barge had put off again -and had already half spanned the water. She was alone with the woman -of the white horse, who stood beside her still quaking like a reed, -and almost voiceless from the fulsome terror of an unshrived death. -Igraine had no heed for her at the moment. Her whole thought lurked -with the red shield and the black horse in the meadows. Worldly heart! -her desire burnt redly in her own bosom, and found no flutter for the -powers above. - -She saw Pelleas gathering for the course, while the heathen slackened -so as not to override their mark. A crescent of steel flashed as the -foremost man launched his axe at the knight's head. The red shield -caught and turned it. In a trice Pelleas's spear had picked the rogue -from the saddle, despite his crouching low and seeking to shun it. The -second fellow came in like a whirlwind. His horse caught the black -destrier cross counter and rolled him down like a rammed wall. Pelleas -avoided, and was up with bleak sword. Smiting low, he caught the man's -thigh, and broke the bone like a lath. The Saxon lost his seat, and -came down with a snarling yell. The rest was easy as beating down a -maimed wolf. - -The main company had just topped the hill. Pelleas, with the skirmish -ended to his credit, shook his sword at them, and led his horse into -the shallows. The barge swept in, took its burden from the bank, and -held back for the island, where Igraine stood watching on the stage, -ready with her welcome. She was glad of Pelleas in her heart, as though -the comradeship of half a day had given her the right to share his -honour, and to chime her joy with his. The woman in her swamped the -assumed sanctity of the nun. As the water stretch lessened between -them, Pelleas, silent and dark-browed as was his wont, found himself -beneath the beck of eyes that gazed like the half-born wonder of the -sky at dawn. It was neither joy nor great light in them, but a kind of -quiet musing, as though there were strange new music in her soul. - -"Are you hurt?" she asked, as he sprang from the barge and stood beside -her, with head thrown back and his great shoulders squared. - -"Not a graze." - -"Two to one, and a fair field," quoth she, with a quaver of triumph; -"my heart sang when those men went down. That was a great spear thrust." - -"Less and less of the rosary!" - -She caught his deep smile, and laughed. - -"I am a greater heathen than either," she said. "God rest their souls." - -Meanwhile the lady in the blue tunic had somewhat recovered her -squandered wits and courage. She came forward with a simpering dignity, -walking daintily, with her gown gathered in her right hand, and her -left laid over her heart. Her eyes were very big and blue, their -brightness giving her an eager, sanguine look that was upheld the more -by an assumed simpleness of manner. Her childish bearing, winsomely -studied, exercised its subtleties with a lavish embellishment of smiles -and blushes. Looked at more closely, and in repose, her face belied -in measure the perspicuous personality she had adopted. A sensual -boldness lurked in mouth and nostrils, and there was more carnal -wisdom there than a pretended child should possess. - -"Courtesy fails me, sir," she said, letting her shoulders fall into a -graceful stoop, and turning her large eyes to Pelleas's face; "courtesy -fails me when I would most praise you for your knightly deed in yonder -meadows. I am so frightened that I cannot speak as I would. My heart is -quite tired with its fear and flutter. Think you--you can save us from -these wolves?" - -Pelleas had neither the desire nor the leisure to stand juggling -courtesies with the woman. - -"Madame," he said, "we shall fight. Leave the rest to Providence. I can -give you no better comfort." - -"No," she said, "no"--as in a daze. - -Pelleas, reading her misery, repented somewhat of his abrupt -truthfulness. - -"Come," he said, with a kind strength and a hand on her shoulder; "go -to the house and rest there with Sister Igraine. I see you are too much -shaken. Go in and pray if you can, while we hold the island." - -The girl looked at him unreservedly for a moment. Then she gave a -little laugh that was half a sob, and, bending to him, kissed his hand -before he could prevent her. Giving him yet another glance from her -tumbled hair, she stepped aside to Igraine, and they turned together -towards the manor, and the trees and gardens that ringed it. The -girl had set her hand in Igraine's with a little gesture that was -intended to be indicative of confidence in the supposed nun's greater -intelligence. - -"Let us go and sit under that yew tree," she suggested. "I cannot -stifle within walls now. You are named Igraine. I am called -Morgan--Morgan la Blanche,--and I am a lord's daughter. I almost envy -you your frock now, for death cannot frighten you as it frightens me. -Of course you are very good, and the Saints guard and watch over you. -As for me, I have always been very thoughtless." - -"Not more than I," said Igraine, with a smile. "I have often hummed -romances when I should have praised Paul or Peter." - -"But doesn't the fear of death blight you like a frost?" - -"I never think of death." - -"It seems so near us now that I can hardly breathe. Do you think we are -tortured in the other world, if there be one?" - -"How should I know, simple one?" - -"I wish the mere were a league broad. I should feel further from the -pit." - -"Is your conscience so unkind?" - -"Conscience, sister? It is self-love, not conscience. I only want to -live. Look!--the heathen are coming down to the mere. How their axes -shine. Holy Mother!--I wish I could pray." - -Igraine, catching the girl's pinched face, with lips drawn and -twitching, pitied her from her very heart. - -"Come then, I will pray with you," she said. - -"No, no, my prayers would blacken heaven. I cannot, I cannot." - -The wild company had swept down between the great trees in disorderly -array. Their weapons shone in the sunlight, their round bucklers -blickered. They were soon at the place where Pelleas had slain his men -in fair and open field. Dismounting, they gathered about their dead -fellows, and sent up, after their custom, a vicious, dismal ululation, -a sound like the howling of wolves, drear enough to make the flesh -tingle under the stoutest steel. Lining the bank among the willows, -they shook buckler and axe, gesticulating, threatening, their long hair -blowing wild, their skin-clad bodies giving them a wolfin look not -pleasant to behold. Round the margin they paddled--searching--casting -about for a boat. They seemed like beasts behind the gates of some -Roman amphitheatre--caged from the slaughter. The girl Morgan looked -at them, screamed, and hid her face in her tunic. Igraine found the -girl's quaking hand, and held it fast in hers. - -"Courage, courage," she said; "there is no boat, and, even if they -swim, Sir Pelleas is a great knight." - -"What can he do against fifty?" whined the girl, with her face still -covered. - -"Fifty? There are but a score. I have numbered them myself." - -"I would give all the jewels in the world to be in Winchester." - -"Ah! girl, I have no jewels to give; but this, I promise you, is better -than a convent." - -The barbarians had gathered in a group beneath a great willow. Plainly -they were in debate as to what should be done. Some, by their gestures, -their tossing weapons, and their bombast, were for swimming the mere. -Their councils were palpably divided. Possibly the sager folk among -them did not think the venture worth the loss to them it might entail, -seeing that one of those cooped upon the island had already given proof -of no mean prowess. They could see the three armed men waiting grimly -by the water's edge, ready to strike down the swimmer who should crawl -half-naked from the water weeds and mire. Gradually, but surely, the -elder tongues held the argument, and the balance went down solemnly for -those upon the island. - -Pelleas and the two men, watching keenly for any movement, saw the -circle of figures break and melt towards the horses. They saw them -pick up the bodies of their two dead fellows, and lay them across the -saddle. In a minute the whole troop turned, and held away southwards -at a trot, flinging back a last wild cry over the water. The meadows -rolled away behind them; the gradual trees hid them from moment to -moment. Pelleas and the two servants stood and watched till the black -line had gone southwards into the thickening woods. - -Under the yew tree Morgan la Blanche had uncased her white face, and -was smiling feebly. - -"I am glad I did not pray," she said; "it would have been so weak. -Look! I have torn my tunic, and my belt's awry. Bind my hair for me, -sister, quickly,--before Sir Pelleas comes." - - - - -VI - - -With the heathen lost in the distant woods, Pelleas and the women -essayed the house, leaving the two servants to sentinel the island. - -The great gates of the porch were ajar. Pushing in, they crossed -into the atrium, and found it sleepy as solitude. The water in the -impluvium gleamed with the gold flanks of the fish that moved through -its shadows. Lilies were there, white and wonderful, swooning to their -own images in the pool. The tiled floor was rich with colour. Venturing -further, they found the triclinium untouched, rich couches and flaming -curtains everywhere, gilded chairs, and deep-lustred mirrors, urns, and -flowers. In the chapel candles were guttered on the altar; dim lights -came down upon a wealth of solemn beauty--saints, censers, crosses, -frescoed walls all green and azure, gold and scarlet. The viridarium, -set betwixt chapel and tablinum, held them dazed with a glowing -paradise of flowers. Here were dreamy palms, orange trees like mounts -of gold, roses that slept in a deep delight of green. Over all was -silence, untainted even by the silken purr of a bird's wing. - -Gynœcium and bower were void of them in turn. Everywhere they found -the relics of a swift desertion. The manor folk had gone, as if to -the ferry of death, taking no worldly store or sumptuous baggage with -them. Not a living thing did they discover, save the fish darting in -the water. The cubicula were empty, their couches tumbled; the culina -fireless, and its hearth cold. - -Pelleas and the women marvelled much at the beauty of the place; its -solitude seemed but a ghostly charm to them. As for the girl Morgan, -she had taken Pelleas into her immediate and especial favour, holding -at his side everywhere, a-bubble with delight. The luxury of the place -pleased her at every glance; her vanity ran riot like a bee among -flowers. She eyed herself furtively in mirrors, and put a rose daintily -in her hair while Pelleas was not looking. She had already rifled a -cabinet, strung a chain of amethysts about her neck, and poked her -fingers into numberless rings. Then she would try the couches, queen -it for a moment in some stately chair, or smother her face sensuously -in the flowers growing from the urns. All these pretty vapourings were -carried through with a most mischievous grace. Igraine, who had seen -the girl white and whimpering an hour before and in deadly horror of -the pit, wondered at her, and hated her liberally in her heart. - -Nor was Pelleas glad of the change her presence had wrought; for her -childish subtleties had no hold on him, and even her thieving seemed -insipid. With solemn and shadowy thoughts in his heart, her frivolous -worldliness came like some tinkling discord. Igraine seemed to have -dimmed her eyes from him beneath the shadow of her hood. Her face was -set like the face of a statue, and there was no play of thought upon -it. She walked proudly behind the pair--not with them--like one elbowed -out of companionship by a vapouring rival. - -In the women's bower Morgan found a lute, and pounced upon it. - -"One's whole desire seems here," she chattered. "This bower suits my -fancy like a dream, and I could lodge here a month for love of it. -What think you, Knight Pelleas? I never set foot in a fairer manor. I -warrant you there are meat and wine in the cellars. We will feast and -have music anon." - -Pelleas's face looked more suited to a burial. Igraine pitied him, for -his eyes looked tired and sad. Morgan ran on like a jay. In the chapel -she found Igraine a share. - -"Here is your portion, holy Sister," she said; "mine the bower, yours -the altar. So you see we are all well suited. Come, though, is it not -very horrible having to look solemn all day, and to wear a grey gown? -I should fade in a week inside such a hood; besides, it makes you look -such a colour." - -Igraine could certainly boast a colour at that moment that might have -warned the woman of her rising fume. Pelleas broke in and took up the -argument. - -"Men do not consider dress," he said; "everything is fair to the -comely. I look into a woman's face and into her eyes, and take the -measure of her heart. Such is my catechism." - -"But you like to see rich silks and a smile, and to hear a laugh at -times. What is a girl if she is not gay? No discourtesy to you, sister; -but you seem so far set from Sir Pelleas and myself." - -Igraine, lacking patience, flared up like a torch. "Ha! mark you," she -said, "my habit makes me no coward, nor do I thieve. No discourtesy to -you, my dear lady." - -Morgan set up a thrill of laughter. - -"How true a woman is a nun," quoth she; "but you are too severe, too -careful. Thieving, too; why, I may as well have a trinket or so before -the place is rifled, even if I take a single ring. And what is more, I -have been turned from my own house with hardly a bracelet or a bodkin. -Come, Sir Pelleas, let us be going; the Sister would be at her prayers. -I see we but hinder her." - -Pelleas had lost both pity and patience in the last minute. -Partisanship is inevitable even in the most trivial differences, and -Pelleas's frown was strongly for Morgan la Blanche. - -"Perhaps it would be well, madame," said he, "if we all went on our -knees for the day's deliverance. I cannot see that there is any shame -in gratitude." - -"Gratitude!" chirped the girl. "Gratitude to whom?" - -"To the Lord Saviour, madame, and the Mother Virgin." - -She half laughed in his face, but his eyes sobered her. For a moment -she fronted him with an incredulous smirk, then her glance wavered, -and lowered to his breast. It held there with a tense stare, while -her whole face hardened. Pelleas saw her pupils darken, her cheeks -flush and pale in a moment. He thought nothing of it, or ascribed her -distraught and strange look to some sudden shame or shock of penitence. -In a trice the smile was back again, and she seemed pert and pleased as -ever. - -"I see you are too devout for me," she said with a glib laugh, "and -that I am too wicked a thing for the moment. I will leave you to Sister -Igraine till you both have prayed your fill." Here she laughed again, a -laugh that made Igraine's cheeks burn. "Remember me to St. Anthony if -you may. If I recollect rightly he was a nice old gentleman, who cured -'the fire' for a miracle, and nearly fell in love with a devil. Till -you have done, I will go and gather flowers." - -Pelleas and Igraine looked at one another. - -"A devout child," said the man. - -"And not bred in a nunnery." - -"The world's convent, I should say." - -For the moment Igraine was almost for telling him of her own hypocrisy, -but the thought found her more troubled on that score than she could -have guessed. She had acted a lie to the man, and feared his true eyes -despite her courage. "Another day I will tell him," she thought; "it -is not so great a sin after all." So they turned and knelt at their -devotions. - -Morgan la Blanche went away like the wind. She ran through atrium and -porch with hate free in her eyes, and her child's face twisted into -a scowl of temper. In the garden she idled up and down awhile in a -restless fume, like one whose thoughts bubble bodingly. Sometimes she -would smite a lily peevishly with her open hand, or pluck a flower and -trample it under her feet as though it had wronged her. Then she would -take something from her bosom and stare at it while her lips worked, -or while she bit her fingers as though galled by some inward barb. -Presently she found her way by a laurel walk to the orchard, and thence -by a wicket-gate to the island's rim, where one of her men kept watch -on the further meadows. - -She stood under an apple tree, called to him, and beckoned. He came -to her--a short, burly fellow with the look of a bull, and brute writ -large on his visage. Morgan drew him under the swooping dome of the -tree, plucked something that shone from her bosom, and dangled it -before his eyes. - -"The cross," she said, almost in a whisper. "Galerius, the cross." - -The man stared at her stupidly. Morgan lifted a finger, ran this way -and that peering into the green glooms and listening. Then she came -back to the man, soft-footed, glib as a cat, with the cross of gold -gripped in her fingers. She smiled at him, a smile that was almost a -leer. - -"Galerius," she said, "the knight in the house yonder wears a chain -with one cross missing, and the fellow cross matches this. Moreover, -his poniard sheath is empty. I marked all this as I stood by him a -moment ago. This is the man who slew my lord." - -The servant's heavy face showed that he understood her well enough now. - -"To-night," she said, almost skipping under the trees with the -intensity of her malice, "it shall be with his own poniard. I have it -here. Galerius, you have always been a good fellow." - -The man grinned. - -"Keep silence and leave all to me. I shall need your hand and no more." - -"Nor shall he," said Galerius curtly. - -Morgan grew suddenly bleak and quiet, with the thought of murder -harboured in her heart. - -"Look for yourself, Galerius," she said; "see that my eyes have not -deceived me. The man must have come upon Lord Madan when he was alone, -after our hirelings had deserted the house. He slew him in the winter -room--this whelp sent by Aurelius the king. You and I, Galerius, -found the cross in my lord's dead hand, and the poniard in his bosom. -I warrant you we will level this deed before we hold again for -Winchester." - -"Trust my hand, Madame Morgan," quoth the man; "if you can have the -fellow sleeping, so much the better, one need not strike in a hurry." - -"Leave it to me," she said; "I will give you your knife and your chance -to-night." - -With that she sent the fellow back to his watching, and threaded the -orchard to the manor garden. Pelleas and Igraine had long ended their -prayers in the chapel. Morgan found them in the atrium, watching the -fish in the water and their own reflections in the pool. The girl -had quite smothered the bleak look that had held her features in the -orchard. She was the same ingenuous, self-pleased little woman whose -blue eyes seemed as clear and honest as a sleeping sea in summer. -Before, she had flown in Pelleas's face for vanity's sake; now she -seemed no less his woman--ready with smiles and childish flattery, and -all the pleasantness she could gather. She was at his side again--quick -with her eyes and tongue. Probably she guessed that the man despised -her, but then that was of no moment now, seeing that it made the secret -in her heart more bitter. - -At noon they dined in the triclinium, with man Galerius to serve. He -had ransacked kitchen and pantry, and from the ample store discovered, -had spread a sufficient meal. His eyes were ever on Pelleas as he -waited. There was no doubt about cross or poniard sheath; and Galerius -found pleasure in scanning the knight's armour and looking for the -place where he might strike. - -The afternoon proved sultry, and Pelleas took his turn in keeping watch -by the bank. Cool and placid lay the water in the sun, while vapoury -heat hung over the meadows and the distant woods. There was still -fear lest the heathen might return, thinking to catch the islanders -napping. The very abruptness of their retreat had been in itself -suspicious; and Pelleas was all for caution. Igraine's face seemed to -make him more careful of peril. He thought much of her as he paced the -green bank for three hours or more, before leaving the duty to Galerius -and his fellow. - -Returning to the manor he found Igraine cushioned on the tiled floor -beside the impluvium, fingering the lute that Morgan la Blanche had -found. The latter lady was still in the tablinum, so Igraine said, -pilfering and admiring at her leisure, with fruit and a cup of spiced -wine ready at her hand. Pelleas took post on the opposite side of the -pool to Igraine, unarmed himself at his leisure, and began to clean his -harness. No task could have pleased Igraine better. She put the lute -away, took his helmet on her lap, and burnished it with the corner of -her gown. Pelleas had sword, breast-plate, greaves and shoulder pieces -beside him. Their eyes often met over the pool as they sat with the -scent of lilies in the air, and talked little--but thought the more. - -Igraine felt queerly happy. There seemed a warm fire in her bosom, a -stealthy, happy heat that crept through every atom of her frame like -the sap into the fibres of some rich rose. Her heart seemed to unfold -itself like a flower in the sun. She looked often at Pelleas, and her -eyes were very soft and bright. - -"A fair place, this," she said presently, as the man furbished his -sword. - -"Fair indeed," said he; "a rich manor." - -"It is strange to me after Avangel." - -"Perhaps more beautiful." - -"Ah," she said, with a sudden kindling; "I think my whole soul was made -for beauty, my whole desire born for fair and lovely things. You will -smile at me for a dreamer, but often my thoughts seem to fly through -forests--marvellous green glooms all drowned in moonlight. I love to -hear the wind, to watch the great oaks battling, to see the sea one -laugh of gold. Every sunset harrows me into a moan of woe. I can sing -to the stars at night--songs such as the woods weave from the voice of -a gentle wind, dew-ladened, green and lovely. Sometimes I feel faint -for sheer love of this fair earth." - -Pelleas's eyes were on her with a strange deep look. His dark face was -aglow with a new wonder, as though his soul had flashed to hers. The -great sword lay naked and idle in his hands. - -"Often have I felt thus," he said, "but my lips could never say it. -Thoughts are given to some without words." - -"But the joy is there," she answered, with a quiet smile. - -"Joy in beauty?" - -"Yes." - -"Ah, girl, a beautiful face, or a blaze of gold and scarlet over the -western hills, are like strange wine to my heart." - -"Yes, yes, it is grand to live," said Igraine. - -Pelleas's head went down over his sword as though in thought. - -"It would seem," he said presently, "that beauty is a closed book, save -to the few. It is good to find a heart that understands." - -"Ah, that know I well," she chimed; "in Avangel they had souls like -clay; they saw nothing, understood nothing. I think I would rather die -than be soul blind." - -"So many folk," said the man, "seem to live as though they were ever -scanning the bottom of a pot. They never get beyond reflections on -appetite." - -As they talked, Morgan la Blanche came in from behind the looped -curtains, with silks, samites, siclatons, and sarcanets in her arms. -She had found some rich chest in the bower accomplice to her fingers, -and had revelled gloriously. She sat herself down near Pelleas, and -began to laugh and chatter like a pleased child. The dainty stuffs -were tossed this way and that, gathered into scarves or frills, spread -over her lap and eyed critically as to colour, before being bound in -a bale for her journey. Vain and vapid as her behaviour seemed, there -was more in this little woman's heart than either Pelleas or Igraine -could have guessed. Her whole mood was false. Foolish as she seemed on -the surface, she was more keen, more subtle by far than Igraine, whose -whole soul spelt fire and courage. - -As the day drew towards evening, Morgan became more stiff and silent. -Her eyes were bright as the jewels round her neck; they would flash -and waver, or fall at times into long, sidelong stares. More than -once Igraine caught the girl's face in hard thought, the pert lips -straight and cruel, the eyes hungry and very shallow. It reminded -her of Morgan's look in the morning, when she was in such stark fear -of the heathen and of death. Yet while she watched her, smiles and -glib vivacity would sweep back again as though there had been but a -transient cloud of thought over the girl's face. - -With the shadows lengthening, they turned, all three of them, into -the garden, and found ease on a grass bank beneath the black boughs -of a great cedar. The arch of the dark foliage cut the sky into a -semicircle of azure. All about them the grass seemed dusted with dim -flowers--blue, white, and violet. A rich company of tiger lilies bowed -to the west. Dense banks of laurels and cypresses stood like screens of -blackest marble, for the sun was sinking. As they lay under the tree, -they could look down upon the water, sheeny and glorious in the evening -peace. Further still, the willows slept like a mist of green, with the -fields Elysian and full of sweet stupors, the woods beyond standing -solemn and still at the beck of night. - -Morgan, who had brought the lute with her, began to touch the strings, -and to sing softly in a thin, elfin voice-- - - My heart is open at the hour of night - When lilies swoon - And roses kiss in bed. - When all the dreams of sad-lipped passion rise - From sleep's blue bowers - To die in lover's eyes. - Come flame, - Come fire, - A woman's bosom - Is but life's desire. - So, all my treasures are but held for love - In scarlet silks - And tapestries of snow. - I long, white-bosomed like the stars that sigh - A bed in heaven - For love's ecstasy. - Come flame, - Come fire, - A woman's bosom - Is all man's desire. - -The birds were nestling and gossiping in the laurel bushes, taking -lodging for the night. From the topmost pinnacle of the cedar, a -thrush, a feathered muezzin, had called the world to prayer. From the -mere came the cries of water-fowl; the eerie wail of the lapwing rose -in the meadows. Presently, all was still and breathless; a vast hush -seemed to hold the world. The west was fast dying. - -Under the cedar the light lurked dim and magic. Morgan's fingers were -still hovering on the strings, and she was singing to herself in a -whisper, as though she had care for nothing, save for that which was -in her heart. Pelleas and Igraine were quite near each other in the -shadow. They had looked into each other's eyes--one long, deep look. -Each had turned away troubled, yet with a sudden glory of quick anguish -in their hearts. The night seemed very subtle to them, and the whole -world sweet. - - - - -VII - - -Igraine's thoughts were to music when she went to bed that night. -Pelleas's eyes stayed with her, darkly, sadly; his tragic face seemed -to look out of the night, like the face of one dead. And he more than -liked her. She felt sure of that, even if she did not dream of kinder -things sprung from long looks and quiet sighings. She sat on her bed, -and smiled the whole strange day over to herself again. She had the -man before her in all his looks and poses; how he sat his horse, the -habit he had of looking deeply into nothingness, his strength and quiet -knightliness, and above all his devout soul. He seemed to please her -at every point in a way that set her thrilling within herself with a -delicious wonder. Last, she thought of the weird twilight under the -grand old tree--rare climax to a day of deeds and memories. She felt -her heart leap as she remembered the great wistful look that had shone -out on her from Pelleas's eyes. - -The manor house seemed still as the night itself. Morgan la Blanche had -taken herself to a couch in the triclinium, choosing it rather than one -of the cubicles leading from the atrium. Galerius was on guard, pacing -the mere's bank, while his comrade slept in the kitchen. Pelleas, -armed, with sword and shield beside him, had quartered himself on -cushions in the great porch, with the doors open. - -It was about ten o'clock. Igraine, full of sweet broodings, crept -into bed, and settled herself for sleep. The night was wonderfully -peaceful. The window of the room was overgrown with a tangle of roses, -the flowers seeming to mellow the air as it came softly in, and there -was a faint shimmer into the shadows that hinted at moonlight. Igraine -lay long awake, with her eyes on the few stars that peeped through -between the jambs. There was too much in her heart to let sleep in for -the while, and her thoughts were a'dance within her brain like wild, -fleet-footed things. As she lay in a happy fever of thought, her face -grew hot upon the pillow, and her tumbled hair was like a lustrous lava -flow over the bed. In course, despite her tossing, she fell into a -shallow, fitful sleep that verged between wakefulness and dreams. - -It was well past midnight when she started, wide awake, with the -half-dreamt memory of some eerie sound in her ears. She sat up in bed, -and listened, shivering. There were footfalls, swift and light, on the -pavement of the atrium. From somewhere came a gruff voice, speaking -tersely and in bated tones. Next, there was something that sounded like -a groan, and then silence. - -Igraine crept out of bed, hurried on her habit, opened the door gently, -and looked out. Moonlight streamed in through the square aperture in -the roof of the hall, but all else lay in darkness. The porch gates -were ajar, with a band of light slanting through upon the tiles. Eager, -tremulous, she fancied as she stood that she heard the beat of oars. -Then the low, groaning cough that she had heard before thrilled her -into action like a trumpet cry. - -She was across the court in a second, and into the darkened porch. The -doors swung back to her hands, and the night streamed in. Clear before -her, lit with a silver emphasis, lay the water, and on it she saw the -dark outline of the barge, moving with foaming oars towards the further -bank. For the moment her heart seemed to halt within her. - -"Pelleas!" she cried. "Pelleas!" - -A stifled sound answered her from a dark corner of the porch. With a -sudden frost in her bosom she saw a black rill trickling over the tiles -in the moonlight, even touching her feet. Great fear came upon her, but -left her power to think. In the triclinium she had seen a lamp, with -tinder, steel, and flint in a tray beside it, and in her fear she ran -thither, tore her fingers in her haste with stone and steel, but had -the lamp lit with such speed as she had never learnt at Avangel. Then -she went back trembling into the porch. - -The knight Pelleas lay in the corner, half propped against the wall. -His head was bowed down upon his chest, and he had both hands clasped -upon the neck-band of his tunic. Blood was trickling from his mouth, -and he seemed to be hardly breathing, while under the left arm-pit -shone the silver hilt of the knife that had been thrust there by -Galerius's hand. To the thought of the girl it seemed as if the man -were in his death agony. - -The utter realism of the moment drove all fear from her. She set the -lamp on the tiles, and kneeling by Pelleas, pulled the knife slowly -from his side. A gush of blood followed. She strove to staunch it with -a corner of her gown. The man was quite unconscious, and never heeded -her, though he was still breathing jerkily and feebly, with a rattling -stridor in his throat. She lifted his head and rested it upon her -shoulder, while she knelt and pressed her hand over the wound, dreading -to see him die each moment. - -For an hour she knelt, cold and almost bare-kneed, on the stone floor, -holding the man to her, watching his breathing with a tense fear, -pressing upon the wound as though ethereal life would ebb and mock -her fingers. Little by little she felt the warm flow cease, felt her -fingers stiffened at their task, while the minutes dragged like æons, -and the lamp flickered low in the night. At last she knew that the -issue was stayed, and that Pelleas bled no more. Gradually, fearfully, -lest life should fall away like a poised wand, she laid the man -down, and again watched with her hand over the stricken side. He was -breathing more noticeably now, with less of the look of death about -him. Encouraged thus, she dared to meditate leaving him to find wine, -and sheets to cover him there. When she essayed to move she found her -habit clotted to the wound where she had held it. It took her minutes -to cut the cloth through with the knife that had stabbed Pelleas, for -she was palsied lest the wound should break again and lose her her -love's labour. - -Free at last, she fled into her room, tore the clothes in which she -had lain from the bed, and carried them trailing into the porch. Then, -lamp in hand, she spoiled the triclinium of rugs and cushions, and -found there the chalice of wine that Morgan had sipped from. Ladened, -she struggled back across the hall, fearing all the while to find the -man parted. No such foul fortune, however. He was breathing better and -better. - -Then she set to to make a bed. She spread cushions and rugs; and then, -so slowly, so gently, that she seemed hardly to move, she had the man -laid upon the couch, with two cushions under his head. Next she covered -him with the clothes taken from her own bed. Thus much completed -without mishap, she washed his lips and face with water taken from the -pool, trickled some wine down his throat, and set the doors wide to -watch for dawn. - -So pressed had she been by the man's peril, that even the right of -thought had been denied her. Now, seated by the lamp, she began to sift -matters as well as her meagre knowledge would suffer, keeping constant -watch on wounded Pelleas the while. She knew that Morgan and her men -were gone in the barge, but as to who gave Pelleas his wound, she could -come to no clear understanding in her heart. There must have been some -deep feud for such a stroke, though she could find no reason for the -deed. Still, she could believe anything of that chit Morgan la Blanche, -and there the riddle rested for a season. - -Before long she saw the summer dawn stealing silently and mysteriously -into the east. The face of the sky grew grey with waking light, and the -hold of the moon and night relaxed on wood and meadow. Then the birds -began in the garden, till she thought their shrill piping must wake -Pelleas from his swoon, so blithe and lusty were they. The east was -forging day fast in its furnace of gold. The glare touched the clouds -and rolled them into wreaths of amber fire. - -A sigh from the couch brought her to her feet like magic. She went and -knelt by the bed in quite a tumult of expectation. Pelleas's hands -were groping feebly over the coverlet like weak, blind things. Igraine -caught them in hers, thrilled as they closed upon her fingers, and, -bending low, she waited with her lips almost on the man's, her hair on -his forehead, her eyes fixed on his closed lids. All her soul seemed -to droop above him like a lily over a grave. Presently he sighed again, -stirred and opened his eyes full on Igraine's, as she knelt and mingled -her breath with his. - -"Pelleas," she whispered. "Pelleas." - -He looked at her for a moment with a dazed stare that dawned into a -smile that made her long to sing. - -"It is Igraine," she said. - -Pelleas caught a deep breath, and groaned as his stricken side twinged -to the quick. - -Igraine put two fingers on his lips. - -"Lie still," she said, "lie still if you love earth. You must not -speak, no, not one little word. I must have you quiet as a child, -Pelleas. You have been so near death." - -She felt the man's hand answer hers. He did not speak or move, but lay -and looked at her as a little child in a cradle looks at its mother, or -as a dog eyes his master. Igraine put his hands gently down upon the -coverlet, and smiled at him. - -"Lie so, Pelleas," she said; "be very quiet, for I am to leave you, for -a minute and no more. You must not move a finger, or I shall scold." - -She beamed at him, started up and ran straight to the chapel, her heart -a-whimper with a joy that was not mute. She went full length on the -altar steps with her face turned to the cross above--the cross whose -golden arms were aglow with the sun through the eastern window. In her -mood, the white Christ's face seemed to smile on her with equal joy. -She learnt more in that moment than Avangel had taught her in a year. - -Hardly five minutes had passed before she was with Pelleas again, -bearing fruit and olives, bread and oil. She made a sweet dish of bread -and berries, with some wine in it for his heart's sake, and then knelt -at his side to feed him. She would not let him lift a finger, but -served him herself with silver spoon and platter, smiling to give him -courage as he obeyed her like a babe. It seemed very pitiful to her -that so much strength and manliness should have been smitten so low -in one brief night. None the less, the man's feebleness brought her -more joy than ever his courage had done, and his peril had discovered -clear wells of ruth in her that might have been months hidden but for -the hand of Galerius. When Pelleas had finished the bread and fruit, -she gave him more wine, and then set to to bathe his hands and face -with scented water taken from the tablinum. Pelleas's eyes, with deep -shadows under them now, watched her all the while with a kind of -wondering calm. The sunlight flooded in, and lit her hair like red -gold, and made her neck to shine like alabaster. Meeting his look, she -reddened, and turned to hide her face for a moment, that he might not -see all that was writ there in letters of flame. - -"Now you must sleep, Pelleas," she said, crossing his hands upon the -quilt. - -He shook his head feebly. - -"I am going to leave you," she persisted, "so you must not flout me, -Pelleas. I shall be here, ready, when you wake." - -She smiled at him, and closed his lids gently with her finger tips. - -"Sleep," she said, brushing her hand softly over his forehead, "for -sleep will give you strength again. You may need it." - -She left him there, and taking bread and olives with her, she closed -the porch gates to shade him, and went herself into the garden. After a -meal under the old cedar, she went down to the water's edge and washed -her feet from the stains of Pelleas's blood, and bathed her hands and -face. She saw the barge amid the reeds and rushes on the further bank. -There was no sign of life in the meadows, and the woods were deep with -peace. - -Then she remembered Pelleas's horse. Going to the stable behind the -manor, she found the beast stalled there, though Morgan's horses had -been taken by the men in the barge. Igraine took hay from the rack, -gave him a measure of oats in his manger, and watered him with water -from the mere. Then she stood and combed his mane with her fingers -as he fed. Some of the poppies she had plaited there were dead and -drooping in the black hair. She thought as she unbound the withered -things how nearly Pelleas's life had withered with theirs. She was very -happy in her heart, and she sang softly the low tender songs women love -when their thoughts are maying. - -Igraine passed the whole morning in the garden, going every now and -again to the porch to open the doors gently, and peep in upon the -sleeper. She gathered a basket of fruit and a lapful of flowers. About -noon she went in, and bringing jars from the triclinium, she filled -them with water and garnished them with flowers. These jars she set in -array about Pelleas's bed, one of tiger lilies and one of white lilies; -a bowl of roses at his head, a jar of hollyhocks and one of thyme, and -fragrant herbs at the foot. Moreover, she strewed the coverlet with -pansies, and scattered rose leaves on his pillow. Then she went to the -chapel to pray awhile, before sitting down to watch beside his bed. - -Pelleas woke about an hour after noon had turned. At his first -stirring, Igraine was hanging over him like a mother, with her hands -on his. Pelleas looked up at her, saw the flowers about his bed, and, -risking her menaces, spoke his first word. - -"Igraine," he said. - -She put her face down to his. - -"I am much stronger," he said; "I can talk now." - -"Perhaps a very little," she answered, with her eyes on his. - -"Igraine!" - -"Yes, Pelleas." - -"You are very wonderful." - -"Pelleas!" she said redly. - -"I should have died without you, for I was witless, and coughing blood." - -"I thought you would die," she said very softly, with her eyes -downcast. "I held you in my arms and, God helping me, staunched the -flow from your wound. But tell me, Pelleas, who was it stabbed you?" - -The man smiled at her. - -"There, I am as ignorant as you," he said. "I woke with a fiery twinge -in my side, and saw a man running out of the porch in the dark. I -struggled to rise. Blood came into my mouth, and betwixt coughing and -hard breathing I must have fainted. What of the others?" - -Igraine knelt up from stooping over him, and thought. - -"Morgan and her men," she said presently, "fled across the mere in the -barge just after you had been stabbed. I saw them go in the moonlight. -It was your cry that woke me in bed. I came and found you senseless in -the corner, and the woman and her rascals making off in the boat. One -of the men must have smitten you while you slept." - -Pelleas kept silence for a while, as though he were thinking hard. - -"Show me the knife," he said anon. - -Igraine had washed away the stains, and laid it aside in a corner. She -held it up now before Pelleas's eyes as he lay in bed. He took it from -her with trembling hands, and handled it, his face darkening. - -"This is my own poniard," he said, "the poniard I left in the heart of -the man in Andredswold. Look, girl, look! Search and see, mayhap you -may find a cross." - -Igraine did his bidding, and searched the pavement, but found nothing. -Then she came back to the bed, and began to turn the cushions up here -and there, and to scan the tiled floor. Sure enough, under the foot of -the bed, she found a small gold cross lying, smeared lightly with dried -blood. She took it up and gave it to Pelleas. He caught and held it -with a terse cry. - - - - -VIII - - -Pelleas lay the afternoon through in a half dream of shifting thought. -But for the tangible things about him there might have been elfin -mischief in the air, for the last few days had passed with such flash -of new feeling and desire that the man's mind was still in a daze. - -He lay in bed, with jars of lilies round him, and a woman tending him -with the grace of a Diana. It was all very strange, very pleasant, -despite the ague in his ribs and his inordinate weakness. He was not so -sure after all that he bore Morgan la Blanche any so fervent a piece of -malice; fortune seemed to beckon him towards generosity, seeing that -his condition was so truly picturesque. Uncouth feelings were swallowed -up for the time being by a benignant stupor of contentment. - -But the balance of human happiness is often very nice and subtle. -Leaden reason tumbled into the scale of melancholy may even outscale -the bowl of dreams. Love and law often dangle on either beam of a man's -mind, or philosophy anchored to a rock may sky poor fancy into the -clouds. So it was with Pelleas that day, wisdom being often enough a -miserable nurse. When he thought of Igraine, reason as he would with -himself, his soul began to shimmer like moon-rippled water. When she -looked at him the very pillars of his manhood seemed to quake. When -she passed, light-footed, from garden to porch, she seemed to come -in like the sun, bringing streams of warmth into his wounded flesh. -Of necessity, he soon met other cogitations less pleasant, and no -less imperative. From legal quarters came that inevitable pedagogue -blear-eyed Verity, paunched up with dogma and breathing ethical -platitudes like garlic. "The woman's a nun," quoth Dom Verity, with -a sneer. "Keep your fancy in leash, my good Pelleas, and forswear -romance. Bar your thoughts from a child of the church or you will rue -it. No man may serve a nun. The world has said." - -What with his wound and his fractious meditations, Pelleas soon -fell into a most dismal temper. Like most sick folk he had lost for -the time that level sense of proportion that is the sure outcome of -health. His thoughts began to gape at him, and to pull most melancholy -grimaces. Even the dead man squatting in the great chair in the manor -in Andredswold began to haunt him like an ogrish conscience. Hot and -racked, he could stand his own company at last no longer. Calling -Igraine to him, he began to unburden himself to her with regard to the -man he had done to death in the forest. - -The girl listened, mild as moonlight, and ready to swear away her soul -to soothe him. - -"I am troubled for the deed," he was saying, "though the man deserved -death, twenty deaths, and though I served justice to the echo. His -blood hangs on my hands, and makes me restless at heart." - -"Tell me his sin, Pelleas." - -"They were many, and too gross for ears such as thine." - -"Then palpably he was too gross to live." - -"No doubt, child." - -"Then why trouble for his death, Pelleas; you would not shrink from -treading out an adder's brains?" - -"Ah, but there is the man's soul. I feel for him after my own -down-bringing. What chance had he of penitence?" - -"True," she said gravely, "but your mother, the Abbess Gratia, used to -tell us that bad men repented only in legends and in the Bible; never -in grim life. Besides, you prevented the man committing worse offences -in the future, and getting deeper into the pit. Why, Pelleas, hundreds -of good knights have lost life for a mere matter of love; why trouble -for the life of a wretch who perhaps never knew what truth meant. You -would not grieve for men slain in battle." - -"In battle the blood is hot and the brain afire. This was a rank and -reasonable stroke." - -"And therefore the more deserved. Why trouble about it, Pelleas? In -faith, since your plight makes me tyrant, I forbid such brooding. It is -but the evil fancy of a distraught mind, an incubus I must chase away. -See, your hands are hot, and your forehead too. Will you sleep again, -or shall I sing to you?" - -"Presently," he said. "I have more to speak of yet." - -Igraine knelt by him on her cushion, serene and tender. - -"Say on, Pelleas," she said; "a woman loves a man's confidence. If I -can give you comfort I will gladly listen here till midnight. You are -not yourself, weak from loss of blood, and a gnat's sting is like a -lance thrust to you. Tell me your other troubles." - -Pelleas groaned, hesitated, looked up into her eyes, and recanted -inwardly. He furbished up a minor woe to serve the occasion. - -"It is my sword and shield," he said; "they were given me blessed and -consecrated by my mother. It is in my thought that I had smirched them -by this deed. What think you, girl?" - -"I cannot think so," she said stoutly. - -Then since his face was so wistful and troubled, she racked her fancy -for some plan she thought might soothe him. A sudden purpose came to -her like prophecy. - -"Listen," she said. "I can do this for you. Give me your shield and -sword, and let me lay them on the high altar under the cross with -candles burning, and let me pray for them there. Will that comfort you, -Pelleas?" - -"Yes," he said, with a sudden sad smile; "pray for me, go and pray for -me, Igraine." - -It was the impulse of a moment. She bent down with a great thrill of -wonder, and kissed the man's lips. It was soon done, soon sped. She saw -Pelleas's blood stream to his face, saw something in his eyes that made -her heart canter. Then she darted away, took up the great sword and -the shield with its red face, and went to the chapel singing like a -seraph. Her prayers were a strange jumble of worship and recollection. -"Lord Jesu, cleanse his spirit," said her heart one moment; "truth, -how he coloured and looked at me," it sang with more human refrain the -next. "May he be a knight above knights," quoth devotion; "and may I be -ever fair in his eyes," chimed love. Altogether, it was a most quaint -prayer. - -Now, a certain mundane matter had been troubling Igraine's thought that -day. The barge, seized and put to use by Morgan and her men, lay amid -the reeds on the nether shore, ready to give passage to any chance -wayfarer, welcome or otherwise, who should choose to cross the mere. -The boat, so fixed, floated as a constant peril to Pelleas and herself. -She felt that peace would flout them so long as the barge lay ready -to play ferry-boat to any casual intruder. Pelleas's wound might keep -them cooped many days in the place. She vowed to herself that the boat -should be regained, and blushed when the oath accused her. - -At dusk, when the birds were piping, and there was a green hush over -the world, she went back to Pelleas, a beautiful shameface, accompliced -by the twilight. - -"I have prayed," she said simply. - -Pelleas touched her fingers. - -"I feel happier," he said. - -"That is well." - -"Stay near me, Igraine. It grows dark fast." - -"I shall be with you till you sleep," she said. - -Igraine fed him with her own hands, talking little the while, but -feeling very enamoured of her lot. She was thinking of her new surprise -with some mischieful pleasure as she tended Pelleas. The man was -silent, yet very placid and facile to her willing. When she had bathed -his face and neck, and seen him well couched, she took the lute Morgan -had handled, and began to sing to him softly--wistfully, as though the -song was the song of a quiet wind through willows. It was a chant for -the dusk, for the quiet gazing of the first fires of heaven. Pelleas -heard it like the distant touching of strings over charmed water, and -with the breath of lilies over him he fell asleep. - -Igraine held by him still as a mouse in the dark, till she knew by his -breathing that he was deep in slumber. Then she set the lute aside, put -the lamp by the porch door, so that it should be ready to hand, and -stole out into the garden. - -The moon was just coming up above the distant trees. Igraine waited -under the black-vaulted cedar till the great ring rode bleak above the -fringe of the tops before she went down between laurels to the water's -edge. There was a deep cedarn scent on the warm air, and everything -seemed deathly still. Going to the landing stage, she stood there -awhile looking at the water, dark and mysterious, with pale webs of -light upon its agate surface. Then she began to bind her hair closely -on her head, smiling to herself, and staring down at her vague image in -the water. - -Her hair in shackles, she turned to her task in earnest. Soon habit, -shift, and sandals were lying in a heap, and she was standing clean, -rare, gleamingly straight as a statue, with her arms folded upon her -breast. For a moment she stood, making the night to swoon, before -taking to the mere. Pearly white with an aureole of foam, she swam -flankwise with an overhand stroke, one arm thrusting out like a silver -sickle. Here and there, fretted by the willows, long moonbeams glinted -on her round whiteness, as the maddened foam bubbled, and the water -sighed and yearned amid the sedges. A fine glow had leapt through her -body like wine, and the mere seemed to sway and sing as she swam for -the main bank, where the willows stood blackly in a mist of phosphor -glory. Soon she reached the shallows at a pleasant place where stretch -of grassland tongued down into the mere. She climbed out, and stood -like a water nymph, her body agleam and asparkle with its dew, her skin -like rare silk, smooth as a star's glance. Down fell her hair like -smoke. She stretched her arms to the moon, and laughed, aglow with the -warmth gotten of her swim. Then she went to where the barge lay amid -the reeds, and boarding it poled out into the deeps. - -Standing on the poop she used an oar as a paddle, and so brought the -cumbrous barge slowly under way. It stole out from the fretted shadows -of the trees, and glided like a great ark over the mere in black -silence, save for the dip of the blade and the drip of water. The -voyage took Igraine longer than her swim. At last, with the boat moored -at the stage, she dried her limbs and body with her hair, and took -again to shift and habit. Then she stole back to the manor, listened a -moment to Pelleas's breathing, and having lit her lamp she went to bed. - -Next morning Igraine, with her deed locked up in her heart, was -preparing Pelleas a meal. He had just stirred and roused himself from -sleep with a little cry, and he was watching the girl with the mute -reflective look of one just freed from the visions of the night. - -"Igraine," he said. - -She turned to him with a soft smile. - -"I have been dreaming," he confessed gravely. - -"Dreaming, Pelleas?" - -"I thought," said he, "that I saw a great dragon of gold come over the -meadows with a naked sword in his mouth, and a collar of rubies round -his throat. And he came to the mere's edge, ramping and breathing fire. -And lo! he entered into the barge there, and the barge went forth -bearing him, while all the mere's water boiled and shone about the -boat like flame. So he came to the island, and all greenness seemed to -wither before him, and with the fear of him I awoke." - -Igraine shook her head at the man. - -"Your dreams are distraught," she said; "it is your wound, Pelleas. In -faith we should need the great Merlin for such a vision." - -"Ah," said he, "I can read you the riddle, Igraine. Our barge lies by -the land bank ready for any foe. That is where the dream touches us." - -Igraine brought him a bowl of crushed bread and fruit, and made as -though to feed him. - -"Never worry," she said; "the barge is moored safe at the stage." - -Pelleas put the bowl aside with one hand, and stared at her from his -pillows. - -"Did the barge swim the mere of herself," quoth he, "and anchor for us -so fairly?" - -"No." - -"Then--" - -Igraine went red of a sudden, and looked at her knees. - -"Sooth, Pelleas," she said, "I must have been the dragon of your dream; -God pardon me." - -"Igraine!" - -"I never knew I seemed so fearful a creature." - -"Honour and praise--" - -He half rose on his pillows in his enthusiasm. Igraine put him gently -back, and took up the bowl of bread and fruit. - -"That will do, my dear Pelleas," she said; "now just lie still and have -your breakfast." - -What boots it to chronicle at length their sojourn in the island manor. -Twelve days Igraine nursed the man there, giving all her heart for -service, tending him from sunrise to the fall of night. She seemed -to have no other joy than to sit and talk to him, to make music with -voice and hand, to keep his couch posied round with flowers. On waking -Pelleas would find her by him, fresh as the dawn and full of a golden -tenderness; at night his eyes closed upon her gracious figure as she -sat in the gloaming and sang. She was near to hear his voice, quick to -see his needs and to remedy them with soft hands and softer looks. The -very atmosphere about the man seemed touched and mellowed by her, and -the hours seemed to trip to the measure of a golden rhyme. - -Pelleas mended very rapidly under her care. His wound, sweet and -innocent, gave him no trouble save some slight feverishness on the -third day. The sixth morning found him so stalwart of temper that -Igraine consented to his leaving bed for a morning provided he obeyed -her to the letter. His first steps were taken in the atrium with -Igraine's arm about his waist, and his upon her shoulders. So well did -he bear himself that the girl led him to the chapel, and there side -by side on the altar steps they winged up their devotion to heaven. -Igraine's prayers, be it known, were all for love; Pelleas's for the -threatening shadows over his own soul. - -Daily after this innovation Igraine would make him a couch under the -great cedar tree in the garden, where he could rest shaded from the -sun, and there, morn, noon, and eve, they had much comradeship and -speech together. They would talk of God, the saints, and the souls of -men, of love and honour, and the needs of Britain. Pelleas would tell -her of his own service with Aurelius, of all the fair pomp of Lesser -Britain, where Conan had begun a goodly kingdom years ago, and where -many British folk had taken refuge. He had been to Rome as a boy, and -he described that vast city to her, or told her of the bloody fields he -had seen when the steel of Christendom met the heathen. Fresh streams -from either soul welled out, and mingled much during those summer days. -Pelleas and Igraine looked deep each into the heart of the other, -finding fine store of nobleness, of truth, and of things beautiful, -till the heart of each had treasured everything for love and for love's -desire. They were fair hours and very sweet to the two. The day seemed -a casket of gold, and the night a bowl of ebony ablaze with stars. - -About this time the man Pelleas began to go down into deep waters. Many -days had passed with a flare of torches in the west; their sojourn was -drawing to a close, and the night seemed near. The haler Pelleas grew -in body, the more halt and hopeless waxed his soul. The whole world -seemed to grow wounded to his eyes; the west was wistful at evening, -and the starry sky a sob of pain. When Igraine harped and sang, each -note flew like winged death into his heart. He had no joy that was not -smitten through with anguish, no thought that was not crowned with -thorns. It was a very simple matter indeed, but perverse to utter -bitterness. Pelleas saw no hope for himself in the end. He would rock -and toss, and think at night till the darkness seemed to crush him into -a mere mass of misery. Above all there seemed to rise a great hand -holding a cross of gold, and a voice that said, "Beware thy soul and -death." - -Not so was it with Igraine. To her life had no shroud, and love -prophesied of love alone. She knew what she knew, and her heart was -full of summer and the song of birds. Pelleas loved her; she would have -staked her soul on it, though she did not realise the desperate turmoil -passing in the man's clean heart. Knowing what she did, she was all for -sun and moods of radiant thought and happiness. Each day she imagined -that she would tell Pelleas of her secret; each day she gave the golden -moment to the morrow. She knew how the man's face would flame up with -the fulness of great wonder, and like a woman she hoarded anticipation -in her heart and waited. - -The day soon came when Pelleas declared himself hale enough to -bear armour, though the admission was made with no great amount of -satisfaction. To test his strength he armed himself with Igraine's -help, harnessed his black horse, and rode round the island, first at -a level pace with Igraine running beside him. Then he tried a gallop, -handling spear and shield the while. Lastly, he took Igraine up to him, -and rode with her as he had ridden through the wold. Suffering nothing -from these ventures, and seeming sure in selle as ever, he declared -with heavy heart that they should sally for Winchester on the morrow. - -Pelleas and Igraine passed their last evening in the island under the -great cedar in the garden. The place had deep memories for them, and -very loth were they to leave it, so fair and kind a refuge had it -proved to them in peril. Neither said much that evening, for their -thoughts were busy. As for Pelleas, he was glum and heavy-browed as -thunder, with a look in his deep eyes that spelt misery. It was as -though he were leaving his very soul in the place to ride out like a -corpse on a pilgrimage with despair. How much she might have eased him, -perhaps Igraine never knew. - -The west was already red and rosy, and there was a green hush over the -meadows, and a canopy of pale porphyry in the east. All the soul of the -world seemed to lift white hands to the night in a stupor of mutest -woe. Yet the girl's mood tended towards mere sensitive regret, for the -future was not dark to her imaginings. - -"You are sad, Pelleas," she said. - -"I am only thinking, Igraine." - -"I am sorry to leave this place." - -Pelleas sighed for answer. With a contradictory spirit, born of pain, -he longed for night and the peace it would not bring. Something swore -to him that he was more to the girl than man had ever been, and yet she -seemed happy when he compared her humour with his own. The possibility -that she could dream of broken vows was never in his thought. He could -only believe that her heart was less deep than his, and the thought -only added bitterness to his mead of sorrow. - -"Igraine," he said anon. - -She turned to him. - -"You love life?" - -"Truth, Pelleas, I do." - -"Then love it not, girl." - -"Ah!" - -"'Tis a broken bowl." - -"How so?" she said, thrilling. - -Pelleas turned his face from her to hide the strife thereon. He felt -as though death was in his heart, yet he spoke as quietly as though -he were telling some mundane tale, and not words conjured up by a -desperate wisdom. - -"Igraine," he said, "I have lived and learnt something in my time, -and my words are honest. On earth what do we find--a lie on truth's -lips, and anguish on the face of joy. The roses bloom and die, white -hands shrivel, and harness rusts under the green grass. As for fame, it -breeds hate and jealousy, and the curse of the proud. Music is broken -by the laugh of the fool, nor can youth forget the crabbed noisomeness -of age. Women sing and pass. A man marries one night and is tombed the -next. And love, what of love? I tell you love lives only in the eyes of -woe. It is all mockery, cold damned mockery. I have said." - - - - -IX - - -Pelleas and Igraine were stirring soon after dawn on the morning of -their sally for Winchester. It was a summer dawn, still and stealthy; -the meadows were full of a shimmering mist, the mere spirit-wrapped, -and dappled here and there with gold. - -Silent and distraught they made their last meal in the quiet manor. -Everything seemed sad and solemn, as though the stones could grieve; -the lilies by the impluvium seemed adroop, and the flowers about -Pelleas's bed were withered. After the meal Pelleas armed himself, and -went to harness his horse, while Igraine put up bread and foodstuff -into a linen cloth for their journey. Before sallying they went all -round the manor, into the chapel, where they prayed before the altar, -into bower, parlour, and viridarium. The porch with its empty bed and -withered flowers they took leave of last. There was such wistfulness -there that even the dumb things seemed to cry out in pain. - -Pelleas closed the gates with bowed head, and made the sign of the -cross upon them with the pommel of his dagger. His throat seemed full -of one great muffled sob. Together they wandered for the last time -through the garden, while Igraine plucked some flowers for a keepsake. -Pelleas felt that he loved every leaf in the place like his own soul. -Then they went down to the water's edge, and, getting the horse on -board, they loosed the barge from the bank, and came slowly to the -nether shore. It might have been the fury of death, so stark and solemn -was Pelleas's face. - -Before turning their backs and riding away, they stood and looked long -at the place girdled with its quiet waters. The great cedar slept there -with a hood of mist over his green poll. Like a dream island it seemed, -plucked by magic from some southern sea, fair with all fairness. Anon, -despite their grieving, the last strand cracked, and the wrench was -done. They were holding over vapoury meadows with their faces to the -west. - -Pelleas was very stoical that morning. As a matter of fact he had been -awake all night, couched with misery and with thoughts that wounded -him. All night through the lagging hours he had tossed and turned, -cursing his destiny in his heart--too bitter for any prayer. What -mockery that he who had passed so long unscathed should fall into -hopeless homage to a nun. Desperate, he left his bed in the dark, and -made the garden a dim cloister until dawn. Yet in the rack of struggle -a clear voice had come to touch and dominate his being, and day had -found him steadfast. He would hold to the truth, he vowed, do his duty, -and let God judge of the measure of his gratitude. He could obey, but -not with humility; he could suffer, but not with resignation. - -It was after such a night in the furnace of struggle that he forged his -temper for the days to come. He had thought to meet love with a stark -hardihood, to talk lightly, to go with unruffled brow while his heart -hungered. Nothing should move him to any emotion. He would meet destiny -like a rock, let surges beat and melt back to the sea. It was better -thus, he thought, than to go moaning for the moon. - -Such was the determination that met Igraine's lighter humour that -morning. She could make nothing of the man as she rode before him. He -was bleak, dismal, yet striving to seem contented with their lot, now -conjuring up a withered smile, now lapsing into interminable silence. -His eyes were stern in measure, but there was the old light in them -when she looked deeply, and the staunch flame was there still. After -all, Pelleas's quiet humour did not trouble her very vastly. She had -her own reading of the riddle, and a word in her heart that could -unlock his trouble. Moreover, she was more than inclined to put him to -such a test as should bring his manhood to a splendid trial. Perhaps -there was some imp of vanity deep down in her woman's heart. At all -events, she suited herself to the occasion, and passed much of the time -in thought. - -A ride of some seventy miles lay before them before they should come -to the gates of Winchester. Much of that region was wild forestland -and moor, bleak wastes of scrub let into woods and gloom. Occasional -meadows, and rare acres of glebe ringing some rude hamlet, broke -the shadowy desolation of the land. Great oaks, gnarled, vast, and -terrible, held giant sway amid the huddled masses of the lesser folk. -Here the boar lurked, and the wolf hunted. But, for the most, it was -dark and calamitous--a ghostly wilderness almost forsaken by man, and -given over to the savagery of beasts. - -Pelleas and Igraine came upon the occasional trail of the heathen as -they went. A smoking villa, a burnt village with a dun mist hanging -over it like a shroud, and once a naked man, bruised and bloody, bound -to a tree, and shot through with arrows--such were the few sights that -remembered to them their own need of caution. The wild country had been -raided, and its sparse civilisation scattered to the woods. The crosses -at the cross-roads had been thrown down and broken. A hermitage they -came on in the woods had been sacked, and in it, to their pity, they -found the body of a dead girl. They halted there to pray for her, and -to give her burial. Pelleas dug a shallow grave under an oak, and they -left her there, and went on their way with greater caution. - -Not a soul did they meet, yet Pelleas kept under cover as much as -possible for prudence' sake. He scanned well every valley or piece of -open land before crossing it, and kept under the wooelshawe whenever -the track ran near trees. Fear of the unknown, and the dear burden -that he bore, kept him alert as a goshawk for possible peril. By noon, -despite sundry halts and reconnoitrings, they had covered nearly twenty -miles, and by the evening of the same day they had added another score, -for Pelleas's horse was a powerful beast, and Igraine's weight cumbered -him little. - -Towards evening it began to rain, a heavy, summer, windless shower, -that made moist rattle in the leaves, and flooded fragrant freshness -into the air. Pelleas gave Igraine his cloak, and made her wear it, -despite her excuses. As luck would have it, they came upon a little inn -built in the grey shelter of a forsaken quarry. The inn folk were still -there--an old woman, and a brat of a boy, her grandson. Seeing so great -a knight, the beldam was ready enough to give them lodgings, and what -welcome she could muster. She spread a supper of goat's milk, brown -bread, and venison--not a bad table for such a hovel. The meal over, -she pointed Pelleas with a leer to a little inner room that boasted a -rough bed, a water-pot, and ewer. - -"We will not disturb ye," she said; "my lad has foddered the horse. You -would be stirring early?" - -Pelleas gave the woman her orders, and sent Igraine into the inner -room. He made himself a bed of dried bracken before her door, and laid -himself there so that none could enter save over his body. The woman -and the boy slept on straw in a corner. In this wise they passed the -night. - -On the morrow, after more goat's milk and brown bread, with some wild -strawberries to smooth it, they sallied early, and held on their way to -Winchester. The shower of the night had given place to fair weather, -and a fresh breeze blowing from the west. Soon the sun was up in such -strength that the green woods lost their dankness, and the leaves their -dew. It was the very morning for a ride. - -If possible, Pelleas was even more gloomy than on the day before. There -was such a level air of dejection over his whole being that Igraine -began to have grave qualms of conscience, and to suffer the reproaches -of a pity that grew more clamorous hour by hour. None the less, maugre -the man's sorry humour, there was a certain stealthy joy in it all, for -Pelleas, by his very moodiness, flattered her tenderness for him not a -little. She began to see, in very truth, how staunch the man was; how -he meant to honour to the letter her imagined vows, though his love -grieved like a winged merlion. His great strength became more and more -apparent. A lighter spirit would have gone with the wind, or made great -moan over the whole business. Pelleas, she saw, was striving to buckle -his sorrow deep in his bosom, to save her the pain of knowing his -distress. There was nothing little about the man. Palpably he had not -succeeded eminently in his attempt to spur a wounded spirit into light -courtliness and easy hypocrisy. Still, that was not his fault; it only -said the more for his love. - -It was not till noon had passed that Pelleas, with a heavy courage, -constrained himself to speak calmly of their parting. Even then he was -so eager to shape his speech into mere courtesies, that he overdid the -thing, more than betraying himself to the girl's quick wit. - -He had questioned her as to her friends in Winchester, and her purposes -for the future. His rambling took somewhat of a didactic turn as he -laboured at his mentorship. - -"There is a fair abbey within the walls," he said; "I have heard it -nobly spoken of both as to devoutness and comfort. Their rules are not -of such iron caste as at some other holy houses; the library is good, -and there is a well-planted garden. The abbess is a gracious and kindly -woman, and of high family. I have often had speech with her myself, and -can vouch for her courtliness and benevolence. Assuredly you may find -very safe and peaceful harbour there." - -Igraine smiled to herself at the callous benignity of his counsel. He -might have been her grandfather by his manner. - -"You see," she said naively, "I do not like being caged; it spoils -one's temper so. I have an uncle in the place--an uncle by marriage--a -man not loved vastly by the proud folk of my own family. He is a -goldsmith by trade, and is named Radamanth." - -Pelleas's quick answer was not prophetic of great favour. - -"Radamanth," he said--"a gentleman who weighs his religion by the -pound, and is seen much at church. Pardon my frankness, I had this -gold chain of him. He is rich as Rome, and has high rank among the -merchants." - -"So I had heard," she answered. - -Pelleas looked into space with a most judicial air. - -"You do not think of going to a secular house," he said. - -Igraine smiled to herself, and halted a moment in her answer. - -"Why not?" she said. - -"You--a nun?" - -"Pelleas, I do not see why it is necessary for holiness to be bricked -up like a frog in a wall in order to escape corruption. Why, you are -eating your own words." - -"But you have vows," he said. - -"I have; and doubts also." - -"Doubts?" quoth the man, with a quick look, thrilling inwardly. - -"Doubts, Pelleas, doubts." - -She caught his eyes with hers, and gave him one long, deep stare that -made him quake as though all that had been flame within him--that which -he had sought to tread to ashes--had but spread redly into her bosom. -There was no parrying such a message. It smote him blind in a moment. -The spiritual bastions of his soul seemed to reel and rock as though -some chaos had broken on their stones. There was great outcry in his -heart, as of a leaguer when guards and stormers are at grapple on the -walls. "Cross! Holy Cross!" cried Conscience, in the moil. "Yield ye, -yield ye, Pelleas," sang a voice more subtle, "yield ye, and let Love -in!" He sat stiff in the saddle, and shut his eyes to the day, while -the fight boiled on within him. Now Love had him heart and hand; now -Honour, blind and bleeding, struggled in and stemmed the rout. He was -won and lost, lost and won, a dozen times in a minute. - -Recovered somewhat, he made bold to question Igraine yet further. - -"Tell me your doubts, girl," he said. - -"They are deep, Pelleas, deep as the sea." - -"Whence came they, then?" - -"Some great power put them in my heart, and they are steadfast as -death." - -Again the wild flush of liberty swept Pelleas like wind. - -"Tell me, Igraine," he said, in a gasp. - -She put her fingers gently on his lips. "Patience--patience," she said, -"and perhaps I will tell them to you, Pelleas, ere long." - -Thus much she suffered him to go, and no further. Her quick instinct -had read him nearly to the "Explicit," and there she halted, content -for an hour or a day. Her love was singing like a lark in the blue. -She beamed on the man in spirit streams of pride and tumultuous -tenderness. How she would comfort him in the end! He should carry her -into Winchester on his horse, and she would lodge there, but not at the -great inn that harboured souls for heaven. She would have the bow and -the torch for her signs, and possibly the Church might serve her in -other fashion. Like a lotus eater, she dallied with all these dreams in -her heart. - -With the sun low in the west, Pelleas and Igraine were still three -leagues or so from Winchester. The day was passing gloriously, with -the radiant acolytes of evening swinging their jasper censers in the -sky. The two were riding on a pine-crowned ridge, and the stretch of -wilderness beyond seemed wrapped in one mysterious blaze of smoking -gold. Hills and woods were glittering shadows, like spirit things in a -spirit atmosphere. The west was a great curtain of transcendent gold. -Pelleas and Igraine could not look at it without great wonder. - -Presently they came to a little glade, green and quiet, with a clear -pool in it ringed round with rushes. A lush cushion of grass and moss -swept from the water to the bases of the trees. It was as quaint and -sweet a nook as they had passed that day. The place, with its solitude -and stillness, pleased Igraine very greatly. - -"What say you, Pelleas," she said, "let us off-saddle, and harbour here -the night. This little refuge will serve us more kindly than a ride in -the dark to Winchester." - -Pelleas looked round about him, knelt for once without struggle to his -own inmost wishes, and agreed with Igraine. - -"Very good," he said. "I can build you a bower to sleep in. There are -hazels yonder--just the stuff for a booth. The water in the pool there -looks sweet enough to drink, and we have ample in the cloth for a -supper." - -Igraine gave him no more leisure to moralise on such trifles. She -sprang down to the cushiony turf, and took his horse by the bridle. - -"I will be master again for once, Pelleas," she said, "since, well of -your wound, you have played the tyrant. At least you shall obey me -to-night." - -Pelleas, half in a stupor, gave up fighting his own heart for a while, -and fell in with Igraine's humour. She was strangely full of smiles and -quiet glances; her eyes would meet his, flash, thrill him, and then -evade his soul with sudden mischief. She tethered his horse for him, -and then, making him sit down under a tree, she began to unarm him, -kneeling confidently by his side. Her fingers lingered over-long on the -buckles. When she lifted off his helmet, her hands touched his face -and forehead, and set him blushing like a boy. The very nearness of -her--her breath, her dress, her lips and eyes so near to his--made him -like so much wax--passive, obedient, yet red as fire. - -When she had ended her task, she gave him his naked sword and her -orders. - -"Now you may cut me hazels for a bower, Pelleas," she said. "I will -have it here under this tree where the moss is soft and dry. This -summer night one could sleep under the stars and never feel the dew." - -Pelleas rose up and did her bidding. The green boughs were ready to -his great sword, as it gleamed and glimmered in the wizard light. He -cut two forked stakes, and set them upright in the ground, with a pole -between them. Then he built up branches about this centrepiece till -the whole was roofed and walled with shelving green; he spread his -red cloak therein for a carpet. Igraine sat and watched his labour. -Life seemed to have rushed nearly to its zenith, and her thoughts were -soaring in regions of gold. - -The black moth night had come into the sky with his golden-spotted -wings all spread. It was time for idyllic love, pure looks, and the -touch of hands. The billowy bosoms of the trees rolled sombrously -above, and the little pool was like a wizard's glass, black and deep -with sheeny mysteries. - -Igraine beckoned Pelleas to a seat on the grass bank at her feet when -he had finished. There was a light on her face that the man had not -seen before, a kind of quiet rapture, a veil of exultation, as though -her maidenhood were flowering gold under a net of pinkest satin. She -had loosened her hair in straight streams upon her shoulders, and her -habit lay open to the very base of her shapely throat. She sat there -and looked at him, with hands clasped in her lap, and her grey gown -rising and falling markedly as she breathed. It seemed to Pelleas that -there was nothing in the whole universe save twilight, two eyes, a -stirring bosom, and two wistful lips. - -They had been speaking of their ride, and of the many strange things -that had befallen them during their adventures together. Igraine had -waxed strangely tender in her talk, and had spoken subtle bodeful -words that meant much at such a season. She was flinging bonds about -Pelleas that made him exult and suffer. His heart seemed great within -him and ready to break, for the blood that bubbled and yearned in it in -glorious anguish. - -"To-morrow," said the girl, "we enter Winchester, and I have known you, -Pelleas, two weeks and some few hours more. You seem to have been in my -life many years." - -Words flooded into Pelleas's heart, and stifled all struggle for a -moment. He was breathing like a hunted thing. - -"Igraine," he said. - -"Pelleas." - -"I never lived till our lives were joined." - -Igraine gave a little gasp, and bent over him suddenly, her eyes aglow, -her hair falling down into his face. - -"Kiss me, Pelleas," she said; "in the name of God, kiss me." - -Pelleas gave a great groan. - -"Girl, I dare not." - -"You dare." - -"Igraine?" - -She bent herself till her lips were over his, and both their heads were -clouded in her hair. Her eyes glimmered, her breath beat on his, he saw -the whiteness of her teeth between her half-closed lips. - -"Igraine," he said again, half in a groan. - -She did not answer him, but simply took his face between her hands and -looked into his eyes. - -"Coward, Pelleas." - -Power seemed to go from the man in a moment. He put his hands upon -her shoulders and looked at her as in a splendid dream. Her face was -beautifully peevish, and there lurked an infinite hunger on her lips. -Then with a great woe in his heart he drew her face down to his and -kissed her. There was such sweet pain in the grand despair of it all -that he felt faint for strength of loving. Before he had gathered -breath, Igraine had slipped away from him and was in the bower. - -"Till dawn, Pelleas, till dawn," she said. - -"Ah, Igraine!" - -"Go and sleep, Pelleas; I will talk to you on the morrow." - - - - -X - - -With the girl's face lost behind the green eaves of the bower, Pelleas -fell of a sudden into great darkness of soul. It was as though the moon -had passed behind a cloud, and left him agrope in the woods without -light and without guide. Igraine had bidden him to go and sleep. She -might as well have told the sea to be still in the lap of the wind. - -Going aside towards the mouth of the glade so that he might not disturb -the girl, he began to tread the grass between brake and brake, while -he held parley with his turbulent and seething thoughts. What was -Igraine to be to him on the morrow? She had broken the back of his -determination, and beaten down his strength in those grand moments of -sudden passion. The rich June of her beauty was still on his sight. Her -grace, her infinite tenderness, the purity of her, were all set about -his soul like angels round a dreamer's bed. She was light and darkness, -sound and silence; she had the round world in her red heart, and the -stars seemed to go about her in companies of gold. Never had Pelleas -thought idolatry so smooth and swift a sin. He had never believed that -love in so brief a space could make such wrack of madness in a hale and -healthy body. - -As he walked under the giant limbs of the great trees he tried to -grapple the thing with reason, to untangle this knot by natural logic. -These were the bleak facts, and they stood up like white headstones in -the night. He loved Igraine, and Igraine he knew loved him in turn; -but Igraine was a nun despite her womanliness, and there lay the core -of the whole matter. If he obeyed love he must disgrace the girl -with broken vows, for like a staunchly taught Christian of somewhat -stern and primitive mould he stood in honest awe of things spiritual -and ecclesiastic. His very love for the girl made him fearful of in -any way dishonouring her. If he held to the trite observations of a -prompted conscience, then he must forswear love, and leave Igraine to -the miserable celibacy of the Church, that chrysalid state that never -burgeons into the fuller, fairer life of perfect womanhood. These were -the two forces that held him shaken in the balance. - -Long while he went east and west under the trees with the old gloom -flooding back like thunder. His whole thought seemed warped into -bitterness; the blatant mockery of it all grinned and screamed like a -harpy. Again with clarion cry and rosy flush of banners love stormed in -and held law at death's door for a season. Again came the inevitable -repulse, the moaning lapse of desire, while the black banner of the -Church flapped once more over him in dismal sanctity. Pelleas found -no shred of peace wheresoever he looked. Who has not learnt that when -anarchy is in the heart, the whole world seems out of gear? - -As the night passed, love seemed to faint and wax pale before an -ever-darkening visage that declared despair. A sense of inevitable -gloom seemed to weigh down desire, and to drown hope in misery. Pelleas -grew calmer at heart, though his thoughts were no less woeful. Love's -voice, stifled and wistful, came like an elfin voice through woods, -while the cry of conscience was like the thundering surge of the wind -through trees. He grew less restless, more apathetic. Coming to a halt -he leant against an oak's bossy trunk, and stood motionless as in a -stupor for an hour or more. The blight of soul-sickness was on him, and -he was like one dazed by a great fever. - -Presently he went back slowly to Igraine's shelter of boughs, and stood -near it--thinking. Then he dropped on his hands and knees, crept up -close, and parting the leaves looked in on her as she slept, wrapped in -his red cloak. He could see her face indistinctly white in a wealth of -shadows; he could hear her breathing. Then he crept away again like a -wounded thing, and lay for a time with his face in his arms, grieving -without a sound. - -Again, a second time, he crept to the bower, and listened there on his -knees. Turning his face to the night he tried to pray, vainly indeed, -for his heart seemed dumb. A corner of Igraine's gown lay near his -hands at the entry; he went down on hands and knees and kissed it. Then -he took the little gold cross from his bosom, the cross Morgan had -held, and laid it on the grass at Igraine's feet. He also put a purse -with a few gold coins in it beside the cross. When he had done this he -crept away mutely, and began to arm in silence. - -Once, as he was buckling on his casque, he thought he heard Igraine -stirring. He kept very still, with a sudden, wild wish in his heart -that she would wake and save him, but the sound proved nothing. He -finished buckling on his harness, girded his sword, and hung his shield -about his neck. Then he went to the little pool, and, kneeling down, -dashed water in his face, and drank from his palms. He felt faint and -bruised after the night's battle. - -Once more he went and stood by the hazel shelter as though for a last -leave-taking before the strong wrench came. The little pavilion of -leaves seemed to hold all hope and human joy in its narrow compass. -Pelleas stood and took long leave of the girl in his heart. He wished -her all the fair fortune he could think of, prayed for her as well as -he could in a broken, wounded way, and then with a great sob he turned -and left her sleeping. His black horse was tethered not far away. As -he went he staggered, and seemed blind for a moment. He soon had the -girths tightened, and was in the saddle, riding away dry-eyed and -broken-souled into the night. - -Presently the dawn came, redly, gloriously, like a marriage pageant. -Igraine, reft from dreams, woke with a little shiver of joy in her -pavilion of green boughs. She lay still awhile, and let her thoughts -dance like the motes in the shimmer of sunlight that stole in between -the branches. The day seemed warm and glorious, for that morning was -she not to tell Pelleas of the secret she had kept from him so many -days, the words she had hoarded in her heart like love? It would be a -fitting end, she thought, to the rare novitiate each had passed in the -heart of the other. - -Hearing no stir about her shelter, she thought Pelleas asleep, and -peeped out presently between the boughs to bid him wake. Glade and pool -lay peacefully in green and silver, but she saw no knight sleeping, -no war-horse standing under the trees. Starting up, the gold cross -glinting on the grass, with the purse beside it, appealed her with mute -tragedy. She caught them up, trembling, and with sudden fear in her -heart she went out into the glade and searched from brake to brake. It -was barren as her joy. Pelleas had gone. - - - - -BOOK II - -GORLOIS - - - - -I - - -Radamanth the goldsmith was held in no little honour and esteem by the -townsfolk of Winchester. Even the market women and the tavern loungers -stood aside for him in the street as he made his stately march in black -robe and chain of gold. He was a man possessed of those outward virtues -so well suited to commend a character to the favour of the world. He -was venerable, rich, and much given to charity. His coffers were often -open to infirmary and church; his house near the market square was as -richly furnished as any noble's, and he gave good dinners. No man in -Winchester had a finer aptitude for pleasing all classes. He was smooth -and intelligent to the rich, bland and neighbourly to his equals, quite -a father to the poor, and moreover he had no wife. Every Sabbath he -went at the head of his household to the great basilica church in the -chief square, worshipped and did alms as a rich merchant should. - -Disinterestedness is a somewhat unique virtue, and it must not be -supposed that Radamanth lived with his eye on eternity alone. It must -be confessed that self-interest was often the dial of his philanthropy, -and expediency to him the touchstone of action. Nothing furthers -commerce better than a pious and merciful reputation, and Radamanth -knew the inestimable value of a solid and goodly exterior. Wise in his -generation, he nailed the Cross to his door, and plied his balances -prosperously behind the counter. - -Thus when the girl Igraine trudged sad-eyed into Winchester in her gown -of grey, and appeared before him as a homeless child of the Church, -he took her in like the good uncle of the fairy tale, and proffered -her his house for home. Possibly he pitied her for her plight after -the burning of Avangel, for she seemed much cast down in mind and very -deserving of a kinsman's proper comfort. Then she was of noble family, -a coincidence that no doubt weighed heavily in Radamanth's opinion. -It was good to have so much breeding in the house, to be able to say -with a smirk to his friends and neighbours, "My niece, the daughter -of Malgo, Lord of the Redlands, slain and plundered of the heathen in -Kent." Igraine brought quite a lustre into Radamanth's home. He beamed -on her with sleek pride and satisfaction, gave her rich stuffs for -dress, a goodly chamber, and a little Silurian maid to wait. Moreover, -he gave his one child and daughter Lilith a grave lecture on sisterly -companionship, advised her to study Igraine's gentle manners, and to -profit by her aristocratic and educated influence. Luckily Lilith was a -quiet girl, not given to jealousy or much self-trust, and Igraine found -as warm a welcome as her unhappy heart could wish. - -No few days had passed since that dawn on the hill above Winchester -when Igraine had started up from under the green boughs to find -Pelleas gone. They had been days of keen trouble to the girl. Often -and often had she hated herself for her vain delay, her over-tender -procrastination, that had brought misery in place of joy. The past -was now a wounded dream to her, ripe and beautiful, yet fruited with -such mute pain as only a woman's heart can feel. Igraine had conjured -up love like some Eastern house of magic, only to see its domes faint -goldly into a gloom of night. She felt as much for Pelleas as for -herself, and there was a blight upon her that seemed as though it could -never pass. She was not a woman given to tears. Her trouble seemed to -live in her eyes with pride, and to stiffen her stately throat into a -pillar of rebellious strength. - -Not a word, not a sign had come to her of Pelleas. Taken into -Radamanth's house, served, petted, flattered, she went drearily -through its daily round, sat at its board, talked with the guestfolk, -while hope waited wide-eyed in her heart and kept her brave. Pelleas -had told her that he was for Winchester, and assuredly, she thought, -she might find him and confess all. She often kept watch hour by hour -at her window overlooking the street. In her walks she had a glance -for almost every man who passed on foot or horseback, till she grew -almost ashamed of herself, and feared for her modesty. Her eyes always -hungered for a red shield and harness, a black horse, a face grieving -in dark reserve and silence. At night she was often quite a child in -herself. She would take the little gold cross from her bosom and brood -over it. She even found herself whispering to the man as she lay in -bed, and stretching out her arms to him in the dark as in pain. For all -her pride and courage she was often bowed down and broken when no one -was near to see. - -It was not long before she found a confidant to befriend her in her -distress of heart. Lilith, the goldsmith's daughter, had great brown -eyes, soft and very gentle; her face was wistful and white under -her straightly combed hair; she was a quiet girl, timid, but very -thoughtful for others. The two appealed each other by contrast. Lilith -had soon read trouble in Igraine's eyes, and had nestled to her in -soul, ready with many little kindnesses that were like dew in a dry -season. Igraine unbent to her, and suffered herself to be enfolded by -the other's sympathy. - -One day she told her the whole distressful tale. It was in the garden -behind the house, a green and pleasant place opening on the river, and -flanked with stone. The two were in an arbour framed of laurels, its -floor mosaicked with quaint tiles. Igraine sat on the bench with Lilith -on a stool at her feet. They were both sad, for Lilith was a girl whose -heart answered strongly to any tale of unhappy mood. Igraine had made -mere truth of the matter, neither justifying nor embellishing. Her -clear bleak words were the more pathetic for their very simpleness. -Lilith had been crying softly to herself. Her brown eyes were very -misty when she turned her white face to Igraine's with a grievous -little sigh. - -"What can I say to you?" she said. - -"Nothing," said Igraine, taking her hands and smiling through misery. - -"I have never the words I wish for, and when I feel most I can say -little." - -"You understand; that is enough for me." - -"Ah," said Lilith, with a fine blush and a shy look, "I think I can -feel for you, Igraine, almost to the full, though I seem such an Agnes. -I am woman enough to have learnt something that means all to a girl. I -am very sad for your sake." - -"Child." - -"I will try to comfort you." - -Igraine's eyes burned. She kissed Lilith on the lips and was mute. -For a while they sat with their arms about each other, not daring to -look into each other's eyes. Then the girl kissed Igraine's cheek, and -touched her hair with her slim fingers. - -"Perhaps I can help you," she said. - -"Help me?" - -Lilith flushed, and spoke very quickly. - -"Yes--to find Pelleas. I tell you what I will do. I will send a friend -of mine to question all the guards at the gates whether they have seen -such a one as you have described ride in." - -Igraine hugged the girl. - -"And then you say this Pelleas was in the King's service. I have never -heard of a knight so named; but there are so many, and I hear only -gossip. I know a girl in the King's household. I will go and ask her -whether she knows of a tall, dark knight whose colour is red, who rides -a black horse, and is named Pelleas. You do not know how much I may not -learn from her. I feel wise already." - -Igraine plucked up heart and spirit. She felt sorry that she had -not spoken of her trouble to Lilith before, for she had lost many -days trusting to her own eyes and her little knowledge of the town. -She kissed the girl again, and almost laughed. Then in a flash she -remembered a speech of Pelleas's which she had forgotten till that -moment. - -"Fool that I am," she said; "the very chain he wore he had it from your -father, and here in my bosom I have the little cross that nigh lost him -his life. Surely this may help us in some measure." - -Lilith looked at the cross that Igraine had taken from under her tunic, -where it hung by a little chain about her neck. - -"We will show it to my father," said the girl, "and ask him thereof. He -may have record of such a chain, and to whom it was sold. Who knows? -Come, Igraine, we will show it him after supper if you wish." - -And again Igraine kissed her. - -It was Radamanth's custom, after the business of the day had been -capped by an honest supper, to sit in his parlour and drink wine with -certain of his friends. He had a particular gossip, an old fellow named -Eudol, who had been a merchant in his time, and had retired with some -wealth. These two would spend many an evening together over their wine, -taking enough to make their tongues wag, but never exceeding the decent -warmth of moderation. Eudol was a lean old gentleman with a white beard -and a most patriarchal manner. He was much of a woman's creature, and -loved a pretty face and a plump figure, and he would father any wench -who came in his way with a benignity that often made him odious. He had -a soft voice, and a sleek, silken way with him that made folk think him -the most tender-souled creature imaginable. - -These two were at their wine together when Lilith and Igraine went in -to them that evening. Radamanth since his spouse's death had grown -as much a father as trade and the getting of gold permitted. In his -selfish, matter-of-fact way he was fond of this timid, brown-eyed -creature he called daughter. His affections boasted more of science -than of sentiment. Lilith, unusually bold, went and sat on the arm of -his chair, and patted his face in a half-shy, half-mischievous fashion. -Eudol laughed, and shook his head with a critical look at Igraine. - -"More begging," quoth he. "So, cousin Igraine, you look fresh as a -yellow rose in the sun." - -Igraine laughed, and sat down to talk to him, while Lilith questioned -her father. The goldsmith bore his daughter's caresses with a sublime -and patient resignation. She began to tell him about the chain, keeping -Igraine and her tale wholly in the background. When she had said enough -for the sake of explanation, she showed her father the cross, and -waited his words. - -Radamanth fingered it, turned it this way and that, and found his own -mark thereon. - -"I wrought and sold three such chains as you describe," he said; "but -what is such a chain to you, child, and whence came this cross?" - -Lilith flushed, hesitated, and glanced at Igraine. - -"The cross is mine," quoth the latter. - -Radamanth eyed her as though he were not a little desirous of -questioning her further, but there was a very palpable coldness on his -niece's face that forbade any such curiosity. He had a most hearty -respect for the girl's pride, and never dreamt of any degree of tyranny -that might seem vulgarly plebeian to her more noble notions. The -remembrance of her parentage and estate had always a most emollient -effect upon his mind. - -"Well, well," he said, "I'll meddle discreetly, and go no further than -I am asked." - -Eudol winked at the company at large. - -"Never ask a lady an uncomfortable question," quoth he. - -Lilith beamed at him shyly. - -"You are very wise," she said. - -Radamanth rose from his chair, and going to a great press took a book -from it. He set the book on the table, and after much turning of pages, -discovered the record that he sought. Following the scrawling lines -with his finger, he read aloud from the ledger: - -"Gold chain of special weight, large links, two gold crosses pendant -over either breast. Of such three were wrought and sold. - -"The first to Bedivere, knight of the King's guard. - -"_Nota bene_--unpaid for." - -Eudol set up a sudden brisk cackle. - -"The man, the very man, I'll swear." - -Igraine gave him a look that made his mouth close like a trap and his -body stiffen in his chair. Radamanth continued his reading. - -"The second chain was sold to John of Glastonbury. The third to the -most noble Uther, Prince of Britain." - -Radamanth closed the book, and returned it to the press--orderly even -in trifles. Lilith and Igraine had exchanged a mute look that meant -everything. Slipping away without a word to either man, they went to -Igraine's bedroom, a great chamber hung with heavy red hangings and -richly garnished. A carved bed stood in the centre. The two girls sat -on it and stared into each other's eyes. Igraine was breathing fast, -and her face was pale. - -"Know you Bedivere?" she said. - -Lilith shook her head. - -"Or John of Glastonbury?" - -"No." - -"Or Uther?" - -Lilith's brown eyes brightened. - -"Noble Uther I have often seen," she said, "riding through Winchester -on a black horse. A dark man, and sad-looking. He would be much like -your Pelleas." - -Igraine was very white. There seemed a race of thoughts in her as she -played the statue with her eyes at gaze, and her lips drawn into a line -of red. Her hands hung limply over the edge of the bed, and she seemed -stiffened into musings. Lilith sidled close to her, and put her warm -arms round her neck, her soft cheek to Igraine's. - -"We may learn yet," she said. - -"Uther," said Igraine as in a dream. - -"Can it be?" - -Igraine drew a long breath and sighed like one waking. - -"I must see him," was all she said. - -Lilith kissed her. - -"I will go to the King's house to-morrow," she said; "the girl may tell -us something of use. I have heard it said that Uther has not been in -Winchester for many a week. Ah, Igraine, if it should be he." - -They looked deep in each other's eyes, and smiled as only women can -smile when their hearts are fast in sympathy. Then they went to bed in -Igraine's bed, and slept the night through in each other's arms. - -Early next day they went together to the King's house that stood by -the gardens and the river. At the kitchen quarters Lilith inquired for -the girl who served as a maid in the household. Being constrained by a -most polite lackey, she went in to see the woman, while Igraine kept -her pride and herself in the porch, and watched the people go by in -the street. Presently Lilith came out again with a frown on her mild -face, and her brown eyes troubled. She took Igraine aside into the -gardens that lined the great highway skirting the palace, and led her -to where a fountain played in the sun, and stone seats ringed a quiet -pool. White pigeons were there, coquetting and sweeping the ground with -their spread tails, their low cooing mingling with the musical plashing -of the water. An old beggar woman sat hunched in a corner, and three -or four children were feeding the fish in the pool. All about them the -gardens were thickly shadowed with great trees and glistening lusty -laurels. - -Igraine looked into Lilith's face. - -"I see no news in your eyes," she said. - -Lilith brooded at the pool and the children, and seemed disquieted, -even angry. - -"I have learnt little, Igraine," she said, "and am disappointed. I -will tell you how it was. The old wretch who oversees the women found -me talking with the girl Gwenith, read me a sermon on interfering with -household work, scolded me for a young gossip, and had me packed off -like a beggar." - -"What a harridan!" - -"I have learnt a little." - -"Quick!--I thirst." - -Lilith hurried on for sympathy. - -"The girl has never heard of a knight named Pelleas," she said, "and -there are so many dark men about Court that your description was little -guide. As for Uther, no one knows where he is at present. Folk are -not disquieted, for he seems to be ever riding away into the woods on -adventure. So much gossip could read me." - -Igraine's face clouded. - -"Did you ask of Bedivere?" she said. - -"Oh, yes; a silly, vain fellow, with a red beard and sandy hair." - -"And John of Glastonbury?" - -"Gwenith could tell me nothing of that man. Dame Martha caught us -talking, and it was then she scolded--the ugly, red-faced old hen. She -said"--and Lilith blushed--"that I was an idle, silly hussy to gad and -gossip after Court gentlemen. Now that wasn't fair, was it, Igraine?" - -"No, dear. I should like to have a talk with Dame Martha." - -Lilith rose to the notion. - -"She would never scold you, Igraine. You look far too stately." - -"Simpleton! a scold would spatter Gabriel." - -"Well, if I were Gabriel I know what I should do to Dame Martha." - -"You quiet-faced thing--why, you are quite a vixen after all!" - -"Ah, Igraine, was there ever a woman without a temper?" - -"No, dear, and I wouldn't give a button for her either." - -Suddenly, as they sat and talked, the beggar woman lifted up her head -to listen, and the children turned from feeding the fish in querulous, -childish wonder. There was something strange on the wind. Igraine and -Lilith heard a gradual sound rising afar off over the city--a noise as -of men shouting, a noise that waxed and waned like the roar of surges -on a beach. It grew--rushed nearer like a storm through trees,--deep, -sonorous, triumphant. The girls sat mute a moment, and looked at each -other in conjecture. - -"What can it be?" - -"God knows!" - -"The heathen?" - -"Not that shout." - -"Then--Uther." - -Igraine caught a deep breath. - -"Listen! it comes nearer. Come away, I must see." - -Passing through the gardens they came again to the highway skirting -the palace. Men, women, brats, monks, all Christendom, seemed swarming -up from the city, and there was already a great throng in the street. -The breeze of shouting came nearer each moment. Igraine climbed the -pediment of a statue that rose above the balustrading of the gardens; -the ledge gave room to both Lilith and herself. Together they stood and -looked down on the crowd that began to swarm at their feet--soldiers, -nobles, dirty craftsmen, courtezans, fat housewives, churchmen--their -small prides lost in one common curiousness. The street seemed -mosaicked with colour. The broken words and cries of the crowd were -flung up to Igraine like so much foam. - -"Gorlois, say you?" - -"Noble Gorlois." - -"A thousand heathen." - -"What--all slain!" - -"Where?" - -"Under the walls of Anderida." - -"Come to my house and I will give you red wine, and play to you on the -cithern." - -"Thank the Virgin." - -"Great Gorlois." - -"If it is true I'll burn twenty candles." - -"Give over trampling me." - -"A thousand heathen." - -"Ho! there--some rogue's thieved my purse." - -"They are coming." - -"Let's shout for him." - -"Great Gorlois." - -Up between the stone fronts of the palace and the dwindling houses and -the rolling green of the gardens came a blaze of gold and purple, of -white, green, blue, and scarlet, a gross glare of steel thundered on -with the tramp of men and the cry of many voices. A river of armour -seemed to flow with a brazen magnificence between the innumerable heads -of the crowd. Clarions were braying, banneroles adance. The sun flashed -on helmet and shield, and made a brave blaze on the flanks of the great -serpent of war as it swayed through the thundering street, arrogant, -triumphant, glorious. - -Well in the van rode a knight on a great white horse. His armour was -all of gold, his trappings white with gold borders, and stars of gold -scattered thereon. His baldric was set with jasper, his sword and -scabbard marvellous with beryl and sardonyx. A coronet gemmed with one -great ruby circled his casque, and shot red gleams at the archer sun. - -Behind him came a veritable grove of spears,--lusty knights, their -saddles weighed down with the spoil of battle, with torque, bracelet, -sword, and axe. Further yet came pikemen, mass on mass, bearing each on -his spear-point a heathen head,--pageant of leers, frowns, scowls of -red wrath, wild eyes, blood, and blood-tangled hair. - -The great knight on the white horse rode with a certain splendid -arrogance, and his eyes were full of fire under the arch of his casque. -It was easy to see that the noise and pomp were like wine to him, and -that his pride blazed like a beacon in a wind. - -"Gorlois, great Gorlois!" thundered the crowd. - -By the palace there was such a press that the white horse came to a -halt, hemmed in by a sea of vociferous faces. Igraine, in a gown of -violet, was leaning from her statue, and looking at Gorlois. Her glance -seemed to magnetise him, for he turned and stared full at the girl as -she stood slightly above him in the glory of her beauty and her pride. - -Long looked Gorlois, like a man smitten with a sudden charm. Then he -wrenched the coronet from his casque, and spurring his horse through -the crowd, rode close to the statue whose knees were clasped by -Igraine's arm. It was the statue of Fame crowned by Love with a wreath -of laurels. So, Gorlois, with head bowed, held up the coronet on the -cross of his sword, and gave Igraine his glory. - - - - -II - - -Splendid in arms, magnificent in fortune, Gorlois of Cornwall held high -place in the war lore and romances of the green isle of Britain. Ask -any pikeman or gallowglass whose crest he would have advance in the van -in the tough tussle of a charge home, and he would tell you of Gorlois -or of Uther. Question any merchant as to the most prolific purse in the -kingdom, and he would beam seraphically and talk to you of Gorlois. So -much for the man's reputation. - -Physically he was tall, big-chested, lean-limbed, with a square jaw and -eyes that shone ever alert, as though watching a knife in an enemy's -hand. You could read the swift, soaring, masterful spirit of him in -the bleak lines of his handsome face, and the soldierly carriage of his -head. He was quick as a hawk, supple and springy as a willow, keen and -eager in his action as a born fighter should be. When you saw him move, -the lean hard fibre of him seemed as tense and tough as the string of a -five-foot bow. Though he might seem to the eye all impulse, there was a -leopard reason in him that made him the more formidable. He was no mere -fighting machine--rather a man of brain and sinew whose cunning went -far to back his strength. - -Meliograunt ruled in Cornwall in those days, Meliograunt who was to -rear young Tristram for the plaguing of Mark, and the love of the fair -Isoult. Gorlois was Meliograunt's nephew, holding many castles, woods, -and wild coastlands towards Lyonesse, lording it also over other lands -in Britain, houses in London and Winchester, and some mountainous -regions in Gore, where Urience held sway. Mordaunt had been his father, -a great knight who had done many brave deeds in his day. His grandsire, -Gravaine, famed for his wisdom, had fought abroad and died in battle. -Gorlois had ancestry enough to breed worship in him, and after -Ambrosius and black Uther he held undoubted precedence of all knights -in Britain. - -Unblemished fortune is not always the nurse best suited to the dandling -of a man's mind. It had been so with Gorlois. He was one of those -beings whose life seemed to promise nothing but triumphal processions -and perpetual bays of victory. Selfishness is such a glittering garment -that it needs a great light to reveal its true texture to the wearer. -Flattered, praised, obeyed, bent to, it became as natural for Gorlois -to expect the homage of circumstance as to look for the obedience of -his cook. There was much that was Greek about him in the worst sense, a -certain sensuous brilliancy that aimed at making life a surfeit of rare -sensations, with an infinite indifference for the hearts of others. -Gorlois liked to see life swinging round him like a dance while he -stood pedestalled in the centre, an earthly Jove. - -The man had given Igraine his coronet on the cross of his great sword. -That meant much for Gorlois. He was not a gentleman who had need to -trouble his wits about women, for there were many enough ready to ogle -their eyes out in his service. Yet in his keen way he had conceived a -strong liking for the girl's face. A species of sudden admiration had -leapt out on him, and brought him in some wonder to a realisation of -the power of a pair of eyes. Igraine was such a one as would attract -the man. In the first place she was very fair to look upon, a point -of some importance. She was tall, big of body, and built for grace -and strength, things pleasant to Gorlois's humour. Above all she was -proud and implacable, no giggling franion hardly worth the kissing, and -Gorlois had grown past the first blush of experiences of heart. He was -sage enough to know that a woman lightly won is often soon lost, or not -worth the winning. Let a man's soul sweat in the taming of her, and -there is some chance of his making an honest bargain. - -Moreover, like many a man of restless, soaring spirit, Gorlois ever -hungered for romance, and the mysterious discomforts and satisfactions -that hedge the way into a woman's bosom. Certain men are never happy -unless they have the firebrand of love making red stir for them in -heart and body. Of some such stuff was Gorlois. He had a soul that -doted on nights spent at a window under the moon. All the thousand -distractions, the infinite yet atomic cares, the logical sweats of -reasoning were particularly pleasant to his fancy. He loved the colour, -the exultation, the heroism, the desperate tenderness of it all. -Battle, effort, ambition, lost half their sting for Gorlois when there -was no woman in the coil. - -Igraine's home was soon known to him, thanks to the apt vigilance of -a certain page much in favour with Gorlois for mischief and cunning. -The boy had Igraine's habits to perfection in a week or two. By making -love to the girl who served her, he put himself into the way of getting -almost any tidings he required. Every morning he would slip out early, -meet Igraine's girl, Isolde, under the shadow of the garden-wall, -and, under cover of a kiss, he would inquire what her mistress might -be doing that day, pretending, of course, that his interest on such a -subject merely arose from his desire to have Igraine out of the way, -and her girl free. The lad quite enjoyed the game, Isolde being a -giggling, black-eyed wench, who loved mischief. Of course he ended by -falling in love with the reckless earnestness of a boy, but that kept -him well to business. Betimes he would run home and tell his master -where Igraine would probably be seen that day. - -Gorlois's proud face began to come into the girl's life at every turn. -Igraine would see him often from her window as he rode by on his white -horse, looking up, and very eager to greet her. He would pass her in -the aisles of the great basilica in the market, walking in gold and -scarlet, amid silks and cloths from the East, vases, armour, skins -of the tiger and camelopard, flowers, fruit, wine, and all manner of -merchandise. On the river which ran by the end of Radamanth's garden -his barge often swept past with the noise of oars and music, and a -gleam of gold over the hurrying water. In the orchards without the -walls his face would come suddenly upon her through a mist of green, -and she would be conscious of his eyes and the nearness of his stride. - -One Sunday morning she found him laving his hands in the labrum beside -her before entering the long narthex porch of the church, and he was -near her all through the service, watching her furtively, noting the -graceful curves of her figure as she knelt, the profusion of her hair, -a thousand little things that are much to a man. When the sacrament -was given, he knelt close beside her, and touched the cup where her -lips had been. Apparently Gorlois was content for a while with the -rich delight of gazing. His bearing was courteous enough, and he never -exposed her to any public rudeness that could warrant her in resenting -his persistent, though distant, homage. - -The great baths of Winchester stood in a little hollow near the -southern gate of the city, a white pile of stone set about with quiet -gardens. They had fallen into some decay and disrepute, but still in -the summer-time girls and men of the richer classes went thither to -bathe. On sunny mornings, in the great marble bath of the women, girls -would flash their white limbs, and sport like Naiads in the laughing -water. Afterwards they would have their hair dressed and perfumed, and -then go to sun themselves in the rose-walks like eastern odalisques. -The music of flute and cithern might often be heard in the grass-grown -peristyles. The library attached to the place had once boasted many -scrolls and tomes, but it had long ago been pillaged by the monks of -the great abbey. - -Lilith had taken Igraine there more than once. One morning Igraine had -bathed, tied her hair, and had passed out into the garden alone. The -place was of some size, boasting twenty acres or more, full of winding -paths, grass glades, and knolls of bushy shrubs, where one might lose -one's self as soon as think. Children often played hide-and-seek there, -and idling up some green walk you might catch a giggling girl, with -hair flying, bursting out of some thicket with a lad in full chase. Or -in some shady lawn you might come upon a company of children dancing as -solemnly as little elves to the sound of a pipe. - -Nooks and grass walks were almost deserted at this hour, the gardens -being most favoured towards evening, when the day was marked by a -deepening discretion. Igraine had no purpose in the place. She knew -that Lilith was somewhere within its bounds. She also knew that Lilith -had no particular need of her that morning, and as the day was hot and -slothful, Igraine's only ambition was to waste her time as pleasantly -as possible till noon. - -Turning round a holly hedge that hid a statue of Cupid, she came -full upon a woman seated on the stone bench that ringed the statue's -pedestal. The woman wore a light blue tunic, and a purple gown that ran -all along the seat in curling masses. She was combing her fair hair -as though she had only lately come from the bath. Her white glimmering -arms were bare to the elbow, and she was humming a song to the sway of -her hair, while many rings laughed on her slim white fingers. She had -not heard Igraine's step upon the grass, but saw suddenly her shadow -stealing along in the sun. Lifting her face, she stared, knew on the -instant, and went red and grey by turns. Her comb halted, tangled in a -strand of hair, and she was very quiet, and big about the eyes. Igraine -remembered well enough where she had seen that would-be innocent stare, -and that loose little mouth that seemed to bud for lawless kisses. - -Morgan, with her face as white as her bosom, drew the comb from -her hair, and flourished it uneasily betwixt her fingers. She was -frightened as a mouse at the tall girl standing big and imperious so -near, and her eyes were furtive for chance of flight. Igraine in her -heart was in no less quandary than was dead Madan's wife. She could -prove nothing against the woman, for Pelleas was lost and away, and -even the man's name might be a myth likely to involve further mystery. -She had as much to fear too from Morgan's tongue, as Morgan had from -her knowledge of that night in the island manor. - -Morgan, too flurried for sudden measures, sat biting her lips, while -her blue eyes were fixed on Igraine with a restless caution. Neither -woman said a word for fully a minute, but eyed each other like a couple -of cats, each waiting for the other to move. The shrubs around were so -still that you might imagine they were listening, while Cupid, poised -on one foot, drew his bow very much at a venture. - -"Good-morning, holy sister." - -Igraine said never a word. - -"I am glad to see you so improved in dress, that olive-green gown looks -so well on you." - -Still no retort. - -"By the saints, sister, you are very silent. I hope you were not kept -long on that island?" - -Igraine arched her eyebrows and gave the girl a stare. She knew what -a coward Morgan was, and guessed she was in a holy panic, despite her -cool impudence and seeming ease of mind. Woman-like, she conceived a -sudden strong desire to have Morgan whimpering and grovelling at her -feet, for there is some satisfaction in terrorising an enemy, even if -one can do no more. - -"I presume, madame," she said, "you thought me safely packed away in -that island, and likely to die of hunger, or be taken by heathen." - -Morgan forced a smile, and began to bind her hair for the sake of -having something to do in the full glare of Igraine's great eyes. - -"You did not think I could swim." - -"Madame, I could think anything of you. Nuns are so clever." - -"After all, I am not a nun." - -"Of course not. You could not be bothered with vows in summer-time. I -turned nun myself once for a month, it being convenient." - -Igraine began to fret and to lose patience. - -"You are over venturesome, madame," she said, "in coming to Winchester." - -"So!" - -"I believe they hang folk here at times; they might even break your -slim white neck." - -Morgan's lips twitched, but she did not blench from the argument. - -"You speak of hanging," she said, "and the inference is rather -peculiar. Listen a moment, my good convent saint: your knight on the -black horse would most certainly have needed the rope, if my man had -not mended vengeance with that poniard." - -"Pelleas and the gallows! You're a fool!" - -Morgan smiled back at her very prettily. - -"After all, your man did first murder," she said. - -"On a traitor cur in Andredswold!" - -"Madame, my husband." - -The woman's contention was not so illogical when Igraine came to -consider it in a less personal light. Morgan may have loved the man -Madan for all she knew, and she could feel for her in such a matter. -She looked at her with less scorn for the moment, and less injustice of -thought. - -"Perhaps you have grieved much," she said. - -Morgan gave a blank stare. - -"Grieved?" - -"You loved your husband?" - -"I did, while he lived." - -"And no longer?" - -"What is the use of wasting one's youth on a corpse?" - -Igraine retracted her late sympathy, and returned to enmity. Morgan had -risen, and was ruffling herself like a swan in her part of the great -lady, and gathering her purple gown round her slim figure with infinite -affectation. - -"I cannot see that we have cause to quarrel further," she suggested. - -"Indeed!" - -"Seemingly we are quits, good Sister Morality. I have lost my man, you -yours." - -"You are very logical," said Igraine. - -"Why should we women grieve?" - -"Why indeed?" - -"There are many more men in the world." - -"Madame, I do not understand you." - -Morgan gave a malicious little laugh that ended in a sneer. She -touched her hair with her jewelled fingers, blew a kiss to Cupid, -and again laughed in her sly mischief-making way. In a moment words -were out of her lips that set Igraine's face ablaze, her heart at a -canter, and mulled all further parley. Morgan saw trouble, dodged, -and ran round the statue. Igraine was too quick for her, and winding -her fingers into the woman's hair, gave her a cuff that would have -set a helmet ringing. Morgan tripped and fell, dragging Igraine with -her, and for a moment there was a struggle, green and purple mixed. -Igraine, the heavier and stronger, came aloft on the other soon. Then a -knife flashed out. Morgan got two quick strokes in, one on the girl's -shoulder, a second in her left forearm. Igraine lost her grip, and -fell aside in a stagger of surprise and pain, while Morgan, taking her -chance, squirmed away, slipped up, and ran like a rabbit. She was out -of sight and sound before Igraine had got back her reason. - -Here was a pretty business. The girl's sleeve was already red and -soaked, and the slit cloth showed a long red streak in the plump white -of her flesh. Blood was welling up, and dripping fast to the grass at -her feet. Despite the smart of her wounds and her temper, she saw it -would be mere folly to chase Morgan. Following instinct, she ran for -home, holding her right hand pressed over the gash in her shoulder. - -In the main avenue who should she meet but Gorlois, carried in a -litter, and looking out lazily from behind half-drawn curtains. His -quick eyes caught sight of Igraine as she passed. He saw the blood and -the girl's white face, and he was out of the litter like a stag from -cover, and at her side, with spirited concern. Igraine was white and -half dazed, her green gown soaked and stained. Her eyes trembled up at -Gorlois as she showed him her gashed arm, with a smile and a little -whimper that made him storm. - -"Who did this?" - -He had stripped his cloak off, and was tearing it into strips, while -his jaw stiffened. - -"An old foe of mine." - -"Describe him." - -"A woman, my lord." - -"The damned vixen. Her dress?" - -"Blue tunic, and gown of purple." - -Gorlois turned to certain servants who stood round gaping at the girl -in her blood-stained dress, and their lord tearing his cloak into -bandages with characteristic furor. - -"Search the gardens--a woman in blue and purple; have her caught. By my -sword, I'll hang her." - -He rent Igraine's sleeve to the shoulder, and wound the strips of his -cloak about her arm with a strength that made her wince. - -"Pardon," he said in his quick, fierce way; "this will serve a season; -stern heart, good surgeon." - -Igraine smiled, and made light of it, while he knotted the bandage. -Some of his men had scattered among the shrubs and into the dark alleys -of the place, for Igraine could hear them trampling and calling to each -other. While she listened, and before she could hinder him, Gorlois had -lifted her as though she had been but a sheaf of corn, and laid her in -the litter. He drew the curtains. The bearers were at the poles, and -setting off at a good stride they were soon in the town. - -By the time they reached Radamanth's doorway Igraine, despite her -spirit, was faint from loss of blood, and all atremble. Gorlois, -tersely imperious, lifted her up as she lay half dazed and stupid, -carried her in his arms into the house, and taking guidance from a -white-faced maid, bore Igraine above to her chamber, and laid her on -her bed. Then he kissed her hand, and leaving her to the women, hurried -off to send skilled succour. - - - - -III - - -It was not long before Gildas, the court physician, a dear old -scoundrel with a white beard and a portentous face, came down in state -to attend on Igraine. He was an old gentleman of most solemn soul. His -dignity was so tremendous a thing, that you might have imagined him a -solitary Atlas holding the whole world's health upon his shoulders. - -He soon dabbled his fingers in Igraine's wounds that morning, dropped -in oil, and balmed them with myrrh and unguents under a dressing of -clean cloth. He frowned all the time, as was his custom in the sick -chamber, as though wisdom lay heavy on his soul, or at least as though -he wished folk to think so. The only time you saw Gildas smile was when -you payed him a fee or complimented him upon his knowledge. Tickle -his pocket or his vanity, and he beamed on you. That morning he told -Radamanth that his niece's wounds were serious, but that he trusted -that they would heal innocently, treated as they had been by credited -skill. Gildas always pulled a long face over a patient's possibilities; -such discretion kept him from pitfalls, and enabled him to claim all -the credit when matters turned out happily. - -The streaks of scarlet in the white waste of skin soon died cleanly -into mere bands of pink, and Igraine had little trouble from her -wounds, thanks to the great Gildas. In fact, she was in bed but three -days, while Lilith played nurse, chatted and sang to her, or leant at -the open window to tell her of those who passed in the street. Master -Gildas came and went morning and evening with the prodigious regularity -of the sun. The girls aped him behind his back, and Igraine, with some -ingratitude to science, made Lilith empty the ruby-coloured physic -out of the window. It happened to spatter a lean booby of a man as -he passed, who, looking up, flattered himself that Lilith must have -sprinkled him with scented water by way of showing her affection. So -much for Gildas's rose-water and flowers of dill. - -The man of physic marched each day like a god into Gorlois's house to -tell how the Lady Igraine fared at his hands. Such patronage was worth -much to Gildas, and knowing how the wind blew, he puffed religiously -upon the new-kindled fire. The girl's glamour had caught up Gorlois in -a golden net. He had loved to look upon her and to dream, but now the -perfume of her hair, the warm softness of her body, the very odour of -her shed and scarlet blood were memories in him that would not fade. - -One evening a posy of flowers came tumbling in at Igraine's window. - -Lilith looked out, and saw Gorlois. - -"For the Lady Igraine," were his words. - -Lilith smiled down, and ventured to tell him that Igraine was much -beholden to his courtesy and succour, and would thank him with her own -lips when well of her wounds. She took the flowers to Igraine, who was -listening in bed in the twilight. - -"Shall I throw a flower back?" asked the girl. - -"It would be courteous." - -Lilith did so. The bloom struck Gorlois on the mouth like a blown kiss. -The man put the thing in his bosom with a great smile, and went home to -spend some hours like a star-gazer in his garden, while his musicians -tuned their strings behind the bushes. At such a season Gorlois loved -sound and colour. The voices, sweetly melancholic, thrilled up into the -night-- - - "Her head is of brighter gold than the broom-flower, - Her breast like foam under her green tunic; - Like a summer sky at night are her glances; - Her fingers are as wood anemones in a daze of dew; - Of her lips,--who shall tell! - The gates of a sunset - Where love dies. - Her limbs are like May-blossoms - Bedded on a green couch: - The night sighs for her, - And for the touch of her hand." - -Of course Morgan had escaped capture. Gorlois's men had hunted an hour -or more, and had caught nothing, not even a glimpse of the purple -gown for which they searched. Radamanth, who had had the affair from -Gorlois's own lips, came and told Igraine, and began to ask her who -this woman foe of hers was. Igraine put him off with a fable. She had -no thought of letting him have knowledge of her love for Pelleas, and -she was glad in measure that Morgan had escaped capture, and so left -her secret in oblivion. The woman might have proved troublesome if -brought to bay, for she had as much right to claim the truth as had -Igraine. Better let a snake go than take it by the tail. - -In a week or so there was nothing left to mark the incident save the -red lines in Igraine's white skin. Flowers and fruit came daily in from -Gorlois, and every evening there was music under the window, till she -began to consider these perpetual courtesies. She was woman enough to -know whither they all tended. As for Radamanth, he was more kind to -her than ever, seeing how the wind might blow favours into his ready -lap. Gorlois was a great and noble gentleman, and the goldsmith had an -intense respect for the nobility. - -The very first day that Igraine walked abroad again after her -seclusion, she fell in straight with Gorlois. By Gildas's advice, she -had gone, presumably for her health's sake, to the baths with Lilith; -and Gorlois, warned by the leech himself, followed alone, and overtook -them near the porch. He was very gracious, very sympathetic, very -splendid. He begged a meeting with Igraine after she had bathed, and -since the girl had something in her heart that made her wish to speak -with him, she consented, and left him in the laconicum, proposing to -meet him in the rose-walk an hour later. Truth to tell, she intended -questioning him as to Pelleas, whether Gorlois had heard of a knight so -named; and also as to Uther, whether he had yet been heard of in any -region of Britain. She knew Gorlois would take her consent as favour. -Still, she imagined she could venture a little for her heart's sake -without much prick of conscience. - -An hour later, true to her word, she went alone into the rose-walk, -a grassy pathway banked with yews, and hemmed with a rich tangle of -red blooms. Gorlois was there waiting as for a tryst. He was full of -smiles and staunch glances as he led her to a seat that was set back in -an alcove, carved from the dense green of the yews, where they might -talk at leisure, and out of sight. Igraine's hair lay loosened over her -shoulders to dry in the sun. It had been perfumed, and the scent of it -swept over Gorlois like a violet mist. He sat watching her for a while -in silence, as she plied her comb with the sun-shaken masses pouring -over her face like ruddy smoke. - -"Lady Igraine," he said at length. - -The girl's eyes glimmered at him slantwise from behind her hair. - -"I knew your father, Malgo, before his death." - -Igraine merely nodded. - -"I am claiming to be the friend of his daughter, seeing that I have -learnt the very colour of her several girdles, the number and pattern -of her gowns since I rode into Winchester." - -The venture in flattery was perhaps more suggestive than Igraine could -have wished. - -"You must waste much time, my lord." - -"But little." - -"I am sorry I have so poor a wardrobe, that you have fathomed the -whole of it in less than a month. To tell the truth, when I came into -Winchester, I had only one gown, and that rather ragged." - -"They did not give you green and gold at Avangel?" - -"No, the good women wore grey to typify the colour of their souls." - -Gorlois laughed in his keen quiet fashion. The girl's eyes were -wonderfully bright and subtle, and he had never seen such a splendour -of hair. He longed to finger it, to let it run through his fingers like -amber wine. Leaning one elbow on the stone back of the seat, and his -head on his palm, he watched the silver comb rippling at its work, with -a kind of dreamy complacency. - -The girl's voice broke out suddenly upon him. - -"My lord?" - -Gorlois attended. - -"You know many of the knights and gentlemen famed for arms in Britain?" - -"I may so boast myself." - -"I was once befriended, a piece of passing courtesy, yet I have always -been curious to learn the character and estate of the man who did me -this service. Have you heard of a knight named Pelleas?" - -Gorlois fingered his sharp-peaked black beard, and looked blankly -irresponsive. - -"I have never known such a knight," he said. - -"Strange." - -"Never so. We men of the woods and moors often ride under false -colours, sometimes to try our friends on the sly, sometimes to escape -cognisance. The man who befriended you may have been Pelleas in your -company." - -Igraine cut in with a laugh. - -"And Ambrosius at home," she said; "even Princes love masquerading in -strange arms. Meadow-flower that I am, I have never seen the stately -folk of the court--Ambrosius or Uther. I have heard Uther is an ugly -man." - -"If strength makes a man ugly, Uther may claim ugliness." - -"Well?" - -"Picture a dark man with black hair, eyes packed away under heavy -brows, a straight mouth, and a great clean-shaven jaw that looks sullen -as death." - -"Not beautiful in words." - -Gorlois stretched his shoulders, and half yawned behind his hand. - -"Uther is a man with a conscience like a north wind," he said; "always -lashing him into tremendous effort for the sake of duty. He has the -head and neck of a lion, the grip of a bear. You have never known Uther -till you have seen him in battle. Then he is like a mountain thundering -down against a sea, a black flood plunging through a pine forest. A -quaint, gentle, devilish, God-ridden madman; I can paint him no other -way." - -Igraine laughed softly to herself. - -"A man worth seeing," she said. - -"I should judge so." - -"Tell me, is it true that Uther has gone into the wilds, and been seen -of no man many days?" - -"Uther left Winchester more than two months ago, and no word of him has -come to Ambrosius." - -"Curious." - -"Madame, nothing is curious in Uther. If I were to hear some day that -he had ridden down to Hades to fight a pitched battle with Satan, I -should say, 'Poor Satan, I warrant he has a sore head.'" - -"Indeed!" quoth Igraine. - -She shook her hair, tilted her chin, and looked at Gorlois out of the -corners of her eyes. She guessed her power, was young, and a woman. It -tempted her to read this creature called "man" in his various forms and -phases, and hold his heart in the hollow of her hand. Her interest in -Gorlois was no discourtesy to her love for Pelleas. She had seen few -men in her time; they seemed strange beings, strong yet weak, wise yet -very foolish, sometimes heroic, yet utter children. - -Gorlois, who had the sun in his eyes, beheld her as in an unusual -mist. He was warming to life, for his brain seemed full of the sound -of harping, and his blood blithe with summer. Stretching out a hand he -touched Igraine's hair as it poured over her shoulders, for the red -gold threads seemed magnetic to his fingers, and the glimmer of her -eyes made his tough flesh creep. - -"You have wonderful hair," he said. - -"I learnt that long ago," drawing the strand away. - -"The dawn of knowledge." - -"It reaches not so very far from my feet." - -Igraine hung out a flag, as it were, to try the man. She knew the look -of Pelleas's eyes, and she wanted Gorlois for comparison. Standing -up, she shook the glistening shroud about her while it seemed to drop -perfumes and to spark out passion. The man's malady showed plainly -enough on his face, but his eyes did not please Igraine. There was too -much selfishness, not enough abasement. She knew Pelleas would have -looked at her as though she was a saint in a church, and he but a lad -from the brown ploughland. Igraine thought that she loved mute devotion -far better than the bold impatient hunger on Gorlois's face. - -The man leant back and tilted his beard at her, while his eyes were -half shut for the sun. - -"I have heard it told that women are ambitious. Is it truth?" - -Igraine, all gravity again, with her tentative mischief banished, -looked at her knees, and said she could not tell. Gorlois waxed subtle. - -"Are you ambitious, Igraine?" - -"Ambitious, my lord?" - -"Have you never wished to stand out like a bright peak above the world?" - -"No." - -"Or to have the glory of your beauty filling the gate of fame like a -scarlet sky?" - -Igraine forced a titter. - -"I suppose you are a poet, sir." - -"Only a fool, madame." - -"Ah!" - -"All poets are fools." - -"How do you contrive that?" - -"Because they are for ever praising women." - -"And yet you are a poet, my lord!" - -"How could I be else, madame, since I am a man?" - -Gorlois took a deep breath, and smiled at the dark yews, sombre and -mysterious behind their belt of glowing roses. Igraine was watching his -face in some uneasiness. It gave the profile of a strong, stark man, -whose every feature spelt alert daring and great hardihood of mind. -There was a keen, half-cruel look about the tight lips and impatient -eyes. She was contrasting him with Pelleas in her heart, and the dark, -brooding face of lion-like mould that so haunted her left little glory -for Gorlois's lighter, leaner countenance. - -They were both strong men, but she guessed instinctively which was the -stronger. - -Gorlois turned suavely again, with his courage strung like a steel bow. - -"I am a queer fellow," he said. - -Igraine began to bind her hair. - -"If I ever loved a woman--" - -"Well, my lord?" - -"She could be ambitious to her heart's content. The more her pride -flamed, the better I should like her." - -Igraine frowned. - -"She would be intolerable." - -Gorlois arched his eyebrows, and covered his convictions with a laugh. - -"Shall I tell how I should win her?" - -"It would be a quaint tale." - -"In the beginning, I should half-kill any man who braved it out that -she was not the comeliest woman in Britain." - -"Somewhat harsh, my lord, but emphatic." - -"I should make her the envy of every lady, dame, and damoselle in the -land." - -"Not wise." - -"Like a golden Helen should she rise in the east; blood should flow -about her feet like water; I would tear down kingdoms to pile her up a -throne. Such should be my wooing." - -Igraine looked at her lap, and said never a word for a minute or more. -All these heroics were rather hollow to her ear, though she did not -doubt the man's sincerity towards himself, and his earnest mind to -please her. Then she asked Gorlois a very simple question. - -"Imagine, my lord, that the woman loved some other man?" - -Gorlois's answer came swift off his tongue. - -"I should meet him in open field, sword to sword, and shield to shield, -and kill him." - -Igraine started suddenly, grave and grey as any beadswoman. She did not -think Pelleas would have taught any such doctrine. - -"To you, that is love?" she asked. - -"What else!" - -Igraine thrust her silver bodkin into her hair with some vigour; there -was no mirth or patience in her. - -"I name it murder." - -"Madame!" - -"Stark, selfish murder." - -Gorlois spread his hands and laughed. - -"What is love?" he asked. - -"Should I know!" - -"Stark selfishness,--nothing more." - -Igraine thought of Pelleas, and the way he had left her for knowledge -of her imagined vows. Something in her heart told her that that was -love indeed that had clasped thorns in the struggle to embrace truth. -Therewith she wished Gorlois a very formal good-morning, refused his -escort, and went straight home with the clear conviction that she -had learnt something to her credit. Her talk with Gorlois had set a -brighter halo about Pelleas's head. - -Gorlois of Cornwall was nothing if not subtle. A selfish man of -diplomatic mind may reach the very zenith of unselfishness to work his -ends. Gorlois had so studied the expediencies and discretions of his -purpose that even his love, headstrong though it may have been, was -for the time being harnessed to the chariot of circumspection, whence -intellect drove with steady hand. He had discovered for himself that -Igraine was of sterner, prouder stuff than the general mob of women, -and that he could not count much upon her vanity. She was to be won -by honour, stark, unflinching honour, and by such alone, and Gorlois, -thanks to the no mean wit that was in him, had judged that to his -credit. He set about winning her at first with a consistency that was -admirable, and a wisdom that would have honoured Nestor. - -Naturally enough, Radamanth was amazed. Gorlois, one of the first -men in Britain, sitting in a goldsmith's parlour and soliciting his -patronage and countenance with a modest manliness! Radamanth stroked -his beard, strove to appear at ease under so intense an obligation, -struggled to wed servility with a new-found sense of importance. The -whole business was most astonishing; not that Gorlois should love the -daughter of Malgo of the Redlands, but that he should come frankly to -a Winchester merchant and make such a Minos of him. Radamanth beamed, -stuttered, excused himself, crept, condescended, in one breath. When -Gorlois had gone, the good man sat down to think in a sweat of wonder. -Probably he would find himself feasting with the king before long, and -certainly it might prove excellent for trade. - -After a cup of wine and a biscuit to restore his faculties, he sent for -Igraine, who was in the garden, and prepared to parade his news with a -most benevolent pleasure. He took a most solemn and serious mood, bowed -her to a chair in magnificent fashion, and began in style. - -"My dear niece, I have great honour to lay before you." - -Igraine, who had heard nothing of Gorlois's visit, merely waited for -Radamanth to unfold, with a mild and silent curiosity. The old man was -big and benignant with the news he had, and when he began to speak he -rolled his words with the sonorous satisfaction of a poet reading his -verses to patrons in some Roman peristyle. - -"Lady Igraine," he said, "honour is pleasant to an old man, and -reverence welcome as savoury pottage. Yet, honour to those he loves is -even sweeter to him than honour to himself. In honouring a kinswoman of -mine, a certain noble gentleman has poured oil of delicious flattery on -my grey head, and treated me to such an exhibition of grace, frankness, -and courtesy, that my heart still warms to him. Perhaps, my dear niece, -you can guess to whom I refer." - -Igraine thrilled to a sudden thought--a thought of Pelleas. "I cannot -tell," she said. - -Radamanth could have winked, only in his present exalted frame of -mind he remembered that such an expression was neither dignified nor -courtly. If he were to become the associate of noble folk, it behoved -him to raise up new ideals, and so he contented himself with a most -ingenuous smile. - -"Hear, then," he said, "that my noble visitor was the Count Gorlois." - -"Gorlois!" - -"Exactly." - -Radamanth believed Igraine wholly overwhelmed. He waxed more and more -patriarchal, till his very beard seemed to grow in dignity. - -"Believe me, a most honourable man. Gentlemen of his position might -well fancy other methods--well, never mind that. Count Gorlois came to -me, like a man, to frankly crave my sanction for a betrothal." - -Igraine stared, admired Gorlois's excellent plan for netting Faith, -Hope, and Charity at one swoop, but said nothing. Radamanth prosed on. - -"Count Gorlois besought me in most courtly and flattering fashion to -countenance him in his claims. He would have everything done in the -light, he said, in honourable, manly, and open fashion--no secret -loitering after dark, or sly kisses under hedges. Mark the gentleman, -dear niece." - -The goldsmith idled over the words as though they were fat morsels -of flattery, and Igraine had never seen him look so eminently happy -before. She understood quite well that Gorlois's move had inspired him -into complete and glowing partisanship, and that she was to have those -sage words of advice that young folk love so much. Radamanth climbed -down, meanwhile, to material things, and began to knock off Gorlois's -possessions in practical fashion on his fingers. - -"A grand match," he said. "There are the castles in Cornwall--Terabil -and Tintagel; the lands in Gore and elsewhere; the palace in London; -and the great house here by the river. In Logria he has lands, I have -heard,--miles of fat pastures, woods, and many manors, lying towards -the great oaks of Brederwode. The man is as rich as any in Britain, and -if death took Ambrosius or Uther--" - -Igraine cut in upon his verbosity. - -"What did you tell him, uncle?" - -Radamanth stared at her, with his fingers still figuring. - -"Tell him, child?" - -"Yes." - -"What a thing to ask. Of course I promised to further his cause with -you in every way possible. I said we should soon need the priest." - -Igraine groaned in spirit. - -"It is all useless," she said. - -"What!" - -"I have no scrap of love for this man." - -Now Radamanth had never heard a word of Pelleas, for Igraine had -cautioned Lilith never to speak to her father on the matter. Like many -old people who have spent their lives in getting and possessing, he -had lost that subtle something that men call "soul." Sentiment to him -was a foolish and troublesome thing when it interfered with material -advantage or profit, or barred out Mammon, with its rod twined with red -roses. Consequently he was taken aback by Igraine's cool reception of -so momentous a blessing. He sat bolt upright in his chair and stared at -her. - -"My dear niece." - -There was such chagrin in his voice that Igraine, remembering his many -kindnesses, hung her head and felt unhappy. - -"Do not be angry," she said; "I do not wish you to speak of this more." - -"But, my dear child, the honour, the fame, the noise of it!" - -Igraine almost smiled at his palpable dismay, for she knew that her -words must have flustered him not a little. Radamanth mopped his bald -head, for the season was sultry. - -"I am astounded," he said. - -"Uncle!" - -"Let me reason with you." - -"Love is not reason." - -"No, niece, it is prejudice. Yet I assure you Gorlois is a most noble -soul." - -"If he were a seraph, uncle, I could not love him." - -"You women are all fancy. Why, you have hardly seen the colour of him. -Come, now!" - -"I do not need to see more of Gorlois." - -"Why, bless my soul, my wife never loved me till we had been married a -month, and she had learnt my fibre." - -Igraine thought a moment. Then she asked Radamanth a question. - -"Do you love Lilith?" - -"Why, girl, what a question." - -"Would you marry her to a man she did not love or trust, simply because -it brought gold?" - -Radamanth saw himself rounded in the argument like a rat in a corner. -He sat stroking his beard, and striving to look pleased. - -"Think over it, my dear," he said presently. - -"There is no need." - -"Gorlois will woo you like a hero." - -"Let him. He will accomplish nothing." - -"It would be a grand match." - -Igraine jumped up, kissed him to show she bore no ill will, and ran -away much troubled to find Lilith in the garden. She flung herself down -beside the girl in the bower of laurels, and told her all that passed -that morning in Radamanth's parlour. Lilith listened with her brown -eyes deep with thought, and a quiet wonder. When Igraine had finished, -Lilith took both her hands in hers, and, kneeling before her, looked up -into her face. - -"What will you do, Igraine?" - -"Need you ask, dear?" - -"Forgive me." - -"Ah!" - -"You love Pelleas." - -Igraine put her arms round Lilith's neck, and kissed her. - - - - -IV - - -Radamanth's words to the girl proved very true before many days -had gone; his prophetic belief in Gorlois's mood found abundant -justification in the event. Gorlois had the warm imagination of his -race, an imagination that found extravagance and rich taste ready -ministers to work his purpose. Igraine, met by all manner of devices -on all possible occasions, began to realise the cares of those whom a -purblind world insists on smothering with limitless favours. - -Flowers were poured in upon her, worked into posies, garlands, shields, -harps, crosses,--all bearing with them some mute plea for mercy. It -might have been perpetual May-day in Radamanth's house, so flowered -and scented was it. Flowers were followed by things more tangible, -a pearl-set cithern, a great white hound, a gold girdle, a pair of -doves in a cage of silver wire, a necklet of rich stones gotten from -some Byzant mart. Gorlois seemed ready to send her all the finery in -Winchester despite her messages and her words to him,--"My lord, I can -suffer none of these things from you." Servants and slaves came down to -Radamanth's house as though they had been sent from Sheba, while one of -Radamanth's men went back from Igraine like an echo, bearing back the -unaccepted baubles. It was a patient game, and rather foolish. - -These were but small flutters in Gorlois's sweep for the sun. Had not -Igraine been stabbed in the public gardens! Gorlois put the incident -to use. He formed a bodyguard of certain of the noble youths who were -under his patronage, and warned Igraine with all reverence that he -had acted for her sanctity, and that a dozen gentlemen would follow -near her when she walked abroad, or went to bath or church. Even her -humblest stroll in the street began to partake of the nature of a -triumphal progress. Children would gather to her in the gardens and -throw flowers and laurel branches at her feet, or she would be followed -by music and some sweet love ditty to the harp. A hundred quaint -flatterers seemed to dog her from door to door, till she hardly dared -to stir out of Radamanth's garden. - -Naturally enough, her name was soon the one name in Winchester. The -good folk with their Celtic beauty-loving souls spoke of her with -quaint extravagance; her skin was like the apple-bloom in spring, and -her lips like rich red May; her feet moved soft and swift as sunlight -through swaying branches; her hair was a cloud of gold plucked from -the sky at dawn. She was gaped at and pointed at in the street like a -prodigy. When she went into church on Sunday half the folk turned to -stare at her, and a clear circle was left about her where she sat in -the nave. She was for the season the city's cynosure, its poem, its -gossip. Aphrodite might have stepped out of mythology and taken lodging -at Radamanth's, to judge by the curiosity displayed by the people, -and doubtless many a comfortable piece of business came to Radamanth -thereby. - -Many women would have gloried for self's sake in such a pageant of -flattery. It was not so with Igraine. She was a woman who mingled much -warmth of heart with strength of will, and fair measure of innate -wisdom; her feelings were too staunch and vivid to be swayed or -weakened by any fresh circumstance, however strange and magnificent it -might appear. Her love, once forged, could bend to no new craft. Her -thoughts were all for Pelleas, and any glory her beauty received she -kept it in her heart for him. Igraine was so eternally in love that -even worldly prides seemed dead in her, and she had not vanity enough -to be tempted by Gorlois's great homage. - -The whole business troubled her not a little. There was a certain -mockery in it that hurt her heart. It was as if she had panted in -thirst for water, and some rude hand from heaven had thrown down -gold. Gorlois had her in measure at his mercy. He seemed to take all -her rebuffs with a sublime stoicism, and she had no one to whom she -could appeal. She wished to bide in Winchester, for the city seemed to -promise her the best chance of seeing Pelleas or Uther, and of learning -if these twain were one. - -One night there was music under her window. Flute, harp, and cithern -with deep voices were pleading for Gorlois under the stars. Igraine -listened, lying quiet, and thinking only of Pelleas. - - Take then my heart, - My soul, my shield, my sword,-- - -sang the voices under the window. Igraine kissed the gold cross that -hung at her bosom, and longed till her heart seemed fit to break for -yearning. If only the song had come from Pelleas, how fair it would -have sounded in the night. As it was, the whole business made her feel -desperately weary. - -Gorlois had begun by holding somewhat aloof. It was part of his purpose -to work behind a glowing and fantastic screen, serving Igraine more at -a distance, in a spirit of melancholy that should web him round with a -mystery that was more splendid than truth. He bore Igraine's passive -antagonism for a while with a spirit of enforced fortitude, going -cheerfully by the old and somewhat foolish saying that a woman's looks -lie against her heart, and that persistence wins entry in the end. To -do credit to Gorlois's self-favour, he never considered the ultimate -shipwreck of his enterprise as possible. He had fame, gold, bodily -favour on his side, and what woman, he thought, could gainsay such a -chorus. There are some men who never fail in anticipating success, and -Gorlois possessed that quality of mind. - -As the days went by, and the girl was still stone to him, he began -to chafe and to look for stauncher measures. The gay gentlemen who -served him suggested various expedients; one, a more passionate appeal; -another, sly bribery of servants; a third, who was young in years, -hinted at humble despair that might evoke pity. Gorlois laughed at them -all, and swore he would win the girl, hook or by crook, in a month or -less, or lose all the honour his sword had won. He was tired of mere -courtesies that ran contrary to his more stormy spirit. He had a liking -for insolent daring, for a snatch at love as at an enemy's banner in -the full swing of a gallop on some bloody field. Mere mild homage was -all very well for a season. Gorlois loved mastery, and believed there -was no wine like success. - -About this time a horde of heathen ships came from the east, sailed -past Vectis, and began to pour their wild men into the country 'twixt -Winchester and the sea. Hamlets and manors were burnt, peasant folk -driven to the woods, the crops fired, the cattle slain. The noise of it -came into Winchester with a rabble of frightened fugitives who had fled -to the city for refuge. Ambrosius the king was in Caerleon, and Uther -errant, so that the chance fell to Gorlois of driving the heathen into -the sea. - -No man could have been more heartily glad of this innovation. Igraine -should see him swoop like a hawk in his strength; she should hear how -he led men, and how his sword drank blood. In making war on the heathen -he would boast himself before her eyes, and show her the merit of -manhood, and the glory of a strong arm. Winchester bustled like a camp. -Troops poured in from Sarum, and the sound of war went merrily through -the streets. Folk boasted how Gorlois would harry the heathen. He rode -out one night with picked men at his back, and held straight for the -coast, while Eldol of Gloucester, a veteran knight, marched southward -before dawn with five thousand footmen. It was Gorlois's plan to cut -the heathen off from their ships, and crush them between his knights -and the spearmen led by Eldol. - -It was such a venture as Gorlois loved,--keen, shrill, and full of -hazards. Riding straight over hill and dale they saw the glimmer of -waves as the sun rose, and knew they had touched the sea. Gorlois's -scouts had located the main mass of the Jutes camped in a valley about -a nunnery they had taken, and the British knights coming up through -the woods saw smoke in the valley and men moving like ants about the -reeking ruin of the holy house. Looking north they saw a beacon burning -on a hill,--Eldol's signal that he had closed the woods, north, east, -and west, with his footmen, and that he waited only for Gorlois to -sweep up and drive the heathen on to the hidden spears. - -Never was there a finer light in Gorlois's eyes than at such a season. -He loved the dance and noise of steel, the plunging hustle of horses at -the gallop, the grand rage of the shout that curled like the foam on an -ocean billow. His courage sang with the wind as his knights rode down -over the green slopes in a great half-moon of steel, a moving barrier -that rolled the savage folk northwards, and rent them like a harrow of -iron. By the blackened walls of the nunnery Gorlois caught sight of -a line of mutilated bodies tied to posts,--dead nuns, stripped, and -still bleeding. The sight roused the wolf in him. "Kill! kill!" were -his words as they rode in upon the skin-clad horde. It was savage work, -bloody and merciless. Eldol's men closed in on every quarter, and the -heathen were cut down like corn in summer. - -Very few went back to their ships that day. Scores lay dead with their -fair hair drabbled in the blood about the ruins, and on the quiet -slopes of the dale. As they had measured out violence to the peasant -folk and women, so it was meted to them in turn,--vengeance, piled up, -great measure, running over with blood. Some sixty maimed men were -taken alive, but mere death was too mild for Gorlois when he remembered -the slain nuns. He had certain of the captured burnt alive, others -hacked limb from limb, the rest crucified near the river for the birds -to feed upon. Then he buried the nuns, and made a great entry into -Winchester, taking care to ride past Igraine's window with his white -horse bloody to the saddle, and his armour splashed as he had come -from the field. She should see his manhood, if she would not have his -presents. - -This single slaughter, however, did not end matters on the southern -shores. Bands of Saxons were forraying from Kent, where they had -established themselves, and Gorlois rode out again and again to crush -and kill. There would be battles in the woods, bloody tussles in the -deep shadows of Andredswold, wild flights over moor and waste, triumph -cries at sunset. Three times Gorlois rode out at the head of his -knights from Winchester; three times he came back victorious, hacked -and war-stained, thundered in by the people, past Radamanth's house to -the church in the market-square. Igraine sat at her window and watched -him go by, lowering his spear to her with all his proud love ablaze on -his face. Had he not driven the barbarians into the very heel of Kent, -and left many a tall man from over the seas rotting in sun and rain? - -It was customary year by year in Winchester to hold a water pageant -on the river, depicting legendary and historic things that had passed -within the shores of Britain. August was the pageant month, and in -this particular year the display was made more elaborate in order -to celebrate the rout of the heathen by Gorlois, and to please the -common folk who had made him their idol. The pageant was of no little -splendour. Great galleys, fittingly decorated, were rowed down the -narrow stream amid a horde of smaller craft, each great barge bearing -figures famed in British legend lore. The first barge portrayed Brute -the Trojan voyaging for Britain; others, Locrine's death by the river -Severn, Rudhudibras, mythical founder of Winchester, the reunion of -Leyr and Cordelia, Porrex the fratricide done to death by damsels. -One barge, draped in white and purple, moralised the reconciliation -of Brennius and Belenus at the intercession of their mother. A great -galley in red and white bore Joseph of Aramathy and the Holy Grail, and -a choir of angels who sang of Christ's blood. Last of all came Alban -the protomartyr, pictured as he knelt to meet his death by the sword. - -The day was blue and quiet, with hardly the shimmer of a cloud over the -intense gaze of the sky, while banners of rich cloth were hung over the -balustrades of the river terraces, and the gardens themselves were full -of gay folk who kept carnival, and watched the boats go by. The great -pageant galleys had hardly passed, and the small craft that had kept -the bank were swarming out into mid-stream, where a great barge with -gilded bulwarks and a carved prow came sweeping down like a swan before -the wind. It was driven by the broad backs of twenty rowers clad in -scarlet and gold. In the stern sat Gorlois, holding the tiller, with a -smile on his keen lips as a quavering clamour went up from the gardens -and the boats that lined the shallows. - -By Radamanth's house Gorlois held up a hand, and the blades foamed as -the men backed water. The great barge lost weigh and lay motionless on -the dappled silver of the stream. Slowly it was poled in to the steps -that ran from the water's edge to the terrace of Radamanth's garden. A -light gangway was thrown ashore, and a purple carpet spread upon the -steps, while the men lined the stairway with their oars held spearwise -as Gorlois went up to greet Igraine. - -Clad in white and gold, with a rose over her ear, she was sitting -between Radamanth and Lilith on a bench at the head of the stairway. -There was an implacable irresponsive look on her face as Gorlois came -up the steps and stood in front of her like a courtier before a queen's -chair. Radamanth and the merchant folk present were on their feet, and -uncovered; only Igraine kept her seat in the man's presence, and looked -him over as though he had been a beggar. - -They were left alone together on the terrace, Radamanth shepherding -his merchant friends aside for the moment with the discreet desire -to please the count. Gorlois stood by the stairhead and told Igraine -the reason of his coming, as though she had not guessed it from the -moment his barge had foamed up beside the steps. He told her frankly -that he wished to speak to her alone, and that his barge gave her an -opportunity of hearing him without his having the advantage of her in -solitude, while the noise of oars would drown their words. Igraine -listened to him with a solemn face. She began to feel that she must -face her destiny and give the man the truth for good. Procrastination -would avail nothing against such a man as Gorlois. Being so minded, she -gave Gorlois her hand and hardened herself to satisfy him that day. - -Away went the great barge before the strong sweep of the long oars. -Igraine watched the water slide by--foaming like a mill race as the -blades cut white furrows in the tide. The river gleamed with colour as -innumerable galleys, skiffs, and coracles drifted in the shallows or -darted aside to give passage to Gorlois's barge. Fair stone houses, -gardened round with green, slid back on either side. They passed the -spectacular galleys one by one, and the wooden wharfs packed with the -mean folk of the city, and foaming on under the great water-gate, drew -southward into the open country and the fields. - -Igraine looked at Gorlois, and found his face impenetrable with -thought. A fillet of gold bound his hair, and he was wearing his -great sword, and an enamelled belt over his rich tunic. The cushions -of the barge had been sprinkled with perfumes, and the floor covered -ankle deep with flowers. Igraine groaned in spirit, and read the old -extravagance that had persecuted her so long, and made a mockery of her -love for Pelleas. - -Gentle meads lapped greenly to the willows, giving place anon to woods -that seemed to stride down and snatch the river for a silver girdle. -The festival folk and their skiffs were out of sight and hearing, yet -Gorlois's barge ran on, to plunge into emerald shadows, tunnels whose -floors seemed of the blackest crystal webbed with nets of green and -blue, whose vaultings were the dense groinings of the trees. Not a -wind stirred. The great curving galleries in the woods were dark and -mysterious, the water like glistening basalt, the trees dreaming over -their own images in an ecstasy of silence. The foam from the oars was -very white, and the moist swish of the blades made the silence more -solemn by contrast, while the water seemed to catch a golden flicker -from the flanks of the barge. - -Igraine knew well enough what was in the man's heart as he sat handling -the tiller, and watching her with his restless eyes. She was quite -cold and undisturbed in spite of her being at his mercy, and the -consciousness that in her heart she did not trust him vastly. Gorlois -had spoken only of the town, and they were running on under dense -foliage into the forest solitudes that edged the river. Yet Igraine had -faith in her own wit, and believed herself a match for Gorlois, or any -man, for that matter, save Pelleas. Gorlois passed the time by telling -her of his battles in Andredswold, how he had driven the heathen into -Thanet, and freed Andred's town from leaguer. Igraine began to wonder -how long it would be before he would turn to matters nearer to his -heart. She had marshalled up her courage for the argument, and this -waiting under arms for the bugle-call did not please her. - -The day had already slipped into evening, for the water pageant was -ordered late, so that it might merge into a lantern frolic on the river -after dusk. Igraine, seeing how the light lapsed, told Gorlois to have -the barge turned for Winchester. She had hardly spoken when the boat -ran out from the trees into open water. In the west the sky was already -aflame, ridged tier above tier with burning clouds, while the blaze -fainted zenithwards into gold and azure. A queer cry as from a man -weary of torture came down from the west. On a low hill near the river, -bleak against the sky, stood a black concourse of beams set upright in -the ground, looking like the charred pillars of a burnt house. They -were crosses, and the bodies of men crucified. - -Gorlois pointed to them with the evening glow on his face, and taking -a horn that hung at his belt, blew a loud call thereon. At the sound a -vulture rose from a crossbeam, and went flapping heavenwards--a black -blot against the scarlet frieze of the west. Others followed, like evil -things driven from their food. Again the cry, the wail from one who had -hung torn and wracked in the parching sun, came down from the darkening -hill. - -Igraine shuddered and felt cold at the sound, and watched the figures -against the sky with a kind of awe. - -"Who are these?" she said. - -"Dogs from over the sea." - -"Some are still alive." - -"These pirates are hard; they die slowly, despite beak and claw. Such -be the death of all who burn holy houses and homes, and put women and -children to the sword." - -"Take them down, or let them be killed outright." - -"Never." - -"At my prayer." - -"What I have done, I have done." - -"Cruelly." - -"Cruelly, madame! You should have seen twenty dead nuns tied to stakes -as I have seen, and you would gloat and be glad as I am. By God, little -mercy had this offal at my hands in the glades of Andredswold. I burnt, -and crucified, and tore with horses. Mere steel is too good for such as -these." - -"My lord!" - -"What is hate unless it is hate? I can never brook an enemy to Britain." - -Igraine had sudden insight into the core of Gorlois's nature. She -understood, in a vague, swift way, what primæval instincts were hid in -him ready at the beck of baser feelings such as jealousy or smitten -pride. Woman-like, she recoiled from a man whose strength was so -inflexible that it owned no pity or leavening kindness where malice -or anger was concerned. She loved strength, and the natural wrath of -a man, but she had no touch of the Semiramis about her, and her heart -could not echo Gorlois's wolf-like cry. - -The rowers had turned the barge, and they were soon back again under -the shadows of the trees. It was dim and ghostly with the onrush of -night, while a faint fire flickered through the trees from the west -and touched the sullen water with a reddish flame. Gorlois's face was -in the shadow. He was leaning over the tiller towards Igraine, and -his eyes seemed to burn out upon her face and to make her heart beat -faster. She sat as much away from him as the gunwale suffered, and -looked ahead over the misty river, or up into the dense, black bosoms -of the trees. - -The foamy rush of the oars and the grind of the looms in the rowlocks -half drowned Gorlois's words as he spoke to her. - -"Igraine." - -"My lord." - -"You have read me to the heart." - -Igraine turned and looked him full in the face. Now that the brunt had -come, she was strong and ready to tell the man the truth, though it -might be bleak and bitter to his pride. Gorlois was very near her, and -she could see his white teeth between his lips, and the glint of his -eyes as he leant towards her in the shadows. - -"Are you ambitious, Igraine?" - -"No, my lord." - -"Not even a little?" - -"My lord, I have no more ambition in me than one of those dead men -hanging athwart the sunset." - -"You are a queer woman." - -"Pardon, I have a conscience." - -Gorlois bit his lip, stared in her face, and set a hand upon her wrist. - -"You can never shirk me," he said. - -"I never shirk the truth." - -"Come now, give me the word." - -"My lord, may I save you pain in the telling of it! You can never come -near my heart." - -"Woman, never be so sure." - -Gorlois drew back, and said never another word. Igraine watched him -furtively as his keen profile hung near her in the dusk clear as -marble. Now and again his eyes gleamed out upon her and made her fear -the moment, while the oars swung out over the smiling stream, and the -black woods started by like night. - -Soon the lights of Winchester showed up against the northern sky, -and far ahead over a straight stretch of water they could see the -lanterns and torches of the folk who kept festival. A golden mist and -the noise of music came down to them, as they surged under the great -water-gate and ran on through the city amid a glimmering web of lights -and laughter. Soon the barge found the shallows under white walls, and -Igraine was standing on the steps leading to Radamanth's garden, with a -starry sky sweeping like a wheel above the world. - -Gorlois went slowly from her down the steps, with a face that was dark -and brooding. Torchlight glimmered on the fillet of gold about his -hair, on the splendid setting of his baldric, and the scabbard of his -sword. At the water's edge he lifted up his face to her out of the -night. - -"It shall be life or death," he said. - -Then he was swept away with a red flare of torches over the river, and -Igraine went solemn-eyed to bed. - - - - -V - - -Not a word of Uther yet, no sound of his name in Winchester, though -Igraine lived on in Radamanth's house, and hoped for light in the dark. - -Gorlois had had the truth, and she wondered what would come of it. -Lulled by an ingenuous reasoning into the belief that she would be -free of the man, she began to breathe again and to take liberty in her -hand. She did not think Gorlois could plague her longer after the blunt -answer she had given him. His pride would drag him aside, make further -homage impossible, and there the matter would end. - -If Igraine believed this, then she was in very gross error. Many men -never show their true fibre till they are given the blunt lie, and -Gorlois was never more himself than when baffled. There was much of the -hawk about him, and Igraine had underrated his pride if she expected it -to take league with her against its kinsman passion. Her measure only -uncovered the darker side of the man's nature, and sounded the doom of -a lighter, gayer chivalry. Gorlois's pride and self-love never dragged -in the wind, but held him taut to the storm, as though determined to -weather all the perversities of which a woman's heart is capable. -In truth, Igraine had done the very thing least likely to free her -from the man's thought; she had taunted his passion and thrown down a -challenge to his pride. - -Gorlois kept his own counsel, and frowned down the mischievous -curiousness of his friends when they laughed at him and asked how the -girl framed for a wife. He struck Brastias his squire to the ground for -daring to jest sympathetically on the subject. Those who went about -his house and hunted and diced with him soon found that he was in no -temper for light raillery or the sly privileges of an intimate tongue. -The fabric of a mere nice romance had stiffened into sterner, darker -proportions. There was the look of a dry desire in the man's eyes, a -lean hungry silence about him that made his men whisper. Some of them -had seen Gorlois when he hunted down the heathen. They knew his temper, -and the cast of his features when there was some lust of enterprise in -his heart. - -About that time a knight came from Wales thrusting a woman's beauty -upon every man with the point of his spear. As had been his custom -elsewhere, he set up a green pavilion outside the walls, and daily rode -out armed to the sound of a trumpet to declare a certain Amoret of -Caerleon the fairest gentlewoman in Christendom. He was a big man, red -and burly, and had overthrown every like fanatic for love's sake on -this particular adventure. Gorlois heard of the fellow with no little -satisfaction. Every finger of him itched to spill blood, and he took -the deed on him, vowing it should be the last peace-offering to Igraine. - -Arming one morning, he rode down and fought the Green Knight in his -meadow outside the walls. It took them an hour to settle the matter. At -the end thereof the errant from Wales was lying impotent and bloody in -his tent, and the name of Amoret aped the ineffectual moon. Afterwards -Gorlois rode into the town, war-stained as he was, found Igraine at her -window, and presented her the Green Knight's token on the point of his -spear. - -It was a woman's sleeve in green silk, and edged with pearls. Igraine -saw a crowd of upturned faces about the man on the white horse. -His bright arms seemed to burn in upon her, and to light a sudden -impatience in her heart. She took the green sleeve from the spear, and -looking Gorlois full in the face, in reckless mood she threw the thing -down under his horse's hoofs. - -There was a great hush all through the street at the deed, and Gorlois -started red as a man struck across the face with a whip. His eyes -seemed to grow large, like the eyes of an angry dog. Never had folk -seen him look so black. He stared up a moment at Igraine, shook his -spear, and trampling the green sleeve under the hoofs of his horse, -rode away without a word through the glum and gaping crowd. - -Igraine had thrown down the glove with a vengeance. It was a mad enough -method of beating off the pride of a man such as Gorlois, whose temper -grew with the blows given, and who knew no moderation in love or in -hate. Gorlois had ridden home through the town that day to have his -wounds dressed, and to spend half the night in a fury of cursing. Yet -for all his bitterness he had the power of level thought, and of taking -ground for the future. He would read this woman a lesson; that much he -swore on the cross of his sword; and the early morning saw him again at -Radamanth's, strenuous to speak his mind. - -The goldsmith happened to know that Igraine was alone in the garden. -Without noise or ceremony he sent Gorlois in to her, locked the door -on them both, and went to watch from a narrow window on the stairs. He -swore that Gorlois should have his own way, and not go balked for a -woman's whim. - -Igraine was sitting sewing in the arbour of laurels with the little -gold cross hanging down over the bosom of her dress. A grass walk led -to the arbour between beds of flowers. As she sat stitching she heard -the sound of feet in the grass, and saw a shadow slanting across the -entry. She expected Lilith, but looking up, found Gorlois. - -He was white from his wounds of yesterday and the blood he had lost -by the Green Knight's sword. His left arm lay in a sling of red silk. -Igraine noted in her sudden half-fear how his eyes were very bright, -and that his beard looked coal-black below his bloodless cheeks. There -was something in his face too that made Igraine cautious. - -She rose and folded her embroidery in the most unperturbed and quiet -fashion, though she was thinking hard all the same. Gorlois watched -her, and held back for her to speak, with a hollow fire creeping -into his eyes, for the girl's passionless mood chafed him. He had no -gentleness towards her for the moment; such love as he knew had been -blown into a red beacon by starved and covetous desire. - -"A word with you," he said. - -The speech was rough and pertinent, showing the trend of the man's -purpose. He had abandoned superficialities. Igraine, gathering up her -silks, turned and faced him with the frankness of a full moon. Gorlois -saw her lips tighten, and there was a temper swimming in her eyes that -promised abundant spirit and no shirking. If he had launched out to -rouse her from passive antagonism, he could not have chosen a better -method. - -Igraine made a step towards the house, but two strides put Gorlois in -her path. - -"Make way--" - -"Not a foot till you have the truth out of me." - -"Have a care,--I will be stormed at by no man." - -"Woman, look at me." - -Igraine was looking at him with all the temper she could summon. If -Gorlois thought to ride straight over her courage, he was enormously -mistaken. She would match him for all his hectoring. - -"If you are not a fool," she said, "you will end this nonsense, and go." - -"Am I a scullion?" - -"You should know, my lord." - -"I have not bled for nothing." - -"As you will." - -"What have you to say to me?" - -Igraine lost all patience, tossed her embroidery aside, and simply -flashed out at him with all her soul. - -"Say!" she said; "I have somewhat to say, and that bitter; listen if -you will. You, Gorlois of Cornwall, who bade you make my name a byword -in Winchester? Listen to me,--hear the truth, and profit--you who -pestered me with mad tricks till I hated it all and held it insolence. -Who asked you to make me gossip for a city, did I? Who took your -presents? Who told you the truth? Who threw your token under the hoofs -of your horse to shame you? I have mocked you enough, now leave me in -peace, or rue it." - -"By God, madame--" - -"Don't echo me. Go, get out of my sight; I hate you!" - -Gorlois flushed to the temples in this wind of passion. The girl looked -splendid to him in her great anger, her head thrown back and her eyes -steady on him as stars. The scorn of her beauty leapt over him like -crimson light, and he was more a sensation than a man. He had a great -thirst in him to grip her with his hands, to bend her straight body -as he would bend a bow, to strangle up the scorn in her throat with his -own breath. He went near her, stooping and staring in her face. - -[Illustration: "A SUDDEN MADNESS WHIRLED GORLOIS AWAY"] - -"Igraine." - -"Mark my words." - -"You golden shrew, you temptation of tempers--" - -"Hold off--" - -"By God! I'll tame you, don't doubt me." - -Igraine, very watchful, slipped past him suddenly like light, and -walked for the house with a sweeping air that bade him keep his -distance. Coming to the door of the house, she tried it but found the -lock shot. The red badge of a new anger showed upon either cheek. She -turned on Gorlois; her eyes blazed out at him. - -"A pretty trick!" - -"What now, madame?" - -"You had this door locked." - -"Never." - -"You lie in your throat." - -"Radamanth--" - -"Open it." - -"I have no key." - -Igraine's figure seemed to dilate and grow taller, and her eyes shone -well-nigh as bright in colour as her hair. - -"Obey me." - -"Not if I had the key." - -"Obey me." - -"I will be master before the sun is at noon." - -"You dog!" - -A sudden madness whirled Gorlois away. He went red from the neck, -clutched at Igraine's wrist and held it. For a moment they stood rigid. -The girl could not shake him off although he had but one hand to hold -her. His breath was hot upon her face as he pressed her back against -the wall, and held her there till his lips touched her neck. Igraine, -breathing fast and straining from him with all her strength, set a -hand on his face and thrust him away. She twisted her wrist free, -and slipped from between him and the wall. Then the door opened, and -Radamanth stood by them. - -Igraine slipped away with a white face, and running above to her -chamber threw herself down on the bed, and cried for Pelleas. She heard -Gorlois stride through the house, heard the gate crash as he went out -into the street. Shame and loneliness were on her like despair, and -she was weak and shaken after her anger, and very hungry for love and -comfort. The world seemed a dull blank about her, cold, irresponsive, -and grey as a November evening. Every hand seemed against her. Even -Radamanth, the man of serious years, had turned the key upon her, more -kind to Gorlois than herself. Her thoughts were very bitter as she lay -and brooded over it all. - -Presently she heard some one coming up the stairs. Darting to the door, -she bolted it, and went back to the bed, while a hand rapped out a -somewhat diffident summons, and Radamanth's voice came in to her. - -"My dear niece," it said. - -Igraine made no answer. - -"My dear niece, let me have a word with you." - -Still no answer. Radamanth tried the door and found it fastened. - -"Gorlois is gone," he said. - -Igraine remained obdurate, with face drawn and sullen-eyed. She heard -him shuffle down the stairs again, go into his parlour, and shut the -door very gently, like a man who is ashamed. Then all was quiet save -for casual footsteps in the street, and the garrulous chatter of a -starling on the tiles. - -Noon had come and gone a long while, and still Igraine lay in her room -and moped. She felt sore and grieved to the heart, all her sanguine -courage was at low ebb. Winchester seemed a prison-house where she was -shut up with Gorlois. The man's greed and power of soul seemed to stare -upon her till white honour folded its hands over its breast and turned -to flee. Oh for Pelleas and the brave look of those honest eyes, the -staunch touch of those great hands. He seemed to stand up above the -world, above the selfishness, the lust, the violence, like a pine on -some lonely hill. She could trust, she could believe. To find him would -give her peace. - -As she lay there that noontide a new purpose came to her, and lighted -up hope. It was frail and flickering enough, but still, it burned. She -would leave Radamanth's house and go afoot into the world to find a -shadow. Anything was better than lying cooped in the place for dread of -Gorlois. She had long contemplated such a measure, and that morning in -Radamanth's garden gave her decision and made her strong. - -She rose up from the bed and hunted out her old Avangel habit from a -cupboard in the wall. Then she set to to doff the rich stuffs Radamanth -had given her, the embroidered tunic, the coloured leather shoes, -the goodly enamelled girdle. In their stead she stood again in the -old grey gown, hood, and sandals, with a little thrill of delicious -recollection. It was like stepping back into the dream of an enchanted -past. - -She had hardly ended the transformation when there came a shy tap at -her door, and a mild voice calling to her from the landing. It was the -girl Lilith. Igraine felt a sudden warmth at her heart as she let her -in and barred the door again. Lilith stood and stared at her, her great -brown eyes wide with astonishment. - -"Why this old dress, Igraine?" - -"I will tell you, dear." - -"And you have been crying, for your eyes are red." - -Igraine took the soft-voiced little woman to the window-seat and told -her sadly enough all the doings of the morning. Even Lilith looked -ashamed and showed her anger openly. Radamanth had confessed nothing of -what had passed in the garden. - -"I never loved my father less before," she said. "I should never have -thought this mean trick of him. I am ashamed, Igraine." - -"Never trouble, dear, you are my joy in Winchester." - -"And why this old nun's habit?" - -"I am going to leave you, child." - -Lilith clutched at her with both hands, her face suddenly white and -almost piteous. - -"Oh, no, no, Igraine!" - -"I must, dear." - -"Forgive--" - -"It is not that alone. I cannot rest here longer. Gorlois and the city -have crushed the heart out of me." - -Lilith lifted up her child's face to her, and then began to sob -unrestrained on Igraine's bosom. - -"It seems cruel," she whimpered. - -"No, no, it is best for me after all." - -"But where will you go, Igraine?" - -"Heaven knows, dear. I cannot rest here longer after this morning. I -feel as if I should stifle." - -"Don't go, Igraine." - -"Hush, dear, don't weaken me. I am hard put as it is." - -They were both weeping now. Lilith's slim body shook as she lifted up -her face to Igraine's, and looked at her through her tears. She had -learnt to love Igraine, and jealousy of her tall and splendid kinswoman -had had no place in her heart. Lilith possessed to perfection the power -of sympathy, and being a simple little soul who lived wholly for the -present, she perhaps felt the more for that very reason. She could not -say evil enough of Gorlois, nor put too much kindness into her kisses -as she sat with her head on Igraine's shoulder. - -"You cannot go out alone in the world," she said presently. - -Igraine was silent. - -"I know father would never forgive himself." - -"There are convents, child. They would guard and give me harbour for a -time." - -"A convent--but you hate the life." - -"If I could only hear of Uther, I would--" - -"Yes, yes, I know. But will you go, Igraine?" - -"My mind is made up; nothing can change it." - -"Then let me come with you." - -Igraine kissed her, but shook her head at the suggestion. - -"I love you for the wish, dear, but I could never drag you into my own -troubles, and it would be very wrong to Radamanth." - -That afternoon they had many words together in Igraine's room, and -dusk caught them still talking. Igraine had made Lilith promise that -Radamanth should know nothing of her flight till the following morning. -Lilith proved a little obstinate at first, but yielded in the end -for fear of grieving Igraine. With the dusk she crept downstairs and -brought up food. Igraine made a meal, while Lilith, with her tears -still falling, put up food and a few trifles into a bundle, slipping in -all the little store of money she had. Then she ran softly downstairs -to see if the way were clear. Radamanth had gone to supper with a -merchant friend, and the house seemed quiet and very lonely. In the -passage-way the two girls took leave of each other, Lilith clinging to -Igraine for a moment with all her heart. With sad eyes Igraine left -her, and went out into the night. - - - - -VI - - -Igraine found lodging that night in the great abbey of St. Helena that -Pelleas had spoken of on their ride from the island manor. Posing -to the portress as one who had wandered long after her escape from -Avangel, she was taken to the refectory, where supper was being spread -by the juniors. The women of the place gathered round her, and Igraine -inquired with some qualms for any chance news of Malt, Claudia, and -the rest, but getting nothing she felt more confident. She told them -her name was Melibœa, and she recounted at length the burning of -Avangel and her subsequent wanderings, carefully purging the tale of -all that might seem strange to their virgin ears, or set their tongues -a-clacking. The women were very kind to her, partly for her own sake, -and partly for the interesting gossip she had brought them. - -At supper she sat next a young and merry nun who shared her misericords -with her. The good women of the place were suffered to talk between -vespers and complines, and Igraine, sly at heart, edged the talk to a -tone for which she thirsted, and began to speak to her neighbours of -Gratia, Abbess of Avangel. - -"Did any of you know her?" she asked. - -"Only by fame," said a fat nun opposite Igraine. - -"I have heard she was near of kin to the King," said another, who -drooped her lids in very modest fashion. - -Igraine started in thought. - -"Aurelius?" she said. - -The nun nodded. - -"How were they related?" - -"I have heard Gratia was his aunt." - -"And aunt to Uther also?" - -"Of course, seeing they are brothers." - -Igraine looked at her wooden platter, and pressed the little gold cross -to her bosom with her hand. And now a strange thing happened. The old -nun opposite Igraine, who was the Mistress of the Novices, brought out -news that she had heard in the Abbess's parlour that very morning. - -"Uther has been seen again," she said. - -"Uther?" - -The word snapped out like a bolt from a bow, and brought the nuns' eyes -on Igraine across the table. - -"The man comes and goes like a shadow. He is ever riding alone to do -some great deed against the beasts, or against the heathen. A great -soul is Uther." - -Here were tidings dropped like dew out of heaven at the very hour she -stood in need of them. Igraine felt the mist lighten appreciably in her -brain. She popped an olive into her mouth and spoke almost carelessly. - -"Where is Uther?" - -"At Sarum town. He rode, they say, to the great camp there looking like -a ghost, or as though he had been playing Simeon on a pillar." - -Igraine merely nodded. - -"Uther always looks a serious soul. Have you ever seen him, sister?" - -"Never. A dark man?" - -"With a face like a sun and a thunder-cloud rolled into one." - -"A good man!" - -"So they say; he has a clean look." - -A little bell began to sound to call them away to complines. Igraine -went with the rest into the solemn chapel, and let the chant sweep into -her soul, and the prayers take her heart to heaven. Incense floated -down, colours shone and glimmered on the walls, the dim lamps shivered -like stars under the roof. Igraine felt her hollow heart warm as a rose -in the full blaze of a golden noon. She said her prayers very fervently -that night, for love was awake in her and glad of her new-blossomed -hope. She would go to the great camp at Sarum and see this Uther for -herself. - -She had little comradeship with sleep in the great dormitory that -night. When the matins bell rang she was up and ready for her flight -like a young lark in the day. After chapel she begged a pittance from -the cellaress and stowed it with her bundle in the little wallet Lilith -had given her, excusing her early going on the plea that she had far to -walk that day. She set out briskly from the grey shadows of the abbey. -The place lay quite close by the western gate, so that she was soon -beyond the walls and in the fields and orchards where all was goldly -quiet at that early hour. - -Winchester stood like a prison-house, void and fooled, in the east. -Igraine turned and looked down at it awhile huddled in its great girdle -of stone, a medley of towers, roofs, and mist-wrapped trees. She shook -her fist at it with a noiseless little laugh when she thought of -Gorlois. Further yet to the east she could see the blue pine-smirched -ridge where Pelleas had built her that little bower on the night he -had left her sleeping. Her eyes grew deep with desire as she thought -of it all, even as she had thought of it a thousand times since then. -Pelleas's dark face was garlanded with green in her memory, and -trouble, as it ever does, had made love take deeper root in her bosom. - -Cheeriness comes with action. Igraine, fettered no longer, footed it -along the road with snatches of song on her lips, and her eyes full of -summer. A quiet wind came up from the west, and the clear morning air -suited her courage. All the wide world seemed singing; the trees had -an epithalamium on their whispering tongues, and the sky seemed strewn -with white garlands. The tall corn in its occasional cohorts bowed down -to her with murmuring acclaim as though it guessed her secret. - -When she had gone a league or so she sat down under a tree and made a -meal from the stuff in her wallet. Country folk went by on the road, -for it was market-day in Winchester. One apple-cheeked lad seeing a nun -sitting there came devoutly with his palms full of fruit taken from his -ass's pannier, and made his offering with a shy smile and a bend of the -knee. Igraine, touched, blessed him most piously, and gave him a kiss -to cap it. The lad blushed and went away thinking he had never seen -such a pretty nun before, and wondering if there were many like her in -the great abbey. Igraine watched him towards Winchester, and wished -some country girl joy of a good husband. - -Presently she held on again in great spirits, nor had she gone very far -when a tinkling of bells came up behind her with a merry clatter of -hoofs. Turning aside to give passage, she looked back and saw an old -gentleman riding comfortably on a white mule with two servants jogging -along behind him on cobs. The old man's bridle was fringed with -little silver bells that made a thin jingle as he rode; he was solidly -gowned in plum-coloured cloth turned over with sable, and seemed of -comfortable degree, judging by his trappings. Igraine looked up in his -face as he passed by, while the old gentleman stared down to see what -sort of womanhood lurked under a nun's hood. The man on the mule was -Eudol, Radamanth's bosom gossip. - -"Hey now, on my soul," said the little merchant, reining in with -a will; "what have we here, my dear, gadding about nunwise on a -high-road? My faith, I must hold a catechism." - -Igraine, knowing the old man's vulnerability, answered with a smile. - -"Ah, Master Eudol, you are a very lady's man, a gem of discretion." - -"So, and truth," said the merchant, with a chuckle. - -Igraine went close to him and patted the white mule's neck, while the -serving men held at a wise distance. - -"I am running away from Winchester," she said. - -"Strange sport, my dear." - -"Now you must not tell a soul, on your honour." - -"Not a living soul, on my honour." - -Igraine let her eyes flit a laughing look up at him. - -"Why then, Master Eudol," she said, "if you will order one of your men -to walk, I will get up and ride along with you for a league or two. -There is trust for you." - -Eudol appeared entranced with the suggestion. He ordered one of his -fellows to dismount, to spread a cloak over the saddle, to shorten a -stirrup leather and give Igraine his knee. The girl was soon mounted, -seated side fashion with one sandalled foot in the stirrup and one hand -on the pommel to steady her. She flanked Eudol's white mule, and they -rode on side by side at a level tramp, with the henchmen some twenty -paces in the rear. - -Eudol soon waxed fatherly, as was his custom. He twitted Igraine on the -temerity of her venture with the senile and pedantic jocosity of an -old man. He said things that would have been impertinent on the tongue -of a youngster, and exerted to the full that eccentric fad of age, the -supposition that youth needs pleasant patronage and nothing more. Old -men, holding young folk to be fools, reserve to their rusty brains the -privilege of seeming wise. They are content to straddle the crawling, -leather-jointed circumspection that they call knowledge. The bird -flutters to his mate, sings, soars, and is taken before night by the -fowler. The snail creeps his rheumy round covered with the slime and -slobber of prudence, to rot in the end under a tree-stump, unless some -good throstle cracks him prematurely on a stone. Eudol had something of -the snail about him, but he assayed none the less to ape the soaring -of youth with a very ragged pair of wings. That morning he flew with a -senile eagerness for Igraine's favour, and thought himself a match for -any young man in the matter of light chivalry. - -"Come now, my dear," he said, "let us have a good look at you." - -"Well, sir?" - -"My word, you make a gorgeous nun. Who ever saw such eyes under a hood -before! My dear, you are quite foolhardy to go pilgrimaging alone; men -are such rogues, and you have such a pretty face." - -There was a cringing tone about the old sinner that made Igraine -thoroughly despise him. He seemed to combine elderly bravado with -smooth servility, qualities peculiarly obnoxious to the girl's spirit. -She had never liked or trusted Eudol overmuch in the past, but she -was at pains to be civil to him now, seeing that he might serve her -in sundry ways. She took his speeches with outward graciousness, and -laughed at him hugely in her heart. - -He began to lecture her in rather egotistical fashion. - -"You must remember, my dear," he said, "that I am a man of the world, -and one whose experience may be relied upon. I may tell you that my -judgment is much valued by your good uncle Radamanth, a man of much -sagacity, but yet one who lacks just that subtle insight into events -that I may say has always been my special characteristic. I am so -experienced that I may deserve the infinite honour of advising you if -you care to tell me where you are going. I have had so much to do with -the world, that I can tell you the best tavern in any town this side -of the Thames where clean and honest lodging may be had. I can inform -you as to tolls, prices, customs, bye-laws. Are you soon returning to -Winchester?" - -Igraine shook her head at him. - -"Who have you been quarrelling with, my dear?" - -"Myself most." - -"To think of it, syrup quarrelling with honey! What will your Lord -Gorlois do?" - -Igraine stifled the question on the instant. - -"Master Eudol, leave that name alone if you want more of my company." - -"Pardon, my dear, pardon. I did not know it was so unpleasant a topic." - -"I hate the very name of him." - -"My dear, such a splendid fellow." - -"Detestable boaster." - -"Tut, tut,--a very popular nobleman; just the very man for you, and -vastly rich. Now when I heard that he--that gentleman--" - -"For God's sake, Master Eudol, leave your chatter." - -The old merchant for the moment looked a little taken aback. Then he -smiled, pulled his goat's beard, and grew epigrammatic. - -"She who wears a gilded shoe," he said, "will find it pinch in the -wearing. Stick to your sandals, my dear, and let your pretty white feet -go brown in the sun. Better breathe in the open than freeze in a marble -house. Just play the savage and let ambition go hang." - -Igraine thanked him as though she held his counsel to be of the most -inestimable value to herself. She was wise enough to know that to -please an old man you must take his words in desperate earnest, and -appear much caught by his supreme sagacity. Eudol smacked his lips and -was comfortably warm within himself. He went on to tell the girl that -he was riding to a little country manor that he owned some few leagues -from Winchester. He informed her sentimentally that he was a very -Virgil over his farm and garden. Igraine thought "Virgil" might well be -Greek for "fool," but she hid her ignorance under her hood. Eudol ran -on to dilate on the subtleties of husbandry, making a fine parade of -expert phraseology in the doing of it. - -"I see you do not follow me," he said presently. "Young folk are not -fond of turning over the sods; they love grass for a scamper, not clay -and dull loam. Shall we talk of petticoats or sarcenet that runs down a -pretty figure like water? Eh, my dear? You set the tune, I'll follow." - -Igraine contented herself with keeping him to his hobby. - -"My father loved his violet beds," she said. - -"Wise man--wise man. A garden makes thoughts sprout as though they -would keep time to the leaves. You shall see my garden. Let me see, -what road are you for following?" - -"The road to fortune, Master Eudol." - -"Truth, then, it must run near my doorway. The good woman who keeps -house for me will make you most welcome. You must rest on your journey." - -"You are very good." - -"Not a bit of it, my dear. I shall call you St. Igraine--hee, hee!--and -you will ripen all the apples in my orchard by looking at 'em. Faith, -am I not a wag?" - -"You ought to be at court, sir." - -"Hee, hee!" - -"You would make all the young squires red with envy." - -"My dear, my dear!" - -"Truth." - -"To flatter an old man so--" - -"But you are really such a courtier." - -Eudol squirmed and chuckled in the grotesquest fashion. - -"Assuredly we make very good friends," he said. - -Eudol's manor nearly halved the mileage between Sarum and the royal -town of Winchester, and Igraine found his suggestion quite a happy help -to her plans. If needs be, she could bide the night there and make -Sarum next day with but trivial trouble. She was glad in a way that -she had fallen in with Eudol, for the ride had proved quite a charity -to her, and his antique vanities had passed the time better than more -modest characteristics could have done. Her only fear was lest he -should cheat her, and send word to Radamanth. Accordingly she spoke to -him again about her flight, and made him promise on the Cross that he -would not betray her whereabouts. Eudol, silly soul, was ready enough -by now to promise her almost anything. - -About noon they halted and made a meal, with a flat stone lying under -the shade of a tree for table. Eudol drank quite enough wine to quicken -his failings, and to lull what common sense he had to sleep. He became -so maudlin, so supremely sentimental, that Igraine had much ado to -throttle her laughter. She quite feared for him when they had to get -to horse again. His men had to hoist him into the saddle between them. -Once there he seemed quite arrogantly confident of his seat, and being -a hardy old gentleman at the pot he soon steadied down into comparative -docility, managing his mule as though there had been no such luxury as -dinner. He was more garrulous and fatherly than ever; now and again he -had to quench a hiccough; otherwise he was only an exaggerated portrait -of himself. - -An hour's ride brought them to Eudol's own pastures. He pointed out his -sheep to Igraine amid the clanking of their diverse bells, and told her -the profits of the last shearing. Soon the house edged into view, a -homely place set back an arrow's flight from the road, and ringed round -with a score or so old trees. It was a green and quiet spot, mellow -with the warm comfort of pastureland and wood. A pool twinkled in the -meadows, through which ran a small stream. - -There was no bridge over the brook; the track crossed it by a shallow -ford where the water gurgled over pebbles. The banks were loose and -crumbling, and the trackway littered with stones. Eudol's mule went -over sure-footed as a goat, but Igraine's horse, slipping on the slope, -set a fore-hoof on a shifting stone, and rolled down with a crash. The -girl did not avoid in time, and the brute's body pinned her ankle. She -felt the sinews crack, and the stones bruise her flesh. For a moment -she was in danger of the animal's plunges to rise, but one of the men -came up and seized the bridle, while his fellow drew Igraine clear. - -Eudol climbed down, splashed through the water, and came up puffing -sympathy. Igraine tried to walk, but gave up with a wry face. The men -helped her to the grass bank, where she sat down, with Eudol fussing -round her like an old woman. He sent the men on to the manor to bring -a bed; and seeing that Igraine had grown white from the wrench, he ran -for the wine-flask at his saddle-bow and urged her to drink. The girl -had more fear of a spoilt journey than a cracked bone, and feeling -faint for the moment, she suffered Eudol, and took the wine. The old -man was on his knees by her stroking her hand, his thin beard wagging, -and his glazed eyes vinously sympathetic. When the men came back with -the bed they laid Igraine thereon, and bore her through the meadows to -the house, Eudol following like a spaniel at their heels. - - - - -VII - - -While Igraine slept in the abbey dormitory and dreamt of Pelleas, the -man Gorlois burnt on the grid of his own passions, and found no peace -for his soul. - -The night sky was not a whit more black than his spirit, and his -sinister cogitations were chequered ever with palpitating points of -fire. The restless fever of an unfed leopard seemed his, and he was -in and out of his tumbled, sleepless bed ten times before dawn. Only -a boar-hound kept him company, a savage red-eyed brute whose temper -suited that of his master; the dog followed Gorlois as he wandered from -bed-chamber to atrium, out from the peristyles to the garden, down -walks of yew and cypress, between the beds of helicryse and asphodel, -over the smooth lawns clear in the eye of the moon. There was an evil -thing in Gorlois's thought, a thing fit for beggarly disrelish, yet -very white and lovely to look upon. He stalked like a ghost in the -night, biting his lips, looking into the dark with red and eager eyes. -How often he reached out in naked thought and clasped only the air. He -cursed himself and the woman, honoured and abused her in one breath, -grew hot and cold like a live coal played upon by a fickle wind. - -As soon as dawn came he had a plunge and a swim in a pool in the -garden, and having suffered the ceremony of a state toilet, went out -unattended into the town. It was the very hour when Igraine was shaking -her fist at Winchester for thought of him, but Gorlois was spared the -prick of self-knowledge and the frank truth of the girl's distaste. He -thought her nothing more than a shrew, and the possessor of a splendid -temper. His long legs and the heat at his heart soon took him down -through the quiet streets and the market square to Radamanth's house. - -Early as was the hour, the goldsmith had escaped sloth and was busy at -his ledgers in his little counting-house behind the parlour. Gorlois -came in in great state, with the serving wench who announced him -feasting her curiosity on his face with a sheepish giggle. Radamanth, -fetched from his figures, bowed very low, and made the gentleman a -most obsequious welcome. He was wondering what Gorlois's humour might -be after the repulse of yesterday. To tell the truth, Radamanth felt -somewhat ashamed of the trick he had served Igraine, and he was none -too eager to meet his niece, seeing that she still seemed determined to -hide her anger in her room. His doubts as to Gorlois's mood were set at -rest by that gentleman's somewhat saturnine opening. - -"Radamanth!" - -"Your honour's servant." - -"I have come to make peace." - -"Your lordship's magnanimity is phenomenal." - -"Was I over hasty, goldsmith?" - -"A young man's way, my lord; no fault at all. Many's the time I had my -face smacked as a youngster, and was none the worse in favour. Take no -serious view, sir, but press her the harder. She'll give in--my faith, -yes, being young and full of bone. You are troubled, my lord, with too -much conscience." - -"Have you seen the woman since?" - -Radamanth raised his eyebrows and shrugged. - -"Well, no," he said. "I am afraid my niece has rather a hot -spirit--breeding, my lord--proud blood in her." - -"I know that part of her nobleness well enough." - -Radamanth refrained a moment from a sense of discretion. - -"My lord would see her?" - -"I'll not budge till I have done so." - -"You understand women?" - -Gorlois smiled a peculiar smile. - -"I have wit enough," he said. "I have my plan." - -"If it please you, sir, to go into the garden, I will endeavour to send -her to you." - -"No more locking of doors, goldsmith." - -"Sir, I contemn my late indiscretion in your service." - -Gorlois passed out by a long passage into the gardens, with its green -leaves shelving to the river, while Radamanth, half a coward at heart, -went towards the stair that led to Igraine's chamber. Halfway up he -met the girl Lilith coming down, very white and frightened looking, as -though she dreaded her father's face. Radamanth kissed her, and asked -for Igraine. Then her distraught look dawned on him in the twilight of -the stairway, and made him suddenly suspicious. - -"Is Igraine awake?" - -Lilith hid her face in his sleeve. - -"Speak, girl, what's amiss?" - -"The room is empty." - -"What!" - -"Igraine has left us," said the girl with a stifled whimper. - -Radamanth, sage and solemn soul, lapsed into the sin of blasphemy. - -"When did you learn this, girl?" - -"Father--" - -"Quick now, don't lie." - -He shook her by the shoulder. - -"Father, be gentle with me." - -"Quick, hussy." - -"I can't, I can't." - -Radamanth took her firmly by the wrist and brought her with no very -considerate care into the parlour. - -"Now," he said, thrusting her into a chair, "you atom of ingratitude, -tell me what you know." - -Lilith began to sob. She hid her face behind her fingers and dared not -look at Radamanth. The goldsmith chafed and paced the room, hectoring -her. - -"Don't think to fool me," he said; "you know more yet; you would have -answered before if there had been any truth in you." - -Radamanth's harshness seemed certainly to calm the girl, and to conjure -up some passing antagonism in her heart. - -"The blame is yours, father." - -"Impertinent child." - -"Igraine was angry with you." - -"Well, have I not treated her like a daughter?" - -"She fled away last night." - -"Where?" - -"I don't know." - -"You do." - -"I don't, father; 'tis truth." - -The girl's brown eyes appealed to him tearfully; she was honest enough, -and Radamanth knew it. He took her sincerity for granted and proceeded -to question her further. - -"How was she clothed, child?" - -Lilith looked at the floor and plucked at her gown with her fingers. - -"Do you hear me?" - -"Yes, father." - -"Then answer at once." - -"I can't." - -"Upon my soul--" - -"Igraine made me promise." - -Radamanth lost his temper again and began to bluster like a March wind. -Lilith's cheeks were wet with her tears; they ran down and dropped into -her lap like little crystals. She shook and sobbed in her chair, but -answered not a word, a martyr to her promises. Then Radamanth, man of -money-bags and craft, found something wherewith to loose her tongue. - -"Listen," he said; "a certain lad never enters this house again, and -you never again have speech with him, unless you answer me this at -once." - -The mean measure triumphed. Lilith's tears never ceased, but she gave -way at last, and hating herself, told Radamanth what he wanted. Then he -left her there to whimper by herself, and went into the garden to speak -with Gorlois. - -The Count of Cornwall guessed from the merchant's face that matters had -fallen out ill for him somewhere. He forestalled Radamanth's confession -with an impatient gust of words. - -"She is still in a deuce of a temper?" - -"My lord, it is otherwise." - -"Then why so glum--man, have I not uncovered ingots of gold for you if -I wed?" - -Radamanth held his hands up like a priest giving a blessing. Any one -might have thought him grieved to death by the ingratitude of his -niece's desertion. The goldsmith dealt in coarser sentiment. - -"My lord, the girl has forsaken my house and fled." - -Gorlois had half expected some such news. He said nothing, but merely -stared at Radamanth with dark masterful eyes, while his fingers played -with the tassels of his belt. His heart was already away over moor and -dale chasing the gleam of a golden head of hair. - -"When did you miss her, goldsmith?" - -"She crept away at dusk yesterday." - -"Whither?" - -"Heaven knows, my lord." - -"How dressed?" - -"As a grey nun." - -"Has she gone back to the Church?" - -"She did not love such a life, my lord." - -"By God, no." - -Gorlois frowned a moment in thought. The scent of the girl's dress was -still in his nostrils, and her eyes haunted him. Then he turned past -Radamanth to go, hitching up his sword belt, a significant habit he had -learnt long ago. - -"I shall find her," he said. - -"Good, my lord." - -"I have your countenance." - -"Be kind to the girl, sir." - -"I could go to hell for her." - -"My lord, why not try heaven?" - -"A good jest." - -"Men always go to hell for things," said the goldsmith. - -There was life and stir enough in Gorlois's great house when its master -came back that morning. Gorlois's orders were like a torch to tinder. -Men went to every wind, some to the gates, some to the market, others -to the religious houses and the inns, all bent on striking the trail of -a nun's grey gown. The men knew their master's mood, and the measure of -his pulse on such occasions. Gorlois bided quiet in his garden, more -like a leopard than a lover. He had made up his mind to catch Igraine, -and to win mastery of her, hook or by crook, since she chose to play -the shrew and mar his wooing. It was not likely that one of the first -men in Britain should be baffled by the temper of a goldsmith's niece. - -About noon a certain slave who had gone out to net news came back with -much elation and claimed his lord's ear. Brought in before Gorlois, he -told how he had talked with a boy selling fruit in the market-place, -and how the boy, when questioned, had told him of a nun he had seen -sitting under a tree by the road to Sarum that very morning. The lad -had described her as a very beautiful lady with large eyes, and a cloud -of red-brown hair, and that she wore a grey nun's habit somewhat torn -and travel-stained. Gorlois thought he recognised Igraine, and gave the -slave fifty acres and his freedom on the instant. Waiting for further -news, word was brought him that a grey nun had been marked by the guard -going out of the western gate not very long after dawn. Later still -Gorlois heard of such a nun, calling herself Melibœa, having lodged the -night at the great abbey of St. Helena. - -Gorlois held himself in leash no longer. He buckled on his richly gilt -armour, and his great white horse was saddled and brought into the -court. Not a knight would he have at his back, neither groom nor page. -Getting to horse in the full welt of the afternoon sun, he rode out -of Winchester alone by the western gate, watched of many people. Once -clear of the town he pricked incontinently for Sarum, lusting much to -catch Igraine upon the way. - -About that very same hour Eudol was exerting himself in Igraine's -service in the manor farm in the meadows. - -The men had carried her up from the ford and set her at her own seeking -in a shady place in the garden where she might lie at peace. It was -a pleasant nook enough where they had set her bed, a patch of bright -green grass with a bank of flowers on one hand and dense laurel hedge -hiding it from the track to the house on the other. A vine trained upon -poles raised a pleasant pavilion there. Autumn would soon be whispering -in the woods, and already some few leaves were ribbed with gold and -maroon. - -Eudol played the physician and made a very critical examination of her -ankle. He prided himself, among his other vanities, on having studied -Galen, and since the healing craft is often a matter of phenomenal -words and wise nothings, Eudol might have outphysicked Gildas at his -own game. The art of medicine is the art of hypocrisy, and the sage -apothecary is often a broken reed trembling in the wind of ignorance. -Eudol, having no reputation at stake, pronounced Igraine's hurt to be -a mere strain of the ankle-joint, and, as it happened, he was right. -He swathed her foot in wet linen and set it on a pillow, while the -woman who kept house for him, a red-cheeked piece of buxomness, brought -wine and food-stuff on a tray. Seeing a nun's habit the good woman was -comforted, and indulged Igraine with many smiles and much motherly care. - -Eudol came and sat beside her with a great book on his knee, Virgil's -Bucolics, as he told her, and writ most learnedly for the edification -of the wise. Eudol read very little of the book that afternoon. The -volume abode with him for effect, but he preferred rather to dwell upon -the more Ovidian interest of the girl beside him, and to talk to her -in his familiar and fatherly fashion. He made many sly attempts to get -the purpose of her pilgrimage from her, but Igraine had enough wit to -keep him discreetly mystified on the subject. She was wondering all the -while how long her strained ankle would keep her to her bed. - -Eudol smothered her with offers of hospitality. - -"On my word you shall not be dull," he said, "though there is only an -old man to entertain you. One day you shall ride out in a litter to my -vineyards, another you shall be carried out a-hunting. I have a little -wench here who can harp and sing like a mermaid. By the poets, I can -make you quite a merry time." - -Igraine made the best smile she could, and thanked him. - -"You must not put yourself out for me." - -"Nonsense." - -"You are very good." - -Eudol shook his finger with most earnest expression. - -"My dear lady, it is duty, duty," he said. - -They had not been so very long in the garden when Igraine's quick -ear caught the sharp and rhythmic smite of hoofs on the stony track -across the meadows. The sound disquieted her, for she was in the mood -for dreads and suspicions. Listening to make sure that the sound -approached, she appealed to Eudol and asked him to look and see who -rode for the manor. There was a little wicket-gate some way down the -laurel hedge carefully screened by shrubs. Eudol went to it, and -scanned the meadows under his hand. He came back somewhat flustered to -Igraine, and told her that a knight in gilded armour mounted on a white -horse was riding up the track to the house. - -Igraine started up on her bed with her eyes very big and suspicious. - -"It is Gorlois," she said. - -"Heavens, my dear!" - -"You have not been lying to me?" - -"On my soul--no." - -Igraine touched her forehead with her hand, and looked askance at the -sun. - -"Master Eudol, if you would serve me, go and fool the man--send him -away." - -"My dear child--" - -"He must not see the servants or have speech with them." - -"But--" - -"I command you, go and speak to him; he is very near." - -Eudol looked at her with his lower lip a-droop. His grey-green eyes met -Igraine's, gleamed, and faltered. He bent over the bed. - -"I will do my best. Give me a kiss, my dear. By Augustus, I will get -rid of Gorlois if I can." - -He went out quickly by the wicket-gate, and closing it after him, -waited for the knight to approach. There were no slaves about, and -Eudol remembered with confidence that his men were in the corn fields, -well away to the north. Gorlois came up with the splendid arrogance -that so suited him, his rich armour glowing above the white flanks of -his horse, his spear balanced on his thigh. Eudol went forward some -paces to meet him, as though to learn his business. Igraine, listening -behind the laurel hedge, heard their words as plainly as though the two -men were but three paces away. - -"Greeting, sir," said Eudol's thin voice. - -Then she heard Gorlois's clear sharp tenor questioning him. She heard -him ask whether a grey nun had called for food, or whether Eudol had -seen or heard of such a person. She heard the old man's meandering -negative, and Gorlois's retort that a grey nun had been seen riding -beside a merchant on a white mule. Igraine's heart seemed to race and -thunder. Eudol, rising to the event, suggested that the merchant might -be a certain fabulous person from Aquæ Sulis; a man of means, he said, -who often came by Sarum to Winchester in the fur trade. He hinted that -the knight might overtake them on the road, or discover them at Sarum -that evening. Gorlois fell to the suggestion. Igraine heard him inquire -further of Eudol, speak to his horse, and ride away with a ringing -clatter. She sat on her couch behind her laurel rampart and laughed. - -Eudol came back to her, pleased as possible. - -"How was that done,--sweeting?" - -"Nobly," laughed Igraine. - -"The Virgin pardon me; what perjury for a pair of lips." - - - - -VIII - - -Nothing is more chafing to the patience than to lie abed crippled, -knowing the while that coveted hours are slipping through one's fingers -like grains of gold. To Igraine, her maimed ankle was a very thorn -in the flesh. Her thoughts were tugging to be at Sarum, and she was -in continual fear lest Radamanth or Gorlois should track her to her -temporary refuge, and attempt to mar her freedom. She was not a woman -who could take hindrance with perfect philosophy, comforting herself -with the reflection that care never yet salved unrest. She chafed at -delay, and even blamed Eudol with great unreason because he had obliged -her with a horse not proof against stumbling. - -The knowledge that Gorlois rode in search of her did not tend to the -easing of her mind. She began to understand Gorlois to the full. He had -betrayed so much of himself in Radamanth's garden that her dread grew -nearly as great as her disrelish. - -Eudol had made her comfortable enough in his manor, she had no need to -find fault with his hospitality. She had her own room, a little girl to -wait and sing to her, fruit and food of the best. She spent the greater -part of each day in the garden, her bed being set under the vine -leaves; two of Eudol's slaves would carry her down in the morning and -bear her back again at night, so that she should not be too venturesome -in trying her ankle. The old merchant kept his folk close on the farm -and suffered none to go to Winchester or Salisbury, for fear lest the -knowledge of Igraine's whereabouts should leak into interested channels. - -The more the girl saw of Eudol the less she relished him in her heart. -The lean look of him, his little green eyes, his thin goat-like beard, -reminded her much of the picture of some old Satyr she had seen in -the frescoes on the walls of the triclinium at Winchester. He grew -more fatherly and kind to her, would smile like some old saint as he -sat and read moralities to her from the lives of some of the Fathers. -He was very fond of holding her hand and stroking it while he purred -sentiment, and made her colour to hear his nonsense. He was quite -wickedly delighted when he had fetched a blush to her face. He would -sit and chuckle and hug himself, while his little eyes glistened and -his beard shook. Igraine, though her cheeks often tingled, did her -best to suffer him, knowing well enough that she was greatly dependent -for her peace of mind upon his good-will. She would laugh, turn his -senile flatteries into jest, and assume his humour as the most vapoury -and fanciful piece of fun possible. She often hinted that Eudol must -be neglecting his farm for her sake, though her suggestions were -absolutely to no purpose, seeing that Eudol had forgotten all about -such mundane matters as harvesting or the pressing of cider. - -One afternoon they had a shrewd fright, and the incident led in its -final development to Igraine's leaving the manor in the meadows. She -was in the garden with Eudol when two horsemen wearing Gorlois's livery -rode up to the gate and demanded entertainment with much froth and -bombast. They were sturdy hot-tongued rogues, quick at liquor, quicker -still at blasphemy. Eudol, much flustered, had them brought into the -house and set loose upon a wine flask while he smuggled Igraine out of -the garden. There was a barn standing on the other side of a little -meadow near the house, and the building was screened by a fringe of -pines and a thorn hedge. Eudol hurried Igraine to the barn, saw her -couched on a pile of hay, closed the door on her, and scampered back to -take great care of Gorlois's gentlemen. - -Eudol proved a most obsequious and attentive host. He kept the men -primed with wine, watched them like a lynx, forbade his slaves and -servants the room so that there should be no chance of gossip. The -fellows thought themselves well harboured. Eudol, hardy old tipster, -kept them going with a will, till they swore he was the best old -gentleman at his cups they had met this side of the Thames. He -out-drank, out-yarned, out-jested the pair of them. Grown very mellow -towards evening, they vowed by all the calendar that they loved him so -much they would make a night of it, and not go to bed till they were -carried. Eudol could have denied himself their great esteem, but there -was nothing for it but to humour them. - -He got rid of the fellows next morning, when they went away sadly, very -glazed about the eyes, swearing they would pay him another visit at -their very earliest opportunity. Eudol, when they were out of sight, -went out to the barn and found Igraine comfortably couched there on -a mass of hay. The little maid who served her had brought her supper -on the sly the night before, and she had fared well enough in her new -quarters. - -As a matter of fact Eudol had had a parting cup with the men that -morning, and had hardly outbreathed as yet the maudlin heritage gotten -the previous night. He kissed Igraine's hand, mumbled his usual -courtesies, excused his long absence with a warmth that nearly brought -him to tears. He was somewhat flushed over the cheek bones; his eyes -were bright, and his breath pregnant with the heavy scent of wine. -Igraine wiped the hand he had kissed on her gown, looked at him with -little love or gratitude, and told him that she had been trying to -walk, and that her ankle bore her passably. - -Eudol, edging near, proceeded to narrate at preposterous length how -he had kept Gorlois's men employed, made them drunk as cobblers, and -packed them off innocently to Winchester that morning. He was hugely -sly over it all. He came and climbed up beside Igraine on the hay, and -pinched her arm with his lean fingers as he talked. There was a gaunt, -red, eager look about his face. It was quite twilight in the great -barn, and a mingled smell of hay and pitch-pine filled the air, while -dusty beams of light filtered through in steady streams. - -Eudol's vinous and fatherly solicitude developed abruptly into an -absurd revelation of his inner self. He had hold of Igraine's arm with -one hand. Leaving go suddenly, he reached for her waist, poked his grey -beard into her face, and made a clumsy dab at her cheek. In a moment -the girl's arm had swept him backwards like an impotent bag of bones. -She saw him overbalance and roll off the haycock on to the edge of a -scythe. Without waiting for more, and with a glimpse of the old fool's -slippers still in the air, she slipped down from the hay and out of the -barn, and shutting the door, pegged the catch with a piece of wood. -Then she went laughing half resentfully towards the house, and told -Dame Phœbe that her master had gone to the fields to oversee his slaves. - -The woman had taken a remarkable dislike to Igraine, being sulky-eyed -and dumb-saucy in her presence as far as she dared. The grey nun told -her that she was ending her sojourn at the farm that morning, and was -going on foot for the west. The woman's face changed as suddenly as a -spring sky. She was suave and smiling instanter, ready with queries -as to Igraine's ankle, very eager to pack her wallet with stuff from -Eudol's larder. Igraine, with an inward flush, saw how the wind blew. -She was keen to be gone before Eudol should be loosed from the barn; -even the woman's changed mood seemed a tacit insult in itself. - -She was soon treading the meadows where the backs of Eudol's sheep -stood out like white boulders on the solitary stretch of green. The -country began to be as flat as a table, though there were still masses -of woodland piled on either side the great white road. Igraine kept in -among the trees with just a glimpse of the highway to keep her to her -mark. Her grey gown passed almost unperceptibly among the mould-grown -trunks as she went in the chequered light like a grey mouse through -green corn. Her ankle bore her better than she had prophesied, and -she made fair travelling at a modest pace. Later in the afternoon the -strain began to tell in measure, and her ankle ached and felt hot, as -though she had done enough. Sitting down on a fallen tree she watched -the road, and waited for some one to pass. - -A charcoal burner went by with a couple of asses panniered up with a -comfortable load. Then came two soldiers and a couple of light wenches -who haunted camp and castle and lived to the minute. Next, a great wain -half ladened up with faggots came lumbering along, drawn by a pair of -sleepy horses, and driven by a peasant in a green smock and leather -breeches. Igraine took her choice, and going down from the trees, stood -by the roadside, and begged of the man a lift. - -Seeing a nun looking up at him the man reined in, climbed down cap in -hand, and louted low to her. There was some clean straw spread over -the boards at the bottom of the cart. The man helped her up on to the -tail-board and raked the straw into a heap to make her a seat. Then -they lumbered on again towards Sarum. - -In due course she began to talk to the man as he sat on a couple of -faggots and held the ropes. He was an honest, ignorant fellow, with a -much whiskered face that wore a perpetual look of kindly stupidity. -Igraine sought to know whether he was going as far as Sarum. The man -shook his bushy head like an amiable ogre, and told her that he was for -his lord's manor some two leagues distant, where he served as woodman -and ranger, or soldier when there was need of steel. He commended his -lord's house to her for lodging, with a solid faith in the generosity -of its board. Questioned as to other habitations, he told her of a -hermit's cell set in a little dale in the woods, a cell where wandering -folk often found harbour for the night. Igraine made up her mind to -choose the ascetic's bread and water, having had enough of the world's -welcome. Possibly in some dim and distant way she began to realise the -intense and engrained selfishness of the human heart. - -The man of faggots, believing her a holy woman, soon began to relate -his domestic troubles to her with a most touching reverence. He told -her how his wife had been abed two months from her last childbirth, and -how sad and dirty his little cabin was for lack of her hands. He asked -Igraine to put the woman in her bede-role, a simple favour that she -granted readily enough. Then the fellow with some stolid pathos went -on to describe how his eldest lad, a boy of eight, had caught a fever -through sleeping in the woods after rain, and how he had fallen sick. - -"I went to a good monk," said the man, "and bought holy water and a -pinch of dust from a saint's coffin. Pardy! but it cost me a year's -savings. The good father bade me pour the water on the boy's head and -shake the dust over his body. Glad I was, holy sister; I ran five miles -home to cure the lad." - -"And he is well?" - -The man gave a doleful whistle. - -"The boy died," said he with pathetic candour, and a short catch in his -voice. "I didn't sleep two whole nights. Then I kissed my woman, mopped -her eyes, and went and told the priest." - -Igraine merely nodded. - -"Ah, the dear father, he told me 'twas God's will, and that the blessed -dust had drifted the lad straight to heaven, where he would be singing -next King David like any lord. So he came and buried the boy, and there -was an end on't." - -Igraine for the moment felt heavy about the eyes. - -"I should like to see him there in his little white stole," she said. -"Do you know, goodman, why so many children die?" - -"Faith, madame, I have no learning," said the fellow with a dumb stare. - -"Because the great God loves to have children laughing for love of him -in heaven." - -"Is't so?" - -"That is why he took your boy." - -The man's face brightened with a new dignity. - -"Little Rual was ever a gentle child," he said. "I must tell my woman; -it will just make her happy." - -"I will pray for her health." - -"God bless you, holy lady, you have a wise, kind heart." - -Igraine blushed, but said nothing. - -Presently the man stopped his horses, and pointed her to a little path -that led, he said, to the hermitage. He helped Igraine out of the cart, -and knelt on the road for her to give him a blessing. Igraine had -a Latin phrase or two from Avangel, and the benediction was earnest -enough in spirit, though it lacked genuine authority. Then she took -the path through trees, and left the man standing cap in hand by his -waggon. Her brief ride with him had done her heart good. - -A mile's walk through unkempt pastures and straggling thickets brought -her to an open dale set beneath the shoulder of a wooded hill. On the -grass slope over against her she saw the hermitage--a grey cell of -unfaced stone standing in a garden in a grove of ancient thorns. By the -rivulet that ran half hid by undergrowth a figure in a brown cassock -was drawing water. Passing down over the water, Igraine overtook the -recluse halfway up the slope to the hermitage garden. She remarked -his bald head fringed with a mournful halo of hair, his stooping -shoulders, his ungainly weak-kneed gait. Hearing her tread behind him -he turned a tanned face to her, a face that brought forth a smile of -brotherly greeting at sight of a nun. Igraine, by way of creating good -feeling, took his water pot and carried it for him, pleading youth in -extenuation of the service. - -There was a keen yet kindly sapience about the old man's big-nosed face -that caught her fancy. He was a bit of a cynic on the surface, but warm -as good earth at heart. Igraine confessed her need of a lodging for the -night, and the man retorted bluntly with the remark that the hermitage -was not his house,--but only a refuge to bury strangers in. Pointing to -a great slab of stone that stood near the little cell, he told her that -the stone had been his bed, summer and winter, these fifteen years, and -that dew, rain, frost, and snow had worked their will upon his body -and found it leather. The confession, pithily--almost humorously--put, -without a trace of rodomontade, set the girl smiling. She looked at the -man's brown buckram skin and congratulated him, embodying her flattery -in a little jest that seemed to catch the ascetic fancy. He commended -it with a patriarchal twinkle, and throwing open the door of his cell -surrendered her its shelter. - -Igraine soon fathomed the shallow compass of the hermitage. It held -two pallet beds, some rude furniture and crockery, and such things as -were necessary to the old man's craft, namely a scourge, a calthrop set -on the end of an iron chain, a coat made of furze, a garland of thorn -twigs, and a pair of spiked sandals. Gardening tools were piled in a -corner. Over the doorway hung a rusty suit of harness and a red crusted -sword. Here in this narrow place the war tools of world and church were -mingled. - -Igraine turned back into the hermitage garden. It was a quiet spot, -webbed with the faery tracery of flowers and flowering shrubs, golden -with helichryse, full of the mist of unshorn grass, bright with the -water of its little fish-pool, where the ferns grew thick. A low wattle -fence, climbed about by late-seasoned roses of red, shut the whole -within its rustic pale. Some of the herb beds were cut into symbols of -holy things, and a bay tree had been laboriously pruned into the rude -image of a cross. A number of doves peopled the place, flocking about -the hermit as he worked, often lighting on his hands or shoulders, -while an old hound dozed in the sun, or followed at his heels. Peace -seemed over the little refuge like a tranquil sky. - -The hermit handed Igraine a hoe, as a matter of custom, and set her -to work on the weeds in a neglected corner, while he busied his hands -with pruning some of his rose trees, and removing the clay and linen -from his grafts. He was by no means the solemn, dismal soul or the -kindly simpleton Igraine might have expected. He had a keen, world-wise -air about him that made him seem a sort of Christian Diogenes, and it -was plain that he had lived much among men. The mingled austerity and -happiness of his habits, when set beside his inwardly sympathetic yet -somewhat cynic humour, gave a strong interest to his personality that -quite commanded Igraine's liking. Despite the vast responsibilities of -man, as he himself put it, he was not above having a jest at life in -general. "For," said he, as he pruned his rose bushes, "he who knows -and obeys the truth can of all men afford to be merry." - -Igraine, smiling through the boughs, agreed with him from her heart. - -"There are no sour faces in heaven," she said. - -"Assuredly not," said the hermit almost fiercely. - -"Then why such mortifications of the flesh, father?" - -Looking up from his pruning, he beamed over the world. - -"I am a very human rogue." - -"Human!" - -"Well, you see, sister, _mea culpa_, I loved the world when I was in it -like my own life, and even now if I did not gnash upon myself I should -grow frivolous at times. When I have spent a night in the rain, or -plied my scourge, it is marvellous how swiftly vain the fabrics of a -vaunting pride become. 'I am dust, I am dust,' I cry, and am sound at -heart again. I look upon bread and olives and a draught of river water -as true godsends. Having endured exceeding discomfort of the flesh, I -am as happy in the sun here among my flowers as a mortal could be." - -Igraine rested on her hoe, and put her head back, while the evening -light gave her hair a rare metallic lustre. - -"You believe in a life of contrasts, father?" - -The old man became suddenly more serious. - -"To tell you the truth," he said, "I have found that by making myself -fanatically uncomfortable so many hours a day, I can attain for the -rest of it that simple, contented, and heaven-soaring mood that belongs -to the honest Christian. Man's great peril is apathy, and my customs -save me from sleepy ease. There is such a thing as living to pander -to the flesh; it is the creed of the majority. In order to enjoy a -truly spiritual end, I annihilate the appetites of the body, and _ecce -homo_,--merry, conscience whole, clean." - -Igraine resumed her harrowing of reprobate green-stuff. - -"I suppose your doctrine is right for yourself," she said. - -An answer came back to her leisurely over the rose bush. - -"To the backbone, sister. Yet I am not one who would thrust my habits -down other men's throats simply because the said habits happen to suit -my soul. All religious methods are a matter of individual experiment. -One man may feel more Christian if he drinks wine instead of water; -if so--by all the prophets--let him have his wine. I hold doctrinal -tyranny to be the greatest curse in Christendom." - -Igraine agreed with him like a sister. - -Soon the sun went down with a flood of gold over the trees, the little -pool put off sheeny samite for black velvet, and the doves flew up to -roost. The hermit in a genial mood went to his vesper meditations. -Igraine saw him kneel down before the great stone with his scourge and -crucifix beside him. She was still carnal enough to prefer the thin -comfort of a pallet bed in the hermitage to stone or mother earth. -When it had grown dark and very still she heard the swish of the steel -scourge, and the man's mutterings mingled with the occasional baying -of his dog. This phase of mind was, at her age, quite incomprehensible -to her. She remembered to pray that night for the peasant's wife who -had been sick in bed so long, and for the little lad who lay under the -green grass. Then she went to sleep thinking of Pelleas. - - - - -IX - - -Radamanth the goldsmith had not wasted the hours since his niece had -fled Winchester and his house in the dark. He was a man who did not let -an enterprise slip into the limbo of the past till he had attempted -honestly, and dishonestly, for that matter, to bring it to a successful -issue. He had set his heart on getting Igraine married to one of the -first lords in the island, and he also had skew ideas as to brimming up -his own coffers. Taking it for granted that Lilith and the girl had -not been close friends for weeks together without sharing secrets, and -being also strongly of the opinion that Igraine's perversity arose out -of some previous affair, he laid methodical siege to his daughter's -confidences, and cast a parental dyke about her that should compel her -to open every gate and alley to his scrutiny. - -Lilith, amiable, but weak as milk, was soon worn into surrender by her -father's methods. He had an unfailing lash wherewith to quicken her -apprehension, in that young Mark, the armourer's son, should be barred -the house unless she bent to the parental edicts. Lilith soon brought -herself to believe that after all there could not be so much disloyalty -in telling certain of Igraine's adventures to her father. Radamanth, -bit by bit, had the whole tale of the way from Avangel to Winchester. -Seeing how often Igraine--woman-wise--had pictured her man to Lilith, -the goldsmith won a clear perception of the strange knight's person, -how he rode a black horse, wore red armour, bore a red dragon on a -green shield, and was called Pelleas. Radamanth made a careful note -of all these things, and laid the knowledge of them before Gorlois. -Various subtleties resulted from these facts--subtleties carefully -considered to catch Igraine. - -To turn to Eudol. That lean old satyr had fallen gravely into error -in the conviction that he had fooled Gorlois's men so cleverly over -the wine-pot. The deceit had been deeper on the other side, and more -effectual, seeing that there had been a kirtled traitor in the manor -camp. If Eudol had been stirring just after daybreak on the morning -after the carouse, he might have caught one of Gorlois's men coming -down a little winding stair that led to a certain portion of the -house. A little earlier still he would have found the fellow with his -arm round Dame Phœbe's waist in a dark entry on the stairs. The woman -did not love Igraine, nor did she want her in the house; moreover, -Gorlois's man was young, and had fine eyes, and a most wicked tongue. -Eudol, like most diplomats, was far from being infallible when there -was a woman in the coil, and Dame Phœbe was very much a woman. - -Gorlois's fellows had no sooner cleared the meadows that morning than -they were away for Winchester at a dusty rattle. It was fast going over -the clean, straight road, and the grey walls were not long in coming -into view. The pair swung through the western gate, and went straight -through the streets in a way that set the city folk staring and dodging -for the pathway. At the gate of Gorlois's house the porter had a -vexatious damping for the spirits of these fiery gentlemen. Gorlois had -ridden out. The men swore, off-saddled, and made the best of the matter -over a game of dice in the kitchen. - -There was great bustle when Gorlois had heard the men's tale. They -excused their not having taken Igraine on the plea that Gorlois had -forbidden any to approach her save himself. The man was in a smiting -mood, and he swore Eudol should rue giving him the lie and sending him -a wild chase miles into the west. Getting to horse at once, and taking -the two men with some ten more spears, he rode out and held for Sarum. - -There was a swirl of dust before Eudol's gate, and a sharp scattering -of shingle as Gorlois and his troop rode up. A slave, who had seen them -from the garden, and had taken them for robbers, was prevented from -closing the gate by a brisk youth wedging it with his foot. There was -a short scuffle at the tottering door. Then Gorlois and his men burst -it in, and cut down those slaves on the threshold who had tried to -close the door. The women folk were herded screeching into the kitchen, -and penned there like sheep. Out of a cupboard in an upper room they -dragged the woman Phœbe, limp with fright, and hurried the truth out of -her that Igraine had gone that very morning, and that Eudol was still -in the fields. Gorlois, believing her a liar, had the house searched, -beds overturned, cupboards torn open, every nook and cranny probed. -Then they tried the garden and the stables, with like fortune. One of -the fellows catching sight of the barn across the meadows, half-hidden -by pines, they made a circle round it, closed in, and forced the door. -A blinking, red-eyed face came up out of the shadows, its beard and -thin thatch of hair whisped with hay. - -Eudol, collared with little kindness, began to wonder after his drunken -sleep who these rough folk could be. A word as to Igraine brought him -to his senses. He saw Gorlois, a dark-bearded, black-eyed man, with -a frown that he did not like the look of. He began to shake in his -slippers, to excuse himself, and to deny all knowledge of the girl -since the morning. Matters were against Eudol. Gorlois thought that -he had plucked the old man from hiding, and that he was a liar to the -bone; his shrift was short, measured out by the man's hard malice. They -struck him down at the door of his own barn, covering his grey head -with his hands, and screaming for mercy. His blood soaked the hay, and -shot black streaks into the dusty floor. Then they cast back to the -manor, and half-throttled the woman Phœbe, till Gorlois was satisfied -that he had got all the truth from her he could. In half an hour they -were at gallop again for Sarum. - -Gorlois reined in cruelly more than once to fling hot questions at -the folk they passed upon the road. His horse was all sweat and foam, -and its mouth bloody with the heavy hand that played on the bridle. -Wayfarer after wayfarer looked up half in awe at the iron-faced man -towering above them in the stirrups. Their blank, irresponsive faces -chafed Gorlois's patience to the bone. Not a word did he win of Igraine -and her grey gown. Waxing sullen as granite, and very silent, he looked -neither to right nor left, but plodded on like a baffled sleuth-hound -with the rest of the pack trailing at his tail. The girl's hair seemed -tossing over the edge of the world, like a golden hue from the west, -and there was a passionate wind through the man's moody thought. - -It was towards evening when Gorlois with his men--a bunch of -spears--came upon the peasant in the green smock driving his wain-load -of faggots slowly towards the setting sun. Gorlois drew up and hailed -him, and began his catechism anew. The fellow pulled in his team, -and eyeing the horseman with some caution, acknowledged curtly that -he had carried in his cart a league or more such a woman as Gorlois -had pictured. To further quick queries he proved stubborn and boorish. -Gorlois had lost his temper long ago. "Speak up, you devil's dog!" - -The man looked sullen. Gorlois's sword flashed out. He spurred close -up, and held three feet of menacing steel over the peasant's head. - -"Well, you be damned!" he said. - -"What want you with the woman, lording?" - -"Am I to argue with a clod of clay? The woman is marked for great -honour, and must be taken. Will you spoil her fortune?" - -The man fingered the reins, looking hard at Gorlois with his stupidly -honest face. He guessed he was some great lord, by his harness and his -following. It was not for him to gainsay such a gentleman, especially -when he flourished a naked sword. - -"I would do my best for the good nun, lording," he said. - -"Then speak out." - -"She promised to pray for my woman." - -Gorlois gave a laugh, and scoffed at the notion. - -"Let prayers be," he said; "tell me where she went." - -The man told Gorlois of the hermitage in the dale where Igraine had -gone for a night's lodging. He described how the path could be found, -a mile or more nearer Winchester. Gorlois threw a gold piece into the -cart, and let the man drive on. Then he sat still on his black horse -with his sword over his shoulder, and looked into the wood with dark, -glooming eyes. For a minute he sat like a statue, staring on nothing in -keen thought. His men watched him, looking for some swift swoop from -such a pinnacle of pondering; they knew his temper. His sword shot back -into its scabbard, and he was keen as a wolf. - -"Galleas of Camelford." - -A man with a hooked nose and high cheek bones heeled his horse forward, -and saluted. - -"Ride hard, find the hermitage, be wary, watch at a distance for sight -of the Lady Igraine. If she is at the hermitage, gallop back to Sarum -before nightfall. I shall be in Sir Accolon's house. Attend me there." - -The man saluted again, turned his horse instanter, and rode hard into -the east. Gorlois, with a half smile on his lips, rode on with his -troop for Sarum. - -In Sarum town there was a queer house of stone, very dark and very -saturnine. It was hid away behind high walls, and hedged so blackly -with yews and hollies that it seemed to stand in the gloom of a -perpetual twilight. After dark a sullen glow often hung above the -trees; casements would blaze blood-red light into boughs creaking and -clutching in the wind; or there would be a moony glimmer on the glass, -and belated folk passing near might hear voices or elvish music about -them as though dropped from the stars. It was the house of Merlin,--the -man of dreams,--wrapped in the gloom of immemorial yews. - -That night Gorlois sat in a room hung with black velvet, where a -brazier held a dying fire, and a bowl thereon steamed up perfumes in -a heavy vapour. A man with a face of marble and eyes like an eternal -night was chaired before him, with his long, lean, restless fingers -continually touching the cloud of hair that fell blackly over his -ears. His fingers were packed with rings gemmed with all manner of -stones--jasper, sardonyx, chrysolite, emerald, ruby, and the like. His -gown was of black velvet, twined all about with serpent scrolls of -white cloth. On his breast was brooched a great diamond that blazed and -wavered back the glow from the fire. - -Gorlois sat in his carved chair stiff as any image. His strenuous -soul seemed mewed up by the psychic influence of the man before him. -He spoke seldom, and then only at the other's motion--at a curious -gesture of one of those long, lean hands. The room was as silent as the -burial hall of a pyramid, and it had the air of being massed above by -stupendous depths of stone. - -Presently the man in the black robe began to speak with deliberate -intent, holding his voice deep in his throat so that it sounded much -like the voice of an oracle declaring itself in the noise of a wind. - -"The woman is beautiful beyond other women." - -"Like a golden May." - -"And true." - -"As a sapphire." - -"Yet will not have you." - -"Not a shred of me." - -The man with the rings smiled out of his impenetrable eyes, and -fingered the brooch on his breast. - -"The woman has great destiny before her." - -"Ah!" - -"I have seen her star in the night. You dare take her fate on you?" - -"Like ivy holds a tree." - -"As a wife?" - -Gorlois laughed. - -"How else?" - -"As a wife--by the church." - -"Ah!" - -"Or no help of my hand." - -Again there was silence. A coal fell in the brazier, and seemed like -a rock down a precipice. The black eyes that stared down Gorlois were -full of light, and strangely scintillant. Gorlois listened, with his -limbs asleep and his brain in thrall, while the man spoke like a -very Michael out of a cloud. The clear glittering plot given out of -Merlin's lips came like a dream vivid to the thought of the dreamer. -If Gorlois obeyed he should have his desire, and catch Igraine to a -white marriage-bed by law and her own willing. The fire died down in -the brazier, and the bowl ceased to smoke perfumes. Gorlois saw the -man gather his black robe with his glittering fingers, and move like -a wraith round the room, to stand beckoning by the door. In another -minute Gorlois was under the stars, with the house and its yews a black -mound against the sky. Like a sleeper half wakened he took full breath -of the night air, and stretched his arms up above his head. But it was -not to sleep that he passed back through the void streets to the house -of the knight Accolon. - -To return to Igraine housed for the night in the little hermitage. At -the first creep of dawn, when daffodils were thrown up against the -eastern sky, she left her pallet bed in the cell and went out into -the hermit's garden. The recluse was down at the brook drawing water, -whither the dog and the doves had followed him. Igraine passed through -the garden--spun over as it was with webs of dew. To her comfort she -found her ankle scarcely troubling her, for she had feared pain or -stiffness after the walk of yesterday. Going down the dale, she patted -the old dog's head, and picked up the pitcher as the recluse gave her -good-morning. - -"You are an early soul, sister. My dog and I come down to the brook -each morning as the sun peeps over the hill." - -"You are not lonely," said Igraine. - -The old man tightened his girdle, looked over the solemn piers of the -woods, sniffed the air, and hailed an autumn savour. - -"Not I," he said. "I have my dog and my doves, and folk often lodge -here, and I have word of the world and how the Saxons vex us. The good -people near bring me alms and pittances, or come to ask prayers for -their souls, and"--with a twinkle--"for their bodies, too." - -Igraine remembered the peasant's little son. - -"Was it you," she said, "who gave a peasant fellow near here a saint's -dust to scatter over a sick child?" - -The old man shook his head and smiled enigmatically. - -"I have no dealings in such marvels," he said. - -"The boy died." - -"Of course." - -"They will sell your dust some day." - -A keen look, cynical with beaming scorn, spread over the man's gaunt -face. - -"Much good may it do them," he said; "death is monstrous flatterer of -mere clay. I may feed a rose bush with my bones; a better fate than the -cheating of superstitious women." - -He made a sign with his hand, and the birds went wheeling in circles -above him. The dog crept up and thrust his snout into the old man's -palm. The garden lay above them, ripe with an autumn mellowness; yet -there was no regret though winter would soon be piping, and the man's -hair was grey. - -"What think you of life?" said Igraine. - -"You should know, sister, as well as I." - -"But you see, father, I am not a nun,--only a novice." - -He stared at her a moment with a slight smile. - -"Remain a novice," he said. - -"You advise me so!" - -"Why subordinate your soul to chains forged of men." - -"These seem strange words." - -He patted his dog's head, and, half stooping, looked at her with keen -grey eyes. - -"Have you ever loved a man?" - -"Yes," she said, with a clear laugh and a slight colour. - -"Is he worthy?" - -"I believe him a noble soul." - -"Naturally." - -"He ran away and left me because he thought I was a nun." - -The hermit applauded. - -"That sounds like honour," he said critically. - -"I am seeking him to tell him the truth." - -"And I will pray that you may soon meet," said the old man, "for there -is nothing like the love of a good man for a clean maid. If I had -married a true woman, I should never have taken to the scourge or the -stone bed. Marry wisely and you are halfway to Heaven." - -They broke fast that morning in the garden, it being the man's custom -to make his meals on the granite slab that served him as a bed. The -little dale looked very green and gracious in the tranquil light, with -its curling brook and dark barriers of trees. Igraine, as she sat on -the great stone and ate the hermit's bread, followed the brook with -her thoughts, wondering whether it became the stream that ran through -Eudol's meadows. She was for Sarum that day, where she would throw off -her grey habit and take some dress more likely to baffle Gorlois. She -had enough money in her purse. Worldling again, she could give herself -to winning sight of this Uther, and to learning whether he was the -Pelleas she sought or no. - -As she sat and fingered her bread, something she saw down the dale made -her rigid and still as a priestess smitten with the vision of a god in -some heathen oratory. Her eyes were very wide, her lips open and very -white, her whole air as of one watching in a sudden stupor of awe. -Another moment and she had broken from the mood like a torrent from a -cavern. With eyes suddenly amber bright, she touched the hermit's hand -and pointed down the dale, gave him a word or so, then left him and ran -down the hill. - -A man on a black horse had ridden out from the trees, and was pushing -his horse over the brook at a shallow spot not far away. His red armour -glowed in the sun with a metallic lustre. Even at that distance Igraine -had seen the red dragon rampant on a shield of green. As she ran down -the grass slope she called the man by name, thinking to see him turn -and come to her. Pushing on sullenly as though he had not heard the -cry that went after him like winged love, he drew up the further slope -without wavering, and sank like a red streak into the dense green of -the trees. - - - - -X - - -Igraine forded the brook and followed the man by the winding path that -curled away into the wood. - -She was ever a sanguine soul, and the mere sinister influences that -might have discouraged her in her purpose that morning were impotent -before the level convictions of her heart. She had seen Pelleas ride -in amid the trees; she was sure as death as to his cognizance and his -armour. Now Pelleas, she could vow, had not heard her call to him, -and if he had heard he had not understood; if he had seen he had not -recognised. Doubts could have no place in the argument before such a -justification by faith. - -It was not long before she caught sight of the red glint of armour -going through the trees. It came and went, grew and disappeared, as -the path folded it in its curves or thrust out a heavy screen of green -to hide it like a heavy curtain. The man was going as he pleased, now -a walk, now a casual jog, now a short burst of a canter over an open -patch. One moment Igraine would see him clearly, then not at all. -Sometimes she gained, sometimes lost ground, yet the knight of the red -harness never seemed to come within lure of her voice. - -In due course she reached the place where the path ended bluntly on the -Winchester high-road, and where the way ran straight as a spear-shaft, -so that she could see Pelleas riding for Winchester with a lead of a -quarter of a mile. The distant ringing tramp of hoofs came up to her -like a mocking chuckle. Putting her hands to her mouth, she hallooed -with all the breath left her by her run through the wood; yet, as far -as she might see, the man never so much as turned in the saddle, while -the smite of hoofs died down and down into a well of silence. - -Another halloo and no echo. - -"He's asleep, or deaf in his helmet." - -She forgot the distance and the din of hoofs that might well have -drowned the thin cry that could have reached the rider. Maugre her heat -and her flushed face Igraine had no more thought of giving in than she -had of marrying Gorlois. With Pelleas so near she had made her vow to -follow him, and follow him she would like a comet's tail. If needs be -she would wear her sandals to the flesh, but catch the man she must in -the end. - -A mile more on the high-road, with her feet and the hem of her gown -dust-drenched, and she was still little nearer the man in the red -harness for all her hurrying. She could have vowed more than once that -he turned in his saddle and looked back at her as though to see how -near she had come to him on the road. A mile from the hermitage path -he turned his horse southwards from the track into a grass valley -headed by a ruined tower and hedged densely on either hand by pine -woods. Igraine, seeing from a slight rise in the road this change of -course, cut away crosswise with the notion of getting near the man or -of intercepting him before he should win clear law again. After all, -the effort added only more vexation. She saw the black horse pressed to -a canter and cross the point where she might have cut him off, while a -great stretch of furze that rolled away to the black palisading of the -pines came down and threw a promontory in her path. Pelleas was a mile -to the good when she had skirted the furze and the bend of the wood, -and taken a straight course southwards down the valley between the -pines. - -All that morning the sport of hunter and hunted went on between the -novice in grey and the man on the black horse. For all her trouble -Igraine won little upon him, lost little as the hours went by; while -the rider in turn seemed in no wise desirous of being rid of her for -good. They passed the pine woods with their midnight aisles, forded a -stream, climbed up a heath, went over it amid the heather. From the -last ridge of the heath Igraine saw the country sloping away into -undulating grasslands, piled here and there with domes of thicketed -trees. Far to the south a dense black mass rose like a rounded hill -against the sky. The man in red was still about a mile in front of her, -riding slowly, a red speck in a waste of green. Igraine, having him in -view from her vantage point, lay down full length to rest and take some -food. She was tired enough, but dogged at heart as ever. She vowed that -if the man was playing with her she would tell him her mind, love or no -love, when she came up with him in the end. - -As the sun swam into the noontide arc she went on again downhill, -and found in turn that the man had halted, for he had been hidden by -trees, and getting view of him suddenly she saw him sitting on a stone -with his horse tethered near. As soon as Igraine was within measurable -distance she took advantage of a hollow, dropped on her hands and -knees, and began to crawl like a cat after a bird. Edging round a -thicket she came quite near the man, but could not see his face. His -spear stood in the ground by his horse, and he had his shield slung -about his neck, and a bare poniard in his hand. It was clear that he -was watching for Igraine, for despite her craft he caught sight of her -face peering white under the hem of a bush, and climbed quickly into -the saddle. Igraine started up, made a dash across the open, calling -to him as she ran. Perverse as hate his horse broke into a canter -and left her far in the rear. The girl shook her fist at him with a -sudden burst of temper. She was standing near the stone where the man -had been sitting. Looking at its flat face she saw the reason of the -naked poniard in his hand, for he had been carving out thin straggling -letters in the stone. - -"Sancta Igraine," she read-- - -"Ora pro nobis." - -The screed dispelled the doubts in Igraine's mind on the instant. -Palpably the man knew well enough who was following him, and was -avoiding her of set purpose; but for what reason Igraine racked her wit -to discover. She ran through many things in her heart, the possible -testing of her devotion, a vacillating weakness on Pelleas's part -that would not let him leave her altogether, a freakish wish to give -her penance. Then, she knew that he was superstitious, and the thought -flashed to her that he might think her a wraith, or some evil spirit -that had taken her shape to have him in temptation. Maugre her vexation -and her pride she held again on the trail, eating as she went some -dried plums that she had in her wallet. The man had slackened down -again and was less than half a mile away, now limned against the sky, -now folded into a hollow or shut out by trees. Like a marsh-fire he -tantalised her with a mystery of distance, holding steadily south at a -level tramp, while Igraine plodded after him, her hair down and blowing -out to the casual wind, her eyes at gaze on the red lure in the van. - -So the mellower half of the day passed, and towards evening they neared -the mount of trees Igraine had seen from the last ridge of the heath -at noon. The black horse was heading straight for the cloudy mass in a -way that set Igraine thinking and casting about for Pelleas's motive. -Perhaps he had some quest in the solitary place that needed his single -hand. Would he take to the wood and let her follow as before, or had he -any purpose in leading her thither? Drowned in conjecture she gave up -prophecy with a vicious sense of mystification, and accepted inevitable -ignorance for the time being as to the man's moods and motives. She was -no less obstinate to follow him to the death. If she only had a horse -she would come near the man, pride or no pride, and tell him the truth. - -Pressing on, with her strained ankle beginning to limp, she topped -the round back of a grass rise and came full in view of the wood she -had long seen in the distance. It looked very solemn in the declining -light. The great trunks of giant beeches were packed pillar upon pillar -into an impenetrable gloom. The foliage above, densely green, billowy, -touched with red and gold, rolled upwards cloud on cloud as the ground -ascended to the south and east. A great bronze carpet of dead leaves -swept away into the night of the trees. There was an eternal hush, a -gross silence, over the glooming aisles that seemed to beckon to the -soul, to draw the heart into the night of foliage as into a cavern. -Over all was the glowing ægis of the setting sun. - -Igraine saw the man on the forest's edge where an arch of gloom struck -into the inner shadows. He was facing the west, motionless as stone on -his black horse, with the slanting light plucking a dull red gleam from -his harness. There was a mystery about him that seemed to harmonise -with the stillness of the trees and the black yawn of the forest -galleries. Igraine imagined that he might be in a mood at last to speak -with her if he believed her human. At all events, if he took to the -trees, and she did not lose him, she would have the vantage of him and -his horse in such a barricaded place. - -It began to grow dark very quickly as she passed down the gradual slope -towards the forest. The trees towered above her, a black mass rising -again towards the east. Keen to see the man's mood, she hurried on -and found him still steadfast in the great arch, that seemed like the -gate of the wilderness, ready to abide her. A hundred paces more and -her heart began to beat the faster, and the moil of the day's march -dwindled before the influx of a rosier idyl. Every step towards Pelleas -seemed to take her higher up the turret stair of love till her lips -should meet those that bent at last from the gloom to hers. Pride and -vexation lay fallen far below, dropped incontinently like a ragged -cloak; a more generous passion shone out like cloth of gold; she was no -longer weary. Her eyes were very bright, her face full of a splendid -wistfulness, as she neared the man under the trees, looking up to see -his face. - -Twilight lay deep violet under the wooelshawe, while horse and man were -dim and impalpable, great shadows of themselves. Igraine could not see -the man's face for the mask over the mezail of his helmet, and he was -silent as death. She was quite close to him now and ready to speak his -name, when he wheeled suddenly, looked back at her, and pointed into -the wood with his long spear. She ran forward and would have taken hold -of his bridle, but he waved her back and slanted his spear at her in -mute warning. Igraine, heart-hungry, could hold herself no longer. - -"Man--man, are you stone?" - -He rode straight ahead into the night of the trees and said never a -word. Igraine drew her breath. - -"Pelleas." - -"Ah, Igraine." - -The voice that came to her was muffled like the voice of a mourner, yet -the girl thought she caught the old deep tone of it like the low cry of -the wind. - -"Why do you vex me?" - -"Follow!" - -"Pelleas, Pelleas, I am no nun!" - -"Follow!" - -"I kept this truth from you too long." - -"Follow!" - -"Pelleas, would you hurt my heart more?" - -"Follow; God shall make all plain and good." - -She gave in with a half-sob, and bent quietly to the man's mood, though -she had no notion what he purposed in his heart, or what his desires -were in mystifying her thus. No doubt it would be well in the end if -Pelleas bade her follow like a penitent and promised ultimate peace. At -least he had not turned her away, and she trusted him to the death. He -was a strong, deep-sensed soul, she knew, and her deceiving may have -made him bitter in measure, and not easily appeased. In this queer -trial of endurance, this tempting of her temper, she thought she read a -penance laid upon her by the man for the way she had used his love. - -They were soon far into the wood, with the western sky dwindling -between the innumerable pillars of the trees. It began to be dark and -utterly silent save for the rustle of the dead leaves as they went, and -the shrilling chafe of bridle or scabbard, or the snort of the great -horse. Wherever the eye turned the forest piers stood straight and -solemn as the columns in a hypostyle hall in some Egyptian temple. The -fretwork of boughs roofed them in with hardly a glimmering through of -the darkening sky above. There was a pungent autumn scent on the air -that seemed to rise like the incense of years that had fallen to decay -on the brown flooring of the place, and there was no breath or vestige -of a wind. - -Presently as the day died the wood went black as the winter night, -and Igraine kept close by the man, with his armour giving a dull -gleam now and again to guide her. They were passing up what seemed to -be a great arcade cut through the very heart of the wood, as though -leading to some shrine or altar, relic of Druid days, or times yet more -antique. The tunnel ran a curved course, bending deeper and deeper as -it went into the dense horde of trees. So dark was the wood that it -was possible to see but a few paces in advance, and Igraine wondered -how the man kept the track. She was close at his stirrup now, with the -dark mass of him and his horse rising above her like a statue in black -basalt. Though he never spoke to her, and though she touched no part of -him, his horse, or his harness, she felt content with the queer sense -of trust and proximity that pervaded her. There was magic in the mere -companionship. As she had humbled her will to Pelleas's the night when -he had taken her from the beech tree in Andredswold, so now in like -fashion she surrendered pride and liberty, and became a child. - -Suddenly the trackway straightened out into a great colonnade that -ran due south between trees of yet vaster girth. Igraine felt the man -rein in and abide motionless beside her as she held to the stirrup -and waited for what next should chance. Silence seemed like depths -of black water over them, and they could hear each other take breath -like the faint flux and reflux of a sea. Igraine saw the man lift his -spear, a dim streak less black than the vault above, and hold it as a -sign for her to listen. Her blood began to tingle a very little. There -was something far away on the dead, stagnant air, a sort of swirl of -sound, shrill and harmonious, like a wind playing through the strings -of a harp. It was very gradual, very impalpable. As the volume of it -grew it seemed to rush nearer like a wind, to swell into a swaying -plaintive song smitten through with the wounded cry of flutes. It gave -a notion of wood-fays dancing, of whirling wings and flitting gossamer -moonbright in the shadows. Igraine's blood seemed to spin the faster, -and her hand left the stirrup and touched the man's thigh. He gave -never a word or sign in the dark. She spoke to him very softly, very -meekly. - -"What place is this, Pelleas?" - -She saw him bend slightly in the saddle. - -"It is called the Ghost Forest," he said. - -"What are the sounds we hear?" - -"Who can tell!" - -Igraine had hardly heard him, when a streak of phosphor light flickered -among the trees, coming and going incessantly as the great trunks -intervened. It neared them in gradual fashion, and then blazed out -sudden into the open aisle, a man in armour riding on a great white -horse, his harness white as the moon, his face pale and wide-eyed, his -hair like a mass of twisted silver wire. A misty glow haloed him round, -and though he rode close there seemed no sound at all to mark his -passing. As he had come, so he went, with streaks of flickering light -that waxed less and less frequent till they died in the dark, and left -the place empty as before. Igraine thought the air cold when he had -gone. - -She felt the black horse move beside her, and they went on as before -into the night of the trees. The noise of flute and harp that had -ceased awhile bubbled up again quite near, so that it was no longer -the ghost of a sound, but noise more definite, more discrete. It had a -queer way of dying to a sighing breath, and then gathering gradually -into an ascending burst of windy melody. Igraine could almost fancy -that she heard the sweep of wings, the soft thrill of silks trailing -through the trees, yet the man on the horse said never a word as they -went on like a pair of mutes to a grave. - -The colonnade opened out abruptly on a great circular clearing in the -wood shut in by crowded trunks, its open vault above cut by a dense -ring of foliage. A grey light came down from the sky, showing great -stones piled one upon another, others fallen and sunk deep in rank -grass and brambles. The man halted his horse in the very centre of the -clearing, with Igraine beside him, watchful for what should happen, and -for the moment when Pelleas should unbend. - -Hardly had she looked over the great cromlechs, black and sinister in -that solitary wilderness, than the whole wood about them seemed dusted -suddenly with points of fire. North, south, east, and west torches and -cressets came jerking redly out of the night, flitting behind the trees -in a wide circle, gathering nearer and nearer without a sound. They -might have been great fireflies playing through the aisles and ways, -or goblin lamps carried by fairy folk. Igraine drew very close to the -man's horse for comfort, and looked up to see his face, but found it -dark and hidden. Her hand crept up past the horse's neck, rested on the -mane a moment, and ventured yet further to meet the man's hand, where -it gripped the bridle. For a minute they abode thus without a sound, -watching the weird torch-dance in the wood. - -With a sudden gibber of laughter and a swirl of pipes the throng of -lights seemed to seethe to the very margin of the clearing. Queer -phantastic shapes showed amid the trees, and the great circle grew wide -with light, and the grey cromlechs surprised in sleep by the glare and -piping. At that very moment Igraine had a thought of some one looking -deep into her eyes, of a will, a power, streaming in upon her like -sunlight into a sleepy pool. Her desire went from the man on the black -horse into the square shadow of the great central cromlech, where an -indefinite influence seemed to lurk. Looking long under the roofing -stone, she grew aware of a tall something standing there, of a pair of -eyes like the eyes of a panther, of a lean white hand moving in the -shadows. - -The eyes under the cromlech seemed to follow Igraine like fire, and to -burn in upon her a foreign influence. Rebellious and wondering, she -stiffened herself against a spiritual combat that seemed moving upon -her out of the dark. She could have smitten the eyes that stared her -down, and yet the magnetic stupor of them kindled up things in her -heart that were strange and newly sensuous. She felt her strength sway -as though her soul were being lifted from her, and she was warmed from -top to toe like one who has taken wine, and whose being swims into an -idyllic glorification of the senses. Again her desire seemed turned to -the man in red harness, yet when she looked the saddle was empty, and -the horse held by an armed servant, who wore a wolfs head for covering. -Still mute with fear, desire, and wonder, she saw a tall figure move -into the full glare of the torches, a figure in red harness with a -shield of green, and a red dragon thereon, and with head unhelmed. The -armour was like the armour of Pelleas, but the face was the face of the -man Gorlois. - -And now the eyes under the shadow of the cromlech were full and strong -upon Igraine. Breathing fast with a hand at her throat she stepped back -from Gorlois--hesitated--stood still. She was very white, and her eyes -were big and sightless like the eyes of one walking in a dream. For all -her strength, her scorn, and the tricking of her heart, she was being -swept like a cloud into the embraces of the sun. Reason, power, love, -sank away and became as nothing. A shudder passed over her. Presently -her hands dropped limp as broken wings, and her body began to sway like -a tall lily in a breeze. A gradual stupor saw her cataleptic; she stood -impotent, played upon by the promptings of another soul. - -Gorlois went near to her with hands outstretched, stooping to look into -her face. A sudden light kindled in her eyes, her lips parted, and new -life flooded red into her cheeks as at the beck of love. She bent to -Gorlois full of a gracious eagerness, a wistful desire that made her -face golden as dawn. Her hand sought his, while the shadowy shape under -the cromlech watched them with never-wavering eyes. Gorlois's arms were -round her now all wreathed in her hair; her face was turned to his; her -hands were clasped upon his neck. Another moment and he had touched her -lips with his. - -A sound of flutes, the tinkling of a bell, and a solemn company -came threading from the trees, guests, acolytes, torch-bearers, in -glittering cloth of gold, with a great crucifix to lead them. Gorlois -and Igraine were hand in hand near the stone that hid the frame of -Merlin. A priest in a gorgeous cape drew near, and began his patter. -The vows were taken, the pact sealed, with the noise of a chant and -music. Thus under the benedictions of the great trees, and the spell of -Merlin, Gorlois and Igraine were made man and wife. - - - - -BOOK III - -THE WAR IN WALES - - - - -I - - -Aurelius Ambrosius the king was dead, taken off in Winchester by -the hand of a poisoner. He had been found stark and cold in his -great carved bed, with an empty wine-cup beside him, and a tress of -black hair and a tress of yellow laid twined together upon his lips. -The signet-ring had gone from his finger, and by the bed had been -discovered a woman's embroidered shoe dropped under the folds of the -purple quilt. The truth, sinister enough in its bare suggestions, was -glossed over by the court folk out of honour to Aurelius, and of love -to Uther the king's brother. It was told to the country how an Irish -monk sent by Pascentius, dead Vortigern's son, had gained audience of -the king, and treacherously poisoned him as he drank wine at supper. -The tale went out to the world, and was believed of many with a sincere -and honest faith. Yet a certain child-eyed woman, wandering on the -shores of Wales for sight of Irish ships, could have spoken more of the -truth had she so dared. - -Uther Pendragon had been hailed king at York before the bristling -spears of a victorious host. But a week before he had marched against -the heathen on the Humber, and overthrown them with such slaughter as -had not been seen in Britain since the days when Boadicea smote the -Romans. At the head of his men he had marched south in a snowstorm to -be thundered into Winchester as king and conqueror. Twelve maidens of -noble blood, clad in ermine and minever, had run before him with boughs -of mistletoe and bay. Five hundred knights had walked bareheaded, with -swords drawn, behind his horse. The city had glistened in a white web -of frosted samite, sparkled over by the clear visage of a winter sun. - -There were many great labours ready to the king's hand. Britain lay -bruised by the onslaughts of the barbarians; her monks had been slain, -her churches desecrated. The pirate ships swept the seas, and poured -torch and sword along the sunny shores of the south. Andredswold, -dark, saturnine, mysterious, alone waved them back with the sepulchral -threatening of its trees. Yet, for all the burden of the kingdom upon -his broad shoulders, Uther gave his first care to the honouring of -the dead. Aurelius Ambrosius was buried with great pomp of churchmen -and nobles at Stonehenge, and a royal mound raised above the tomb. At -Christmastide, with snow upon the ground, a great gathering was made at -Sarum of all the petty kings, princes, and nobles of the land. Hither -came Meliograunt, king of Cornwall, and Urience of the land of Gore. -Fealty was sworn with solemn ordinance to Uther Pendragon the king, and -common league bonded against the heathen and the whelps of the north. - -There were other perils brewing for Britain over the sea. Pascentius, -dead Vortigern's son, had been an outcast and a wanderer since the -days when the sons of Constantine had sailed from Armorica to save -the land from the blind lust and treason of his father. He had been a -drifting fire beyond the seas, an intriguer, a sower of sedition, a -man dangerous alike to friend and foe. Beaten like a vulture from the -coasts of Britain, he had turned with treasonable hope to Ireland and -its king, Gilomannius the Black, a strenuous potentate, boasting little -love for Ambrosius the king. Here, in Ireland, a kennel of sedition -had arisen. Pascentius, keen, hungry plotter, had toiled at the task -of piling enmity against those who had destroyed his father amid the -flames of Genorium. A great league arose, a banding of the barbarians -with the Irish princes, a union of the Saxons who ravaged Kent with the -wild tribesmen over the northern border. Month by month a great host -gathered on the Irish coast. Many ships came from the east and from the -south. Mid-winter was past before Gilomannius embarked, and, setting -sail with a fair wind, turned the beaks of his galleys for the shores -of Wales. - -Noise of the gathering storm had been brought to Uther as he journed -through the southern coasts, rebuilding the churches, recovering abbey -and hermitage from their desolate ashes. His zeal was great for God, -and his love of Britain well-nigh as noble. Warned thus in due season, -he marched for the west, calling the land to arms, assigning for the -gathering of the host Caerleon upon Usk, that fair city bosomed in the -fulness of its woods and pastures. Many a knight had answered to his -call; many a city had sent out her companies; the high-roads rang with -the cry of steel in the crisp winter weather. - -Duke Gorlois had come from Cornwall from his castle of Tintagel, -bringing many knights and men-at-arms by sea, and the Lady Igraine -his wife, in a great galley whose bulwarks glistened with shields. In -Caerleon Gorlois had a house built of white stone, set upon a little -hill in the centre of the city. To Caerleon he brought this golden -falcon of a woman, this untamable thing that he had kept prisoned in -the high towers of Tintagel. He mewed her up like a nun in his house -of white stone, so that no man should see the fairness of her face. -She was wild as an eyas from the woods, fierce and unapproachable, -and sharp of claw. Robbed of her liberty, had she not sought to take -her own life with a sword, and to throw herself from the battlements -of Tintagel? Gorlois had won little love by Merlin's subtlety, and he -feared the woman's beauty and the spell of her large eyes. - -It was the month of February and clear crisp weather. The white bellies -of the Irish sails had shown up against the grey blue stretch of the -sea, a white multitude of canvas that had sent the herdsmen hurrying -their flocks to the mountains. Horsemen had galloped for Caerleon, and -the cry of war went up over wood and water. Flames licked the night -sky. From Caerleon to St. Davids, from St. Davids to Eryri, the red -blaze of beacon-fires told of the ships at sea. - -The cry of the storm arose in Caerleon, and the tramp of armed men -sounded all day in her streets. The great host lodged about the city -broke camp and streamed westwards along the high-road into Wales. -Bugles blew, banners flapped, masses of sullen steel rolled away into -purple of the winter woods. Bristling spears and lines of skin-clad -shields vanished into the west like the waves of a solemn sea. On the -walls of Caerleon stood many women and children watching the host march -for the west, watching Uther the king ride out with his great company -of knights and nobles. - -At the casement of an upper room in Gorlois's house stood a woman -looking out over Caerleon towards the sea. She was clad in a mantle of -furs, and in a tunic of purple linked up with cord of gold. A tippet -of white fur clasped with a brooch of amethysts circled her throat. -Her hair was bound up in a net of fine silk, and there was a girdle of -blue silk about her loins, and an enamelled cross upon her bosom. She -stood with her elbows resting on the stone sill, and her peevish face -clasped between her hands. Her eyes looked very large and lustrous as -she stared out wistfully over the city. - -In the great court below horses champed the bit and struck fire from -the ringing flags. Men in armour clanged to and fro; rough voices -cried questions and counter-questions; bridles jingled; spear-shafts -clattered on the stones. Now a clarion blared as a troop of horse -thundered by up the street, their armour gleaming dully past the -courtyard gate. The growl of war hung heavy over Caerleon, a grim -sullen sound that seemed in keeping with the restless chiding of the -wind. - -Igraine's face was hard as stone as she watched the men moving in the -courtyard below. She looked older than of yore, whiter, thinner in -cheek and neck, her great eyes staunch though sad under her netted -hair. Her face showed melancholy mingled with a constant scorn that -had rarely found expression with her in the old days, save within the -walls of Avangel. She looked like one who had endured much, suffered -much, yet lost no whit of pride in the trial. Though she may have been -blemished like a Greek vase smitten by some barbaric sword, she was -her self still, brave, headstrong, resolute as ever. The shame of the -things she had suffered had perhaps wiped out the gentler outlines of -her character and left her more stern, more wary, less honest, more -deep in her endeavours. There was no passive humility or patience about -her soul, and she was the falcon still, though caged and guarded beyond -her liberty. - -As she stood at the casement with the prophetic murmur of war in her -ears, it seemed to her as though life surged to her feet and mocked her -bondage like laughing water. The desire of liberty abode ever with her -even to the welcoming of stagnant death. She thirsted for her freedom, -plotted for it, dreamt of it with a zeal that was almost ferocious. Her -life seemed a speculation, a perpetual aspiration after a state that -still eluded her. In the Avangel days she had been wild and petulant. -Then Pelleas had come through the green gloom of early summer to -soften her soul and inspire all the best breath of the woman in her. -Again, thanks to Gorlois, she had fallen with the usual reaction of -circumstance upon evil times; the change had discovered the peevish -discontent of the girl hardened into the strong wilfulness of the woman. - -She hated Gorlois with a fanatical immensity of soul. When the man was -near her she felt full of the creeping nausea of a great loathing, and -she waxed faint with hate at the veriest touch of his hands. His breath -seemed to her more unsavoury than the miasma of a gutter, and it needed -but the sound of his voice to bring all her baser passions braying and -yelping against him. He had driven the religious instinct out of her -heart, and she was in revolt against heaven and the marriage pact -forged by the authority of the Church. She had often vowed in her heart -that she could do no sin against Gorlois, her husband. He had no claim -upon her conscience. The bondage had been of his making; let God judge -her if she scorned his honour. - -Standing by the window watching the knights saddling for their lord's -sally, she heard heavy footsteps mounting up the stairs, and the ring -of steel-tipped shoes along the gallery. The footsteps were deliberate, -and none too fast, as though the man walked under a burden of thought. -A shadow seemed to pass over Igraine's face. She slipped from the -window, ran across the room, shot the bolt of the door, and stood -listening. A hand tried the latch. She knew well enough whose fist it -was that rattled on the oaken panels. Her face hardened to a kind of -cold malevolence, and she laughed noiselessly in her sleeve. - -A terse summons came to her from the gallery. - -"Wife, we ride at once." - -The man could not have made a worse beginning. There was a suggestion -of tyranny in a particular word that was hardly temperate. Igraine -leant against the door; she was still smiling to herself, and her hands -fingered the embroidered tassel of the latch. - -"We are late on the road; I can make no tarrying." - -The door quivered a moment as though shaken by a gusty wind. Everything -was quiet again, and Igraine could hear the man breathing. Putting her -mouth to the crack between post and hinge-board she laughed stridently -as though in scorn. - -"Igraine!" - -The voice was half-imperative, half-appealing. - -"My very dear lord!" - -"Are you abed?" - -"No, dear lord." - -"Open to me; I would kiss your lips before I sally." - -"You have never kissed me these many days." - -"True, wife; is it fault of mine?" - -"Nor shall again, dear lord, if I have strength." - -She heard the man muttering to himself a moment, but this time there -was no smiting of the door, no fume and tempest. His mood seemed more -temperate, less masterful, as though he were half heavy at heart. - -"Igraine--" - -"Why do you whimper like a dog?" she said; "go, get you to war. What -are you to me?" - -"When will you learn reason?" - -"When you are dead, sire." - -"Perhaps I deserve all this." - -"Are you so much a penitent?" - -Her mockery seemed to lift Gorlois to a higher range of passion, and -there was great bitterness in his voice as he tossed back words to her -with a quick kindling of desire. - -"Woman, I have been hard in the winning of you, but, God knows, you are -something to me." - -"God knows, Gorlois, I hate you." - -His hand shook the door. - -"Let me in, Igraine." - -"Break down the door; you shall come at me no other way." - -"Woman, woman, I am a fool; my heart smarts at leaving you." - -"You sound almost saintly." - -"I have left Brastias in charge of you." - -"Thanks, lord, for a jailer." - -Igraine drew back from the door and stood at her full height with -her hands crossed upon her bosom. She quivered as she stood with the -intense effort of her hate. Gorlois still waited without the door, -though she could not hear him moving. The silence seemed like the deep -hush that falls between the blustering stanzas of a storm. - -"Igraine!" - -It was a hoarse cry, quick and querulous. Igraine had both her fists to -her chin in an attitude of inward effort, as though she racked herself -to give utterance to the implacable temper of her scorn. Her face -had a queer parched look. When she spoke, her voice was shrill like a -piping wind. - -"Gorlois." - -"Wife." - -"Would you have my blessing?" - -"Give it me, Igraine." - -"Go then, and look not to me for comfort. When you are in battle, and -the swords cry on your shield, I shall pray on my knees that you may -get your death." - -Gorlois gave never a sound as he stood by the barred door with his -hand over the mezail of his helmet. It seemed dark and gloomy in the -gallery, and the staunch oak fronted him like fate. His eyes were full -of a dull light as he turned and went clanging down the stairway with -slow, heavy tread. His sounding footsteps died down into the din of -arms that came from the great court. Igraine ran to the window and -watched him and his men ride out, smiling a bleak smile as the last -mailed figure gleamed out by the gate. - - - - -II - - -When Gorlois and his knights had gone, Igraine unbarred the door, and -passed down the narrow stair to the state chamber of the house, where -a fire was burning. It was a solemn room, shadowed with many arches, -with vaults inlaid with marble, its walls painted green and gold, its -glimmering casements lozenged with fine glass. Furs were spread upon -the mosaic floor; painted urns held flowers that bloomed in the mock -summer of the room. - -Igraine stood and warmed herself before the fire. From an altar-like -pillar near she took storax and galbanum from brazen bowls, and -scattered the resinous tears upon the flames. A pungent fragrance rose -up into her nostrils. The flicker of the fire played upon her face, and -set a lustre in her eyes. It was winter weather, and the warmth was -welcome. - -The refrain of her talk with Gorlois still ran at fever heat like a -wild song through her brain. She was stirred to the deeps of her strong -soul. For Gorlois she had no measure of pity. He was a rotten tree to -her, a slab of granite, anything but quick flesh and blood capable of -aspiration and desire. She hated him more for his pleading than for his -tyranny, fearing to be pleased by one she dreaded. He was strenuous and -obstinate. She knew that it would be great joy to her if she saw his -face no more, and if his body crumbled in the rain on some bleak coast -in Wales. - -As she stood by the fire and looked into it with pondering eyes she -heard a curtain drawn and the sound of a footstep on the threshold. -Turning briskly, like one accustomed to suspicions, she saw the man -Brastias in the doorway looking at her half-furtively, as though none -too proud of the office thrust upon him. He had great grey eyes and a -calm face. Bending stiffly to Igraine with his hand over his heart, -he turned aside to a cabinet by the wall, took therefrom an illumined -scroll of legendary tales, and sat down on a bench to read, as though -he had no other business in the room. - -Igraine's long lip curled. She knew the meaning of the man's presence -there shrewdly enough. Going to a window she opened the casement frame -and looked out on the winter scene. Usk winding silver to the sea, the -purple roll of the bleak bare woods, the far sea itself dying a sullen -streak into a sullen sky. It was dreary enough, and yet it suited her; -she could have welcomed thunder and the rend of forked fire above the -woods. Thought was fierce in her with the wind crying about the house -like a wistful voice, the voice of days long dead. - -To be free of Gorlois! - -To cast off her present self like a rotten cloak! - -To adventure liberty, though the peril were shrill as the wind through -the swaying pines on the hillside! - -To deal with Brastias! - -Now Brastias was a grave-faced knight, neither young nor old, but -a very boy in the matter of the mock wisdom of the world. He was -possessed of one of those generous natures that looks kindly on -humanity with a simple optimism born of a contented conscience. He -was a devout man, a soldier, and a gentleman. Moreover, he owned a -holy reverence for women, a reverence that led him into a somewhat -extravagant belief in the sincerity of their truth and virtue. He was -blessed too in being nothing of a cynic in his conceptions of honour. - -Gorlois knew the man to the heart, and trusted him, a fact well proven -by the faith imposed upon him in his wardenship of the Lady Igraine. -Brastias hated the task as much as he hated the telling of a lie. There -are some men whose whole instinct is towards truth. They are golden -souls, often too easily deceived with a gross dross that makes an -outward show of kindred colour. - -Brastias was no stranger to Igraine, for he had served her as one of -the knights of the guard in the great castle of Tintagel. He was a man -who could look into a woman's eyes and make her feel instinctively -the clear honour of his soul. There was nothing of the flesh about -Brastias. And it was in this chivalrous faith of his that Igraine -discovered a credulity that might make him prone to believe a certain -profession of faith that was taking sudden and subtle form within her -mind. Months ago, she would have hesitated before the man's grey eyes. -But feeling herself sinned against, and stirred by the shame of the -past, she found ample justification for herself in the lie Gorlois had -practised for her undoing. - -She left the window, and went and stood by the fire, with her back to -the man. - -"Brastias," she said, quite softly. - -The man looked up from the scroll, and seemed ill at ease. - -"I trust your duty is pleasant to you?" - -Brastias's eyelids flickered nervously, and he cleared his throat. - -"May the Virgin witness," he said, "I have no love of the task." - -"My Lord Gorlois trusts you?" - -"He has said so, madame." - -"And am I not his wife?" - -Brastias put the scroll aside with a constrained deliberation. He felt -himself wholly in the wrong, as he always did before a woman, and his -wit ran clumsily on such occasions. It had needed but the observation -of a child to mark the gulf between Gorlois and his wife. Gorlois had -spoken few words on the matter, had given commands and nothing more. -Brastias was not the man to tamper officiously with the confidences of -others. He thought much, said little, and bided quiet for Igraine to -speak. - -She stood half-turned towards the fire, with her face in profile, and -her hands hanging limply at her side. Looking for all the world like a -penitent, she spoke with a certain unconscious pathos, as though she -touched on a matter that was heavy upon her heart. - -"Brastias, I may call you a friend?" - -"I trust so, madame." - -"Then there is no reason for me to be backward in speaking of the -truth?" - -The man bowed and said nothing. - -"Come then, Brastias, tell me honestly, have I seemed to you like a -woman who loved her husband?" - -The girl's blue eyes were staring hard into the man's grey ones. There -was little chance of prevarication before so blunt a question, and -Brastias's courtesy, like Balaam's ass, refused to deny the scrutiny -of truth. Igraine could read the man's face like a piece of blazened -parchment. - -"Never fear to be frank," she said; "your belief hangs on your face -like an alphabet, and that shows me how much you know of a woman's -heart." - -"Pardon me, madame." - -"Never blush, man, you would have said that I had as little love for -Gorlois as for the dirtiest beggar in Caerleon?" - -Brastias frowned mildly and agreed with her, remembering as he did a -certain wild scene on the battlements of Tintagel. - -"And doubtless you would say that it pained me not a whit to see -Gorlois my lord ride out from Caerleon into the wilds of Wales?" - -There was such reproach in her voice that Brastias fell into confusion -before her eyes, reddened, and began to excuse himself. - -"Your ladyship's behaviour," he said, with an ingenuous look and an -intense striving after propitiation,--"your ladyship's behaviour would -hardly warrant me in believing that my Lord Gorlois was vastly dear -to you. And, pardon me, a woman does not seek to run away from her -husband." - -"You insinuate--" - -Brastias felt himself in the mire, and groaned in spirit. - -"Madame, I would say--" - -"Yes, yes, I understand you." - -"Give me leave--" - -"Not another word." - -Igraine smiled softly to herself, turned her back on Brastias and -stared long into the fire. The man stood by, watching her with a -humbled look, his fingers twisting restlessly at the broidery of his -black tunic. Igraine traced out the mosaic patterns on the floor with -the point of her shoe. - -"I think you men are all fools," she said. - -Brastias's silence might have suggested contradiction. - -"Have you ever loved a woman?" - -The man shifted, and went red under his straight fair hair. His eyes -took a dreamy look. - -"Yes," he said, as though half-ashamed. - -Igraine hung her head and sighed. - -"Perhaps," she said, growing suddenly shy and out of countenance, -"perhaps you may have learnt the lesson of the froward heart, the -heart that comes by love when it is in peril of great loss." - -Brastias drew a quick, deep breath. - -"By the Virgin, that's true," he said. - -Igraine turned to the fire and hid her face from the man. There was a -pathetic droop about her shoulders, a listless curving of her neck, -that made Brastias picture her as burdened with some immoderate sorrow. -He was an impressionable man, not in any amorous sense, but in the -matter of sympathy towards his fellows. He thought he heard a catch in -the girl's breathing that boded tears. Her hair looked very soft and -lustrous as it curved over her ears and neck. - -"Madame Igraine." - -No answer. Brastias went a step nearer. - -"Listen to me." - -A slight turning of the head in response. - -"What ails you, madame?" - -"Never trouble." - -"I beseech you, tell me." - -The man was quite afire; his face looked bright and eager, and his eyes -shone. - -"Gorlois has gone to the war." - -The words were jerked out one by one. - -"Madame!" - -"War--and death." - -"Courage, madame, courage. On my soul, you are not going to say--" - -"Brastias, you understand." - -"Then?" - -"Man, man, don't drag it out of me; don't you see? are you blind?" - -Brastias invoked a certain saint by the name of Christopher, and -straightway emphasised his words by falling down on his knees beside -Igraine. She had contrived to conjure up tears as she bent over the -fire. Brastias found one of her hands and held it. - -"This will be my lord's salvation." - -"Think you so?" - -"On my soul, my dear lady, I thank our Lord Jesu from my heart. For I -know my Lord Gorlois, and the bitterness that weighed him down, though -he spoke little to me on this matter, being staunch to you, and to his -courtesy. And by our Lord's Passion, madame, I love peace in a house, -and quiet looks, and words like laughing water, for there is never a -home where temper rules." - -"Brastias, you shame me." - -"God forbid, dear lady, there's no gospel vanity in my heart. I speak -but out." - -The man's quaint outburst of gladness touched Igraine's honesty to the -core, but she had no thought of recantation, for all the pricking of -her conscience. She passed back to the open window and leant against -the mullion, while Brastias rose from his knees and followed her. - -"I am faint," she said, "and the fresh wind comforts me." - -"Courage, madame; Duke Gorlois fights for Britain and the Cross; what -better blessing on his shield?" - -Igraine was looking out toward the sea and the grey curtain of the -sky cut in places by dark woods and the sweep of dull green hills. -There was a wistful droop about her figure that made Brastias molten -with intent to comfort, and dumb with words of sympathy that died -inarticulate in his throat. He stood there, a man muzzled by his own -sincerity, bankrupt of a syllable, though he commanded his wit to be -nimble with stentorian cry of conscience. He felt hot in his skin and -vastly stupid. By the time he had lumbered up some passable fancy, -Igraine had turned from the window with a quick intelligence kindling -in her eyes. - -"Brastias." - -"Madame." - -"Listen to me, I have come by a plan." - -A sudden flood of sunlight streamed through a rent in the grey canopy -of clouds. The landscape took a warmer tinge, the purple of the woods -deepened. Brastias saw the sudden gleam of light strike on Igraine's -hair. Her head was thrown back upon her splendid neck, and her eyes -seemed large with love. - -"I will show Gorlois how I love him," she said. - -Brastias's face was still hazed in conjecture. - -"I will wipe out the past." - -"Ah!" - -"We will follow Gorlois to the war, you and I, Brastias, together. What -say you to that?" - -The man looked at her with clear grey eyes, and with a transient -immobility of feature that changed swiftly to a glow of understanding. -The words had gone home to him like a trumpet-cry; their courage warmed -him, and he was carried with the wind. - -"A great hazard--and a noble," he said, with a flush of colour; "the -peril is on my neck, and yet--I'll bear it." - -Igraine's face blazed. - -"Brastias, you will go with me?" - -"By my sword, to the death." - -"Come hither, man; I must kiss your forehead." - -Brastias knelt to her again with crossed hands. She looked into his -grey eyes and touched his forehead with her lips. - -"Thus I salute honour," she said. - -"My lord's lady!" - -"You have trusted me." - -"Else had I been ashamed." - -The man went away to arm, warm at heart as any boy. Igraine stood a -moment looking into the fire with an enigmatic calm upon her face. For -Brastias she felt a throttled pity, an impossible admiration that only -troubled her. Her lust for liberty bore her like a storm-wind, and her -hate of Gorlois made her iron at heart. She could dare anything to -fling off the moral bondage that cramped and bound her like a net. - -While Brastias was away arming and ordering horses, she went to a -little armoury on the stairs and filched away a short hauberk and a -sheathed poniard. She wore these under a gown of black velvet bound -with a silver girdle, and a cloak of sables hooded and lined with -sky-blue cloth. She had a strange joy of the knife at her girdle as she -passed down the stairway to the court. - -A few silent servants gaped at her as she passed from the house. -Brastias came out to her in armour. In the court she heard the cry of -steel bridles, the sparking of hoofs on the stones. They were soon -mounted and away under the great gate and free of Caerleon in the -decline of the day. The west had no colour, and a wind pined in the -trees as they swept into the twining shadows of the woods, and saw the -boughs clutch each other against the sullen sky. Soon night came in -a black cowl, and with a winter wind that roamed the woods like the -moan of a prophecy. Igraine, riding with her bridle linked in that of -Brastias, pressed on for the west with a mood that echoed the roar of -the trees. - - - - -III - - -A man in black armour, a lady in a cloak of sables, a pine forest under -a winter sky. - -Myriad trunks interminably pillared, grey-black below, changing to -red beneath the canopy of boughs; patches of grey-blue sky between; -a floor overgrown with whortleberry and heather, and streaked seldom -by the sun. Through the tree-tops the veriest sighing of a wind, a -sound that crept up the curling galleries like the softly-taken breath -of a sleeping world. Away on every hand oblivious vistas black under -multitudinous green spires. - -The woman's face seemed white under the sweep of her sable hood. Its -expression was very purposeful, its mouth firm and resolute, its air -indicative of a deliberate will. Her eyes stared into the wood over -her horse's head with a constant care, dropping now and again a quick -side-glance at the man in black armour riding on her flank. She spoke -seldom to him, and then with a certain assumption of authority that -seemed to trouble his equanimity but little. Often she would lean -forward in the saddle as though to listen, her eyes fixed, her mouth -decisive, her hand hollowed at her ear to concavitate some sound other -than the wind-song of the trees. It was evident that she was under the -spell of some strong emotion, for she would smile and frown by turns as -though vexed by perpetual alternatives of feeling. - -The man at her side watched with his grey eyes the path curling uphill -between the trees. Having his own inward exposition of the woman's -mood, he contented himself wisely with silence, keeping his reflections -to himself. He was not a man who blurted commonplaces when lacking -the means of inspiration. And he was satisfied with the fancy that he -understood completely the things that were passing through the woman's -mind. He believed her troubled by those extreme anxieties of the heart -that come with war and the handiwork of the sword. Perhaps he was -fortunate in being ignorant of the truth. - -The interminable trees seemed to vex the woman's spirit as their trunks -crowded the winding track and shut the pair in as with a never-ending -barrier. But for an occasional patch of heathland or scrub, no lengthy -vista opened up before them. Tree-boles stood everywhere to baulk their -vision, silent and stiff like sullen sentinels. The horses plodded on. -Igraine's impatience could be read upon her face, and discovered in -her slighter gestures. It was the impatience of a mind at war within -itself, a mind prone through the chafe of trouble to be vexed with -trifles; sore, sensitive, and hasty. Brastias watched her, pretending -to be intent the while on the path that wandered away into the mazes of -the wood. He was a considerate creature, and he suffered her petulance -with a placid good-humour, and a certain benevolence that was the -outcome of pity. - -Igraine jerked her bridle, and eyed the trees as though they were the -members of a mob thrusting themselves between her and her purpose. She -was inclined to be unreasonable, as only a woman can be on occasions. -Brastias, calm-faced and debonair, contented himself with sympathy, and -refrained from reason as from the handling of a whip. - -"That peasant fellow was a liar," he said, by way of being -companionable. - -"Yes, the whelp." - -"I'll swear we've ridden two leagues, not one." - -"The fellow should have a stripe for every furlong." - -"Rough justice, madame." - -Igraine laughed. - -"If justice were done to liars," she said, "the world would be -hideless, scourged raw." - -Brastias edged his horse past an intruding tree and chuckled amiably. - -"It would be a pity to spoil so much beauty." - -"Eh!" - -"The women would come off worst." - -Igraine flashed a look at him. - -"Balaam's ass spoke the truth," she said. - -They had not gone another furlong when Brastias reined in suddenly and -stood listening. He held up a hand to Igraine, looking at her with -prophetic face, his black armour lustreless under the trees. - -"Hark!" - -Igraine stared into his eyes. Neither moved a muscle for fully a minute. - -"A trumpet-cry!" - -Brastias lowered his hand. - -"From the host. And the 'advance,' by the sound on't." - -"Then we shall be out of the woods soon." - -"Go warily, madame; it would be poor wisdom to stumble on an Irish -legion." - -"Brastias, I would not miss the day for a year in heaven." - -As they pushed uphill through the solemn shadows of the forest, a sound -like the raging of a wind through a wood came down to them faintly from -afar. It was a sullen sound, deep and mysterious as the hoarse babel -of the sea, smitten through with the shrill scream of trumpets like -the cry of gulls above a storm. In the alleys of the pine forest it was -still as death, and calm beneath the beniscus of the tall trees. - -Igraine and Brastias looked meaningly at each other as they rode. The -sound needed no words to christen it. The two under the trees knew that -they heard the roar of host breaking upon host, the cataractine thunder -of a distant battle. - -Pushing on as fast as the forest suffered, the din became more -definite, more human, more sinister in detail. It stirred the blood, -challenged the courage, racked conjecture with the infinite chaos it -portended. Victory and despair were trammelled up together in its -sullen roar; life and death seemed to swell it with the wind-sound of -their wings; it was stupendous, sonorous, chaotic, a tempest-cry of -steel and many voices merged into the grand underchant of war. - -Igraine's face kindled to the sound like the face of a girl who hears -her lover's lute at night under her window. Blood fled to her brain -with the wild strength of the strain humming like a wind through the -trees. She was in the mood for war; the tragedy of it solemnised her -spirit, and made her look for the innumerable flash of arms, the -rolling march of a multitude. For the moment it was life, and the -glorious strength of it; death and the dust were hid from sight. - -Yet another furlong and the red trunks dwindled, and the sombre boughs -fringed great tracts of blue, and to the north mountains rose up dim -and purple under an umbrage of clouds. To the west the sea appeared -solemn and foamless, set with pine-spired aisles, and a great company -of ships at anchor. Nigh the shore the grey pile of a walled town stood -out upon green meadows. Igraine and the man pushed past the outlying -thickets, and drew rein upon a slope that ran gradually down from them -like the great swell of a sea. - -Tented by the dome of the sky lay a natural amphitheatre, shelving -towards the sea, but rising in the east by rolling slopes to a ridge -that joined the mountains with the forest. The valley was a medley of -waste land, scrub, gorse, and thicket, traversed by the white streak -of a road, and closed on the west by the grey walls of the town rising -up above the green. It was a wild spot enough. However still and -solitary it may have seemed in its native desertedness, however much -the haunt of the wolf and the boar, it seethed now like a cauldron with -the boiling stir of battle. Men swarmed through scrub and thicket; -masses of steel moved hither and thither, met, mingled, broke, and -rallied. Wave rushed on wave. Bodies of horsemen smoked over the open -with flashing of many colours and the glittering pomp of mail, to roll -with clanging trumpets into some vortex of death. The whole scene was -one shifting mass of steel and strife, dust and disorder, galloping -squadrons, rolling spears, rank on rank of shields a-flicker in the -sun. And from this whirlpool of humanity rose the dull grinding roar of -war, fierce, stupendous, clamorous, grand. - -To the trained eye of the soldier the chaos took orderly and -intelligent meaning, and Brastias stood in his stirrups and pointed out -to Igraine the main ordering of the hosts. Uther Pendragon held the -eastern ridge with his knights and levies; Gilomannius and Pascentius -thrust up at him from the sea; while the valley between held the wreck -of the countercharges of either host, and formed debatable ground where -troop ran against troop, and man against man. - -The masses of Uther's army swept away along the ridge, their arms -glittering over the green slopes, their banners and surcoats colouring -the height into a terraced garden of war, the whole, a solemn streak -of gold against the blue bosoms of the hills. To the north stood -Meliograunt with his levies from Wales, and next him Duke Eldol and -King Nentres headed the men of Flavia Cæsariensis. South of all the -great banner of Tintagel showed where Gorlois and the southern levies -reared up their spears like a larch-wood in winter. Brastias pointed -them all out to the girl in turn, keeping keen watch the while on the -shifting mob of mail in the valley. - -Igraine, stirred by the scene, urged on from the forest, and the -knight following her, they crossed some open scrubland, wound through -a thicket of pines, and stood at gaze under the boughs. Igraine's -eyes were all the while turned on the banner of Tintagel, and from -the common mob of mailed figures she could isolate a knight in gilded -harness on a white horse, Gorlois, her husband. The mere sight of him -set her hate blazing in her heart, and seemed to pageant out all the -ills she had suffered at his hands. Her feud against the man was a -veritable insanity, a species of melancholia that wrapped all existence -in the morbid twilight of self-centred bitterness. As she looked down -upon the host there was a kind of overmastering madness of malice on -her face, an emotion whose very intensity paled her to the lips, and -made her eyes hard and scintillant as crystal. She was discreet for all -her violence of soul. Turning to Brastias, who was scanning the valley -under his hand, she pointed to the banner with a restless eagerness of -manner that might have hinted at her solicitude for Gorlois, her lord. - -"See yonder," she said, "is not that the Lord Gorlois on the white -horse by yonder standard?" - -Brastias turned his glance thither, considered for a moment, and then -agreed decisively. - -"Love is quick of eye," he said with a smile. - -"Let us ride down nearer." - -"I care not for the hazard, madame." - -"Who fears at such a season?" - -"By my sword, madame, not your servant; I am but careful of your -safety." - -"Fear for me, Brastias, when I fear for myself." - -"Methinks, madame, that would be never." - -"Brastias, I believe you." - -Igraine's courage had risen to too high an imperiousness for the -moment to brook baffling or to endure restraint. She had been lifted -out of herself, as it were, by the storm-cry of battle, and by the -splendour of the scene spread out before her eyes. A furlong or more -down the hillside a little hillock stood up amid a few wind-twisted -thorns, proffering rare vantage for outlook over wood and dale. She was -away like a flash, and several lengths ahead before Brastias had roused -up, put spur to horse, and cantered after her. The man saw the glint of -her horse's hinder hoofs spurning the sod, and though the wind whistled -about his ears, he was left well in the rear for all his spurring. -Igraine, with her hair agleam under her tossed-back hood, and her -cheeks ruddied by the wind, headed for the rising ground at a gallop, -gained it, and drew rein on the very verge of a small cliff that -dropped sheer to the flat below. The hillock was like a natural pulpit, -its front face a perpendicular some twenty feet high, while its hinder -slope tailed off to merge into the hillside. Gorlois's mailed masses -stood but a hundred paces away, and Igraine could see him clearly in -his gilded harness under the banner of Tintagel. - -Brastias galloped up to her with a mild bluster of expostulation. - -"You court danger, madame." - -"What if I do, Brastias, to be near my lord." - -"Your sanctity lies upon my conscience." - -"I take all such care from you." - -"Madame, that is impossible; duty is duty both night and day, in battle -and in peace; duty bids me fear for my lord's wife." - -Igraine found certain logic invincible in the argument, and made good -use of it; she meant to rule Brastias for her own ends. - -"Fear," she said; "I forget fear when I am nigh Gorlois, my husband; -and who can gainsay me the right of watching over him? I forget fear -when I think of Britain, the king, and my lord, and had I a hundred -lives I could cast them down to help to break the heathen, and serve -my country." - -"Amen," said Brastias, signing the cross upon his breast. - -Sterner interests quashed any further polite bickerings that might have -risen from Igraine's pride of purpose, for Brastias, with the instinct -of a soldier, marked some large development in the struggle that had -been passing in the valley below them. The scattered lines of horse -and foot that had been thrown forward by Uther to try the strength and -spirit of the Irish host, were falling back sullenly uphill before the -masses of attack poured up from the flats by Gilomannius the king. The -whole battle had shifted to the east. Bodies of horse were spurring -uphill, driving in Uther's men, cutting down stragglers, harrowing -the slopes for the solid march of the black columns of foot that were -creeping up between the thickets, winding like giant dragons amid furze -and scrub. It was a grand sight enough, the advance of a great host, -a rocking sea of spears pouring up in the lull that had fallen over -the valley as though the battle took breath and waited. Uther's men -kept their ground upon the ridge, watching in silence the advance of -Gilomannius's chivalry. Only a brief wild cry of trumpets betokened the -gathering of the waves of war. - -Even at this juncture Brastias racked his wit and courtesy to persuade -Gorlois's lady to fall back and watch from the shelter of the woods. -He pointed out her peril to Igraine, besought, argued, cajoled, -threatened. All he gained was a blunt but half-smiling declaration -from the woman that she would hold to her post on the hillock till the -battle was over, or some mischance drove her from the place. Brastias -caught her bridle, spurred round, and tried to drag her back by main -force, but she was out of the saddle instanter, and obstinate as ever. -In the end the man capitulated, and gave his concern to the fortunes of -war. - -The sudden uproar that sounded out along the hillside made mere -individual need dull and impossible for the moment. The shock of the -joining of the hosts had come like the fall of snow from a mountain--a -sound sweeping down the valley, echoing among the silent fastnesses of -the hills. Men had come pike to pike, shield to shield, upon the ridge. -Mass rushed upon mass, billow upon billow. From the mountains to the -forest the sweat and thunder of strife rolled up from the long line -of leaping steel, from the living barrier, steady as a cliff. It was -one of the many Marathons of the world where barbarism clawed at the -antique fabric of the past. - -Igraine's glance was stayed on Gorlois and the southern levies about -the banner of Tintagel. Her hate surged up the green slope with the -onrush of the Irish horde, and brandished on the charge in spirit -towards the tall figure in the harness of gold. She saw Gorlois in the -press smiting right and left with the long sweep of his sword. In her -thirst for his destruction she grudged him strength, harness, sword, -the very shield he bore. She was glad of his courage, for such would -militate against him. Moment by moment her desire honoured him with -death as she thought him doomed to fall beneath the surge of steel. - -A sudden shout from Brastias brought her stare from this chaos of -swords. The man was standing in his stirrups, and pointing to the west -with his face dead white and his mouth agape. - -"By God, look!" - -Truth to tell, there was little need of the warning. A dull rumble of -hoofs came up like thunder above the shriller din around. Igraine, -looking to the west, saw a black mass of horsemen at the gallop, -swaying, surging, rocking uphill full for Gorlois's flank. The sight -numbed her reason for the moment. She was still as stone as the column -swept past the very foot of the hillock--a flood of steel--and plunged -headlong upon Gorlois's lines, hewing and trampling to the very banner -of Tintagel. An oath from Brastias made her turn and look at him. He -had his hand on his sword, and his face was twisted into a snarl of -wrath and shame as he stood in his stirrups and watched the fight. - -"My God!" he cried, "my God! they run." - -It was palpable enough that the southern line was breaking and -crumbling ominously before the rush of Gilomannius's knights. Little -bunches of men were breaking away from the main mass like smoke, and -falling back over the ridge. Igraine guessed at Brastias's pride and -fury, saw her chance of liberty, and took it. She set up a shrill cry -that stirred his courage like a trumpet-cry. - -"My Lord, my Lord Gorlois, Brastias, what of him?" - -The man's sword had flashed out. - -"Send me to death, lady, only to strike a blow for Britain." - -Igraine spread her hands to him like a Madonna, and made the sign of -the cross in the air. Brastias lifted up his drawn sword, kissed it, -and saluted her with the look of a hero. Then he wheeled his horse, -plunged down from the hillock, and rode full gallop into the battle. -Igraine soon lost sight of his black harness in the mêlée, and since he -met his death there, she saw Brastias alive no more. - -Despite the grim uproar of the overthrow, despite the taunts of a -patriot pride, there was an under-current of gladness through her -thought as she watched Gorlois's men giving ground upon the ridge. -Her lord's shame was her gratification. To such a pitch of passion -was she tuned that she could find laughter for the occasion, and a -shrill cry of joy that startled even her own ears when the banner -of Tintagel quivered and went down into the dust. Men were falling -like leaves in autumn, and the southern wing of Uther's host seemed -but a rabble--trampled, overridden, herded, and smitten over the -ridge. Everywhere the swords and spears of Gilomannius's knights and -gallowglasses spread rout and panic, while the wavering mass gave -ground, rallied, gave again, and streamed away in flight over the -hillside. She could see no sign of Gorlois, and with a whimper of -hate the strong doubt of his escaping the slaughter took hold on her -heart, and found ready welcome there. She was rid of Brastias--good -fellow that he was--and though she honoured him, she loved liberty -better. Liberty enough! Gorlois her lord had been slain. Such were her -reflections for the moment. - -Pendragon's host seemed threatened with overthrow. The southern wing -had been driven off the field by a charge of horse; Gilomannius held -the southern portion of the ridge, and pressed hard on Meliograunt, -both flank and face. The imminent need of Britain was plain enough even -to Igraine, yet a sense of calm and liberty had come upon her like the -song of birds or the gush of green in springtide. Even her patriotism -seemed dim and unreal for the moment before the treasonable gratitude -that watched the overthrow of Gorlois's arms. She was alone at last, -solitary among thousands, able after the bitterness of past months to -pluck peace from the very carnage of battle. Trouble had so wrought -upon her mind that it seemed a negation of all probable and natural -sentiment, a contradiction of the ethical principles of sense. - -The day was fast passing, and the grand fires of a winter sunset were -rolling all the caverns of the west into a blaze of gold and scarlet. -The pine forest, black and inscrutable as night, stood with its spines -like ebony to the fringe of the west, while the slanting light lit -the glimmering masses of steel on hill and valley with a web of gold. -To the north the mountains towered in a mystery of purple, a gleam of -amber transient on their peaks. - -Sudden and shrill came a cry of trumpets from the hills, a sinister -sound that seemed to issue in the climax of the last phase of a -tragedy. Igraine's eyes were turned northwards to the green slopes -of the higher ground where the great banner of the Golden Dragon had -flapped over Uther the King. Here a great company of knights, the -flower of the host, had stood inactive throughout the day. With a -cry of trumpets this splendid company had moved down to charge the -masses of Gilomannius's men, who now filled the shallow valley east -of the ridge, and threatened King Meliograunt and the whole host with -overthrow. Uther had ridden out to lead the charge with his own sword. -It was one of those perilous hours when some great deed was needed to -grapple victory from defeat. - -The rest of the scene seemed blotted out as Igraine watched from her -hillock the glittering mass rolling downhill with the evening sun -striking flame from its thousand points of steel. On over the green -slopes, past the pavilions of the camp, it gathered like a wave lifting -its crest against a rock, on towards the swarm of men squandered in -pursuit of Gorlois's broken line, on to where Gilomannius formed his -knights for the charge. The green space dwindled and dwindled with -the rush and roar of the nearing gallop. Igraine saw the rabble of -Saxons, light-armed kerns and Irish gallowglasses, split and crack -like a crumbling wall. For a short breath the black mass held, with -Uther's storm of mail cleaving cracks and wedges in it--streaks of -tawny colour like lava through the vineyards and gardens of a village. -Then as by magic the whole mass seemed to deliquesce, to melt, to -become as mist. All visible was a thunderstorm of horsemen tearing like -wind through a film of rain with scattering fringes of cloud scudding -swiftly to the west. The knights had passed the valley and were riding -up the slope, hewing, trampling, crushing, as they came. Gilomannius's -columns that had pushed Gorlois's men into rout had become a rabble in -turn--wrecked, scattered to the wind, trodden down in blood and dust. -They were streaming away in flight over the ridge, scampering for -scrub and thicket, no lust in them save the lust of life. Igraine saw -them racing past on every quarter, a blood-specked, dust-covered herd, -their hairy faces panting for the west and the ships on the beach. Not -a hundred paces away came the line of trampling hoofs and swinging -swords, a demoniac whirlwind of iron wrath that hunted, slew, and gave -no quarter. - -Beyond the summit of the ridge, and all about the hillock where Igraine -stood, the glittering horde of knights came to a halt with a great -shout of triumph. Right beneath Igraine and the straight face of the -hillock a man in red armour on a black horse, with a golden dragon -on his helmet, stood out some paces before the ranks of the splendid -company. A great cry rolled up, a forest of swords shook in the sun. -The knight on the black horse stood in his stirrups, and with sword and -helmet upstretched in either hand lifted his face to the red triumph -fire of the west. Igraine knew him--Pelleas, Uther, the King. - - - - -IV - - -The sun had rolled back between the pylons of the west. Night was -in the sky, night in her winter austerity--keen, clear, aglitter -with stars as though her robe were spangled with cosmic frost. The -mountains' rugged heads were dark to the heavens, and the sea lay a -faintly glimmering plain open to the beck of the moon. - -The Irish host had broken and fled at sunset before Uther's charge and -the streaming spears of Eldol and King Nentres. The green meadows, the -wild scrubland, had been chequered over with the black swarm of the -flying soldiery; the whole valley had surged with swords and the sound -of the slaughter. By the grey walls of the town it had beleaguered, -the driven host had turned and rallied in despair to stave off to -the last the implacable doom that poured down from the hills. It was -the vain effort of a desperate cause. Broken and scattered like dust -along a highway, there had been no hope left them but their ships. -The battle had ended in the very foam of the breaking waves. Crag and -cliff, rock-citadel and yellow sand, had had their meed of blood and -the shrill sound of the sword. The great ships had saved but a remnant, -and had put out to sea in the dusk, their white sails like huge ghosts -treading the swell of the twilight waters. Yet with night there had -come no ceasing of the carnage. Despair had turned to front victory; -Irish gallowglass and heathen churl, forsaken by their ships and hemmed -in by sea and sword, had fought on to the end, finding and knowing no -mercy. Gilomannius the King and Pascentius were dead, and the blood of -invasion poured out like water. - -Now it was night, and in the clear passionless light of the moon a -figure in a cloak of sables moved towards the mound where Gorlois of -Cornwall had flown his banner early in the day's battle. Everywhere -the dead lay piled like sheaves in a cornfield, their harness glinting -with a ghastly lustre to the moon--piled in all attitudes and postures, -staring blankly with white faces to the sky, or prone with their lips -in blood, contorted, twisted, clutching at throat and weapon, mouths -agape or clenched into a grin, man piled on man, barbarian upon Briton. -Dark quags chequered the grass with the sickly odour of shed blood, and -sword and spear, shield and helmet, flickered impotently among the dead. - -Igraine went among the bodies like a black monk seeking some still -quick enough to be shriven before their souls took flight from the -riven clay. Her cloak was gathered jealously about her as she threaded -her way among the huddled figures, peering under helmets, scanning -harness narrowly in her death-inspired quest. Casting hither and -thither in the moonlight, she came to a tangled bank of furze, and -beyond it a low hillock that seemed piled and paved with the bodies -of the slain. Here had stood the banner of Tintagel, and here the -prowess of Gorlois's household knights had fallen before the charge -of Gilomannius's chivalry. Igraine saw the medley of mail, the dead -horses, jumbled figures, wreck of shield and spear rising out above -her in the moonlight, cloaked with a silence grim and irrefutable, -as though Death himself sat sentinel on the pyramid of carnage. Half -shuddering at the sight like an aspen, for all the intent that was in -her heart, she drew near, determined and resolved to search the mound. -Compelled to climb over the dead and to set her foot on the breasts -and shoulders of the slain, her tread lighted more than once on a body -that squirmed like a dying snake. Strong to do the uttermost after that -day of revelation she struggled on, loathing the task, her shoes clammy -with the blood-sweat of death. On the summit of the mound she came upon -Gorlois's white horse lying dead by the wreathing folds of the fallen -banner of his house. - -A whimper of joy came up into Igraine's heart. Sinister as the sign -seemed, she was soon searching the mound with an alert desire in her -eyes that prophesied no vestige of pity for the thing for which she -sought. Hunt as she would, and she was marvellously patient over the -gruesome business, no glint of Gorlois's golden harness flattered her -hate as she searched the mound. Many a good knight lay there, some that -she had known at Tintagel, and hated because they served her husband, -but of Gorlois she found no trace. As a last hope, she dragged aside -the great standard and found a dead man there sheeted in its folds, a -man in black armour with his face to the sky--Brastias, who had ridden -with her from Caerleon. - -She stood a moment looking down at him with a sudden feeling of awe -such as had not come upon her through all that day. A white face lay -turned to the sky,--a face that had looked kindly into hers with a -level trust,--and smiled with a wealth of manly sympathy. It was a -simple thing enough, nothing but one death among many thousands, but it -touched Igraine to the core, and made her ashamed of the lies she had -given him. She found herself wondering like a child whether Brastias -was in heaven, and whether he watched her and her thoughts with his -calm grey eyes. The notion disquieted her. She bent down, took his -naked sword from his hand, and shrouded him again in the gorgeous -blazonry of the flag for which he had died, and so left him with a sigh. - -As she climbed back again from the mound, a gashed and clotted face -heaved up and stared at her from a heap of slain. It was the face of -a man who had struggled up on his hands to look at her with mouth -agape, dazed after a sudden waking from the stupor of a swoon. For a -moment in the moonlight she thought it was Gorlois by certain likeness -of feature, but discovered her error when the man spoke to her in -gibberish she did not understand. He began to crawl towards her with a -certain air of menace that made her start back and rear up the sword -she had taken from dead Brastias. The threat of steel proved needless -enough, for the man dropped again with a wet groan, and seemed dead -when she went and bent over him with thoughts of succour. - -Passing back again to her hillock, she stood there brooding and looking -out towards the west. A great bell in the town by the sea was pulsing -heavily as though for the dead, and there were many cressets flaring -on the walls, and torches going to and fro in the meadows. The sound -of a triumph hymn chanted by hundreds of deep voices floated up like a -prayer from the western meadows. - -At the sound Igraine's eyes were strangely full of tears. By some -strange echoing of the mind the idyls of past days woke like the song -of birds after a storm of rain. Clear in the dusk she seemed to see -the red figure on the black horse, his face lit like a god's by the -slanting light from the west as he stretched his sword to heaven. Again -the scene changed, and she saw him riding through the flowering meads -of Andredswold, looking down on her with a grave and luminous pity. She -was glad of him, glad of his great glory, glad that he had kissed her -lips, and bewrayed the love to her that was in his heart. The scene and -the occasion were strange enough for such broodings, yet her eyes were -very dim as she stood in a half-dream and let the picture drift across -her mind. - -The revelation had come upon her with such suddenness that she had been -for the moment like one dazed. She had watched Uther sweep on with his -horde of knights, and had stood mute and impotent as one smitten dumb -while the red harness and the golden dragon of Britain vanished again -into the moil of war. Now her whole soul yearned out with a wistfulness -born of infinite regret. If he had only come to her alone; if he had -only come to her as Pelleas in some gloom of green, she could have -fallen down before his horse's feet, kissed the scabbard of his sword, -wept over his helmet, and burnished it with her hair. Sight of that -dark sad face had made a beacon of her on the instant. - -And Gorlois! If she had hated him yesterday, she hated him with -a tenfold vigour since she had looked again upon Pelleas's face. -Certainly her malice had grown with an Antæan strength with each -humbling of her heart to the dust, and the very thought of Gorlois -seemed blasphemy against her soul at such an hour. - -With the memory of Gorlois a cloud dulled the clear mirror of her mind, -and her mood of dreams melted into mist. The strong sense of bondage, -of ineffectual treason, came back with a fuller force as though to -menace her with the fateful realism of her lot. A hand seemed to sweep -down and wave her back with a meaning so sinister that even her hate -stood still a moment as in sudden fear; she had some such feeling as -of standing on the brink of a mysterious sea whose waves sang to her a -song of peril, of misery and desire cooped up together in the dim green -twilight of some coral dungeon. The lure of the unknown beat upon her -eyes, while love and hate, like attendant spirits, beckoned her over -the yawn of an open grave. - -For the moment the importunity of her immediate need drew her from -meditations alike bitter and divine. A battlefield after dark, with all -its lust and pillage, was no pleasant place for a woman. The lights of -the town still showed up brightly in the west, but Igraine had little -desire of the teeming streets where victory would be matching blood -with wine, and where the revels of the soldiery would celebrate the day -in primal fashion. She was content to be alone under the stars, and -even the dead seemed more sympathetic than the living at such an hour. - -A wind had risen, and she heard the hoarse "salvé" of the forest in -the night. The thousand voices of the trees seemed to call to her -with a weird perpetual clamour. She saw their spectral hands jerking -and clutching against the sky, and heard the creak and gibber of the -criss-cross boughs swaying in the wind. Leaving the hillock, and still -bearing Brastias's sword, she held across the open, seeing as she went -the dark streaks that dotted the hillside--the bodies of men fallen in -the flight. She gained the trees, and was soon deep among the crowded -trunks, pondering on her lodging for the night. - -Wandering hither and thither, looking for some more sheltered spot, -her glance lighted on a dim swelling of the ground that proved to be -an ancient mound or barrow. It had been opened in times past, probably -in the search for buried treasure or for weapons. Brambles, weeds, and -heather had roofed the shallow cutting into a little recess or cave -that gave fair shelter from the wind, and Igraine, braving the notion -of barrow ghost or spirit, claimed the place as a God-send, and took -cover therein. - -The last crumbs in her wallet finished, she sat with her face between -her palms, brooding, big-eyed, in the night, like any Druidess -wreathing spells in her forest solitude. The wind was crying through -the trees, swaying them restlessly against the starry sky, making -plaintive moan through all the myriad aisles. Igraine listened like -one huddled among her thoughts to keep out the cold. Miserable as was -her lodging, her mind seemed packed with the day's battle; the whirl -and thunder of it were still moving in her brain, a wild scene towered -over by a man bare-headed on a black horse, holding his helmet to the -setting sun. Often and often she heard the roar of hoofs and saw the -rush of the charge that had trampled the banner of Tintagel and hurled -Gorlois and his men in rout from the ridge. Had it been death or life -with the man? Was he with the King hearing holy mass and lifting up the -wine cup to heaven under a flare of lights, or lying stiff and pinched -under the mild eyes of night? It was this thought, holding hope and -doubt in common yoke, that abode with her all the night in her refuge -under the trees. - -It was bleak enough, with a silvering of frost over the land, when -darkness had rolled back over the western sea, uncovering the wreck of -death that lay huddled on ridge and slope. Igraine was stirring early -from the barrow. With the cold and her own thoughts she had slept but -an hour, and at the first filtering of light through the branches she -was glad and ready for the day. She wandered through the forest towards -the open land that showed glimmering through the tree-boles, with no -certain purpose moving in her mind. The future as yet was a blank to -her, lacking possibilities, jealous of its secrets, saturnine as death -itself. There shone one light above her that seemed to burn through the -unknown; it had long led her from distant hills, yet even her red lamp -of love beckoned her over a sepulchre. - -Coming to the forest margin, she came full upon the incontestable -handiwork of war. Under the sweep of a great pine lay the body of a -knight in black harness, all blazoned with gold, while his grey horse -was still standing with infinite patience by his side, nosing him -gently from time to time. The man's helmet, a visored casque, somewhat -gladiatorial in type, had fallen off, and a young beardless face was -turned placidly up to the blue, a white oval pillowed upon a tuft of -heather. There was no blood or sign of violence visible save a blue -bruise on his left temple; it seemed more than probable that he had -been pitched from the saddle and found death in the fall. - -Igraine stood and looked at him in some pity while the horse snuffed at -her, staring with great wistful eyes as though for help or sympathy. -The man was young, with a certain nobility of early manhood on his -face, and it seemed to her very pitiful that he should be cut off thus -in life's spring. As she looked at him she noted that he was slim of -figure, and not much above middle height. A sudden fancy took her on -the instant. She tethered the horse, and kneeling down by the man -her fingers were soon busy at the buckles and joints of his armour. -Ungirding his sword, she drew it from the scabbard and set it upright -at his head, sheathing Brastias's in its place. Having stripped off -his armour and long surcoat she covered him reverently with her cloak, -slung the horse's bridle round her wrist, and gathering up his arms and -helmet went back to the barrow where she had passed the night. - -The wood had received a woman in the dress of a woman; it gave in -exchange a knight on a grey horse--a knight in black armour blazoned -with gold under a surcoat of violet cloth. The brazen helmet, visored -and hooded with mail over nape of neck and throat, gleamed and flashed -under the green boughs. There were three lilies, snow-white, and a -cloven heart upon the shield, and the horse trappings were bossed and -enamelled gold and blue. - -Igraine rode out from the trees with the pomp of a Launcelot. The grey -horse's mane tossed in the wind, the furze rippled on the hillside, the -cloud-ships sailed the blue with white sails spread. The girl was aglow -with new life under her guise of steel. The essence of manhood seemed -to have created itself within her as from the soul of the dead knight, -and she suffered the glory of arms with a pride that was almost boyish. - -Holding out from the trees at a solemn pace, she headed westward down -the valley along the grass slopes that slid between scrub and thicket -to the sea. On the road below her a company of spears trailed eastward -uphill in a snakelike column that glittered through the green. Pushing -on boldly across ground where the battle had raged hotly the night -before, she reached the road as the head of the column swung up at a -dull tramp on their march home for Caerleon. Gruffing her voice in -her throat she hailed the knight who headed the troop for news of the -battle of yesterday, posing as one late on the scene, and sore at -having struck no blow for Britain. - -The knight drew aside, and letting his men tramp by, he gave tersely -the tale of the fight as he had seen it from King Nentres's lines. - -"St. Jude be blessed," said Igraine at the end thereof. "I am glad, -friend, of these tidings. As for the field, it looks to have been as -bloody a one as ever I set eyes on." - -"Bloody enough," quoth the man, giving his moustache a twirl; "too -bloody for Gilomannius and dead Vortigern's whelp." - -"What of Uther?" - -"Scarce a scratch." - -"King Meliograunt?" - -"Wounded, but drunk as the devil." - -"And Gorlois of Cornwall?" - -The man laughed as at a jest. - -"Bedded in an abbey," said he, "with a split face; mere flesh, mere -flesh, nothing deeper." - -Igraine thanked him with her helm adroop, and turning her horse, rode -back towards the forest heavy of heart. - - - - -V - - -The King's house at Caerleon stood out above the Usk on a little hill -whose slopes were set with shrubberies and gardens, the white pillars -and broad façade glimmering above the filmy cloud of green that covered -the place as with a garment. A great stairway ran to the river from -the southern terrace that blazed in summer with flower-filled urns and -stacks of roses that overspread the balustrade with crimson flame. It -was a place of dawns and sunsets; of lights rising amber in the east -over purple hills and amethystine waters; of quiet glows at evening -in the west, with cypresses and yews carven in ebony against primrose -skies; while in the burgeoning of the year birds made the thickets deep -with melody; and all beyond, Caerleon's solemn towers, roofs, casements -bowered in green, rested within the battlemented walls that touched -the domes and leaf-spires of the woods. - -It was noontide in Caerleon, and down the great stairway, with its -rows of cypresses, its banks of yew and myrtle, a fair company was -passing to the river, where many barges clustered round the water-gate -like gilded beetles sunning their flanks in the shallows. Knights and -churchmen in groups moved down from the palace talking together as they -went. There had been a council of state in the King's hall, a great -assembling of the noble folk and prelatry, to consider the need of -Britain, the cry of the martyred and the homeless from Kentlands and -the east. Anderida, that great city of the southern shores, had fallen -in a tempest of fire and sword; no single soul had escaped from its -smoking walls; the barbarian had entered in and made great silence over -the whole city. Now it was told that more galleys had come bearing the -fair-haired churls from the sand-dunes and pinewoods, the rude hamlets -of that Angle land over the sea. Vectis had been overrun, Porchester -burnt to the ground, even the noble city of Winchester threatened -despite its walls. Beast and robber had sole rule in Andredswold; -much of nether-Britain was a wilderness, a wistful land given over to -solitude and the wild creatures of the forest. Churches were crumbling; -gillyflowers grew on the high altars, and ivy wrapped the tombs; -sanctuary bells were silent, homes empty and still as death. Desolation -threatened the south, while the valleys of Armorica oversea gave refuge -to many who fled before the Saxon sword. - -In the great hall of the palace Uther still sat in his chair of ivory -under a gilded roof that mingled huge beams with banners, spears, and -rust-rotted harness. The walls were frescoed with Homeric scenes--Helen -meeting Paris in the house of Menelaus, Achilles slaying Hector, -Ulysses and Calypso. Twelve painted pillars held the crossbeams of the -hall, and from the fire on the great hearth a fragrant scent of burning -cedar wood drifted upon the air. A long table covered with parchment, -tablets, quills and inkhorns, and an array of empty benches testified -to the number of noble folk who had assembled at the royal conclave. -A single councillor remained before the King--Dubricius, Bishop of -Caerleon, a tall spare man, whose white hair and sensitive ascetic face -bore testimony to an inward delicacy of soul. - -Uther was clad in a tunic of scarlet, with a dragon in gold thread -blazoned upon his breast. No crown, coronet, or fillet was on his brow; -on his finger he wore the signet of Ambrosius, and his sword was girded -to him with a girdle of embroidered leather. His look was much the same -as when he rode as Pelleas in Andredswold and was nursed of his wound -by Igraine in the island manor. Possibly there were more lines upon his -face, a deeper dignity of sadness in his eyes. Circumstance had put -upon him the cherishing of an imperilled kingdom, and with the charge -his natural stateliness of soul had risen into a heroism of benignant -chivalry. No more kingly man could have taken a land under the strong -sweep of his sword. With the grand simplicity of a great heart he had -grappled the task as a thing given of God, bending ever in prayer like -a child before the inscrutable wisdom of heaven. - -There had been grave business on his mind that day, and his face was -dark with a cloud of care as he talked with Dubricius on certain -matters that lay near his heart. Uther, like the men of old time, was -superstitious and ever prone to regard all phenomena as possessing -certain testamentary authority from the Deity. In mediæval fashion he -referred all human riddles to religious instinct for their solving, and -searched in holy writ for guidance with a faith that was typical of his -character. Wholly a Christian in a superstitious sense, he gained from -the very fervour of his belief a strength that seemed to justify his -very bigotry. - -It was a certain experience, that to his mystic-loving instinct omened -history still dark in the womb of the future, and kept him closeted -with Dubricius that day after knight and churchman had filed out from -the conclave. In the twilight of the hall, with its painted frescoes -and glimmering shields, Dubricius listened to the King as he spoke of -portents and visions of the night. Uther, with his elbow resting on the -arm of his chair and his chin upon his palm, stared at the cedar wood -burning pungently upon the hearth and catechised Dubricius on visionary -belief. The old man looked keenly at the King under his arched white -brows. He was as much a mystic in his creed as this son of Constantine, -a believer in miracles and in manifestations in the heavens. Certainly -unusual powers had been given to the early Church, and it was not for -the atomic mind of man to deny their presence in any later age. - -"My lord dreamed a dream," said Dubricius tentatively when he had heard -the tale to the end. - -Uther quashed the suggestion with the calm confidence of a man sure of -his reason. - -"Never a dream, Dubricius." - -The old man's eyes were very bright, and his face seemed full of a -luminous sanctity. - -"A vision, then, my lord?" - -"I am no woman, Dubricius; I must believe the thing a vision, or damn -my senses." - -"My lord, it is no mere woman's part to see visions; search holy writ -where the chosen of God--the great ones--were miraculously blessed with -portent and with dream." - -Uther looked into the old man's face as though for succour. - -"I am troubled to know what God would have me know," he said. -"Dubricius, you are aged in the service of the Church!" - -"My lord, I have no privilege from heaven in the rendering of dreams." - -"Am I then a Pharaoh disappointed of mine own soothsayers?" - -"Sire, what of Merlin?" - -"Merlin--" - -"The man has the gift of prophecy and can speak with tongues. Send for -him, my lord; he is a child of the Church, though a mage." - -Uther warmed himself before the fire of cedar wood, his face motionless -in contemplative calm. Presently he turned, and looked deep into -Dubricius's vigil-hollowed eyes as though to read the thoughts therein. - -"Merlin, the black-haired man who told Vortigern of the future!" - -"He spoke the truth, my lord." - -"Sad truth for Vortigern." - -"Yet who should fear the truth?" - -"Dubricius, to hear of death!" - -"Death, my lord?" - -"Remember Vortigern." - -"My lord, he was a planet lurid with murder, and so damned to darkness. -Need the sun fear light?" - -Uther smiled sadly in the old man's face. - -"You are too faithful a courtier, Dubricius." - -"My lord, you are the pillar of a distraught land; God be merciful and -spare you to us." - -"I have done my duty." - -"Amen, sire, to that." - -Uther went and stood by the great window of the room with his arms -folded upon his breast. His hollow eyes looked out over the city, and -there was a gaunt grandeur of thought upon his face. He was not a man -who galloped down destiny like a huntsman on the trail of a stag; -deliberation entered into his motives, and he never foundered reason -with over-use of the spur. Dubricius stood and watched him with the -smile of a father, for he loved the man. - -Presently Uther turned back towards the fire. Dubricius saw by his face -that he had come by decision, and that his mind was steadfast. - -"Merlin is at Sarum, my lord." - -"I shall not play Saul at Endor." - -"No, sire." - -"The man shall come to me with no jugglery in dark corners." - -"Wise forethought, my lord king." - -"I remember me, Dubricius, that you have little leisure to hear of -dreams. I have given you the names of the holy houses to be rebuilt and -consecrated in the name of God. We will save Britain by the help of the -cross. God speed you." - -Alone in the half light of the hall Uther stood and stared into the -fire, his eyes luminous in the glow, while the pungent scent of the -burning wood swept up like a savour of eastern spices. There was -intense feeling on his face, a kind of passionate calm, as he gazed -into the red bosom of the fire. Presently, as though turning in thought -from some enchantment of the past, he sighed wearily, put his black -hair from his forehead with both hands, and looked at his image in a -mirror of steel that hung from a painted pillar. There was a wistful -look upon his strong face; he had a soul that remembered, a soul not -numbed by time into mere painless recollection of the past. As in some -mysterious temple, love, with solemn sound of flute and dulcimer, kept -fire unquenched night and day upon the altar of his heart. - -Rising up out of his mood of gloom, an earthly Hyperion whose face -shone anew over Britain, he passed out, and calling to the guards -lounging on the terrace, descended the stairway that sloped through -gardens to the river. His state barge was in waiting at the gate, and -entering in he was borne downstream towards the town whose white walls -rose up amid the emerald mist of spring. Over all Uther cast his eye -with a lustre look of love, a love that shone like the smile of a child -at a mother's face. Caerleon was dear to him beyond all other cities; -its white walls held his heart with the whispered conjure word of -"home." - -Landing at the great quay, where many ships and galleys lay moored, -he passed up towards the market square with the files of his guard, -smiling back on the reverences of the people, throwing here and there -a coin, happy in the honour that echoed to him from every face. Before -the walls of a pilastered house his guards halted with a fanfare of -trumpets, a sound that rolled the gates wide and brought a mob of -servants to line the outer court. Knights came down from the house with -heads uncovered. It was the King's first entry into Gorlois's atrium -since the disbanding of the host after the war in Wales. - -A face scarred with red across cheek and chin, with nose askew, one -lower lid turned down, came out to Uther from the doorway of an inner -room. There was a drawn look upon the man's face, a sullen saturnine -air about him as though he were vexed inwardly with the chafe of some -perpetual pain. The pinched frown, the restless bloodshot eyes, the -hunched shoulders, were all strange to Uther, who looked for Gorlois, -the man of arrogant and imperial pride, whose splendour of person, -carriage of head, and long lithe stride had marked him a stag royal -from the herd of meaner men. - -Uther, grave as a god, gripped the other's thin sinewy fingers, his -eyes searching Gorlois's face with a large-minded scrutiny inspired -by the natural sympathies of his heart. Gorlois, for his part, half -crooked the knee, and drew a carved chair before the ill-tended fire. -He had an Asmodean pride, and the look in Uther's eyes was more -troublesome to him than a glare of hate. His face never lightened from -the murk of reserve that covered it like a mask, and it was the King -who spoke the first word over the flickering fire. - -"What of your wounds?" he said. - -Gorlois's black beard was down on his breast, and he looked only at the -fire. He seemed like a man furtive beneath the consciousness of some -inward shame, mocking his honour. - -"My wounds are well, sire." - -"You look like a man newly risen from a sick bed." - -"If I look sick, sire, blame my physician; he has tinctured me to the -level of perdition. Bodily I never felt in better fettle. I could hew -down a horse, and thrust my spear through a pine trunk. A man's face is -a fallacy." - -Uther saw the scars, the harsh smile, and caught the twinge in the -seemingly careless voice. He could comprehend some humiliation in the -marring of personal comeliness, but not the humiliation that seemed -to lurk deep beneath Gorlois's pride. There was more here than the -scarring of a cheek. - -"There is some care upon you, Gorlois," he said. - -"Sire, you have much observation." - -"Your men have spoken of the change to you." - -"They are too discreet, God save their skins." - -"Pride, pride." - -"Sire, you are right; my pride suffers the inquisitiveness of kings, -not subjects. Eagle calls to eagle; men are mere magpies. Chatter -maddens me." - -"I grip your hand in spirit." - -Both men were silent for a while, the fire crackling sluggishly at -their feet. Gorlois's eyes were on the window and the scrap of green -woodland in the distance; Uther's eyes were on Gorlois's face. The -latter, with the sore sensitiveness of a diseased spirit, felt the look -and chafed at it. His petulance was plain enough to Uther as he sat and -watched him, and pondered the man's trouble in his heart. - -"Gorlois." - -"Sire." - -"I am no gabbler." - -"True, my lord." - -"You are trouble ridden." - -Gorlois's eyes flashed up to Uther's, faltered, and fell. - -"What of that, sire?" he said curtly. - -"You have a deadly pride." - -"I own it." - -Uther leant forward in his chair, and looked earnestly into the other's -face. - -"I too am a proud man in my trouble," he said, "buckling up -unutterable things from the baseness of the world, jealous of my inward -miseries. Yet when I see a strong man and a friend chained with the -iron of a silent woe, I cannot keep my sympathy in leash, so tell him -to unburden to a man whose pride feels for the pride of others." - -The words seemed to stir Gorlois from his lethargy of reserve and -silence. Uther's very largeness of soul, his stately faith and -courtesy, were qualities that won largely upon the mind, lifting it -above factious things to the serene level of his own soul. Gorlois, -impulsive spirit, could not rebuff such a man as Uther. There was a -certain calm disinterestedness in the King's nature that made trust -imperative and condemned secretiveness as churlish. Gorlois was an -obstinate man in the extreme rendering of the epithet. He had spoken to -no one of his trouble, leaving his thoughts to be inferred. Yet staunch -sympathy like Gige's ring has power over most hidden things of the -heart, and Gorlois was very human. - -"It is a woman, sire." - -"Mine was a woman, too." - -Gorlois scattered the half-dead embers with his foot. - -"I married a wife," he said. - -"I had never heard it." - -"Few have." - -"The woman's name?" - -"Never ask it, sire; it will soon lie with her in the dust." - -"These are grim words." - -"Grim enough for the man of my own house,--my own familiar friend." - -"Mother of Christ,--your friend!" - -"My brother in arms, sire." - -"The shedding of such blood seems like justice. Had I suffered thus--" - -"Sire, you warm to my temper." - -"It should be the sword." - -"Mine yet waits white for blood." - -Gorlois, implacable, grim as a werewolf, threw open the door of a -closet and led Uther within the narrow compass of its walls. It was a -little oratory, dim and fantastic, with lamps hanging from the roof, -and black curtains over the narrow casement. Two waxen candles burnt -with steady, windless flames upon the altar, and beneath their light -glimmered a great sword, naked, and a cup half filled with purple wine. -Gorlois took up the sword and touched it with his lips. - -"For the man," he said. - -Then he set the sword down beneath its candle and touched the goblet -with his fingers; his black eyes glittered. - -"For the woman, sire." - -"And the candles?" - -"I burn them till I have crushed the life out of two souls; then I can -pinch the wicks between my fingers, and snuff them out in smoke." - - - - -VI - - -It was spring at Caerleon, and a web of green had swept upon the -empty purple of the woods and shut the naked casements to the sun. -The meadowlands were plains of emerald that glimmered gold; the gorge -blazed with its myriad lamps lighting the dark gateways of the pine -forests, and covering all the hillsides as with a garment of yellow. In -the woods the birds sang, and hyacinths and dog violets spread pools -of blue beneath the infinite greenness of the boughs. In Caerleon's -orchards the fruit trees stood like mounts of snow flecked with -ethereal pink and a prophecy of green. Yew, cypress, cedar, reared -their dark bosoms betwixt the gentler foliage, and many a bronze-leafed -oak made mimic autumn with a mist of leaves. - -In a forest glade that opened upon the high-road some three leagues -eastward of Caerleon, an old man sat beside a shallow spring, whose -waters lay a pool of tarnished silver within the low stone wall that -compassed them. The old man by the pool was clad in a ragged cloak of -coarse brown cloth lined with rabbit skin; he had sandals on his feet, -a staff and wallet by his side, and under the shadow of his hood of -fur a peaky white beard hung down like an icicle under the eaves of a -house. His hands were thin and white, and he seemed decrepit as he sat -hunched by the well with a crust of brown bread in his lap and a little -bronze pannikin that served him as a cup. - -It was late in the day, and the great oaks that reached out their arms -over the well stood solemn and still in the evening calm, while the -cloud masses bastioned overhead were radiant with the lustre of the -hour. The road curled away right and left into the twilight of the -woods; no folk passed to and from Caerleon to throw alms to the beggar -who squatted there like any old goblin man out of a tomb. From time to -time he would turn and look long into the pool as into a mirror, as -though he watched the future glimmering dimly in a magic well. He had -finished his crust of bread, and his head nodded over his lap as though -sleep tempted him after a day's journey. Rabbits were scampering and -feeding along the edge of the forest; a snake slid by in the grass like -a streak of silver; far down the glade a herd of fallow deer browsed as -though caring nothing for the huddled scrap of humanity by the well. -The beggar man might have been dead, for all the heed he gave to the -forest life that teemed so near. - -Yet it was soon evidenced that his faculties were keenly alive to all -that passed about him by a marvellous perception of sound, a perception -that made itself plain before the sun had drifted much further down the -west. The old man had heard something that had not stirred the fallow -deer browsing in the glade. A thin metallic sound shimmered on the air, -the clattering cadence of hoofs far away upon the high-road. The beggar -by the pool had lifted his head, and was listening with his hooded face -turned towards the west, his thin fingers picking unconsciously at his -beard. - -Presently the deer browsing in the glade reared up their heads to -listen, snuffed the air, and swept back at a trot into the forest. -Jays chattered away over the trees; rabbits stopped feeding and sat up -with their long ears red in the sunlight. The indifferent suggestion -of a sound had grown into a ringing tramp that came through the trees -like a blunt challenge to the solitary spirit of the place. Through -the indefinite and mazy screens of green a glitter of harness and a -streaking of colour glimmered from the wizard amber glow of the west. -Three horsemen were coming under the trees,--one in lurid arms before, -and two abreast behind in black. The beggar by the pool pulled his cowl -down over his face, and stood by the roadside with his bronze pannikin -held in a shaky right hand to pray for alms. - -The knights drew rein by the pool, and he in the red harness flung down -money from his belt, and required tidings in return: - -"The Lord Jesus have mercy on your soul in death," came the whine of -gratitude; "what would your lordship learn from an old man?" - -Uther considered him from the shadow of his casque. He had his -suspicions, and was half wise in his conjectures. He could see nothing -of the old man's face, and so elected to be innocent for the moment. - -"Grandfather, have you heard in your days of Merlin the prophet?" - -"Have I heard of the devil, lording!" - -"Were he to ride here, should you know his face?" - -"Sir, I have seen no man these three hours. Yet, in truth, I did but -now smell a savour as of hell; and there was a raven here, a black -villain of a bird that croaked 'Abracadabra to the letter.'" - -Uther smiled. - -"Are you from Caerleon?" he said. - -"No, sire, it is Uther the King who comes from the City of Legions." - -"Uther, say you? Put back that hood." - -"My lord, lo! I bow myself; I have kept the tryst." - -The cowl fell back, the cloak was unwrapped, the beard twitched -from the smooth, strong chin. The bent figure, feeble and meagre, -straightened and dilated to a stature and bulk beyond mere common -mould. A man with hair black as a raven's wing, and great glistening -eyes, stood with his moon-face turned up to Uther Pendragon. A smile -played upon his lips. He was clad in a cloak of sombre purple, wreathed -about with strange devices, and a leopard's skin covered his shoulders; -his black hair was bound with a fillet of gold, and there were gold -bracelets upon his wrists. It was Merlin who stood before Uther under -the arch of the great trees. - -"The benisons of all natural powers be upon you; the God of the stars -and the spirit fires of the heavens keep you. Great is your heart, O -King, and great your charity. Bid me but serve you, and the beggar's -pence shall win you a blessing." - -The man bowed himself even to the ground. Uther left his horse tethered -to a tree, and faced Merlin over the pool. Both men were solemn as -night in their looks. - -"Merlin," said the King. - -"Sire." - -"I have a riddle from the stars." - -"Speak it, O King." - -"To your ear alone." - -"Sire, pass with me into the forest." - -"Blessed be thy head if thou canst read the testament of the heavens." - -It was towards sunset, and the place was solemn and still as some vast -church. In the white roadway the black knights stood motionless, with -spear on thigh, their sable plumes sweeping like cloudlets under the -dark vault of the foliage. Merlin, with the look of an eternity in his -eyes, bowed down once more before Uther, and pointed with his hand into -the dim cloister of the trees. Red and purple passed together from the -pool, and melted slowly into an oblivion of leaves. - -In a little glade under a great oak, whose roots gripped the ground -like talons, Uther told to Merlin the vision that had come to him in -the watches of the night. He had stood late at his window, looking -over Caerleon shimmering white under the moon, and had seen a star of -transcendent glory smite sudden through the blue vault of the heavens. -A great ray had fallen from the star, and from the ray had risen a -vapour, a golden mist that had shaped itself into a dragon of gold, and -from the dragon's mouth had proceeded two smaller rays that had seemed -to compass Britain between two streams of fire. Then, like smoke, both -star and dragon had melted out of the heavens, and only the moon had -looked down on Usk and the sleeping woods about Caerleon. - -When Uther had spoken his whole soul in this mystery of the night, -Merlin withdrew himself a little and looked long into the sky, his -tall figure and strong face clear as chiselled stone in a slant gleam -of the sun. For fully the third part of an hour he stood thus like a -pillar of basalt, neither moving nor uttering a sound, while the sky -fainted over the tree tops and flashed red fire from the armour of the -King. Suddenly, as though he had caught inspiration from the heavens, -prophecy came upon him like a wind at sunset. He stretched his hands to -the sky. His body quivered; his eyes were as rubies in a mask of marble. - -"I have seen, O King! I have looked into the palpitating web of the -stars, into the glittering aisles of the infinite." - -Uther strode out from the tree trunk where he had leant watching the -man's cataleptic pose grow into the quick furor of prophecy. - -"Say on," he said. - -Merlin swept a hand towards him with a magnificence of gesture. - -"Thou art the star, the dragon is thy son. He shall compass Britain -with a band of steel, beat back the wolves of heathendom, and cast -stupendous glory over Britain's realm. His name shall shine in history, -sun-bright, magnificent, and pure; his name shall be Arthur. Thus, O -King! Uther of the Dragon, read I this vision of the night." - -Uther, a gradual lustre in his eyes, looked long at the sun behind -the swart pillars of the forest. He seemed to gather vigour from the -glow. Prophecy was in his thought, a prophecy that tempted the inmost -dreamings of the heart, and linked up the past with promise of the -future. To love, to be loved, to win the woman among women! To beget -a son, a warrior, a king; to harden his body like to an oak, temper -his heart like steel; to set the cross in his hands and send him forth -against the beast and the barbarian like a god! Such, indeed, were the -idyls of a King! - -"Merlin, I have no wife, and you speak to me of a son," was his sole -answer. - -The retort echoed from the man. - -"The King must wed." - -"This is no mere choosing of a horse." - -"Sire, you can learn to love. It is not so difficult a thing, no more -than falling down upon a bed of roses." - -The retort was in no wise suited to Uther's humour. - -"I am no boy to be married on the moment to cap the reading of a -vision." - -"Sire!" - -"Bring me the woman I may love, if you are magical enough,--then bid me -wed." - -"My lord, you mock me with a dream." - -"Not so." - -"She is dead then?" - -"On my soul I know not." - -"Then, sire--" - -"All women are dead to me save one. Conjure her into my being, and I -will give you the wiser half of myself, even my heart." - -For an instant Merlin smiled--a smile like an afterglow in a winter -sky,--clear, cold, and steely. He drew nearer Uther, his purple robe -with its fantastic scroll-work dim in the twilight, his black hair -falling down about his face. His words were like silken things purring -from his lips. - -"My lord, tell me more." - -"You are a prophet. Read my past." - -"Sire, my vision fails at such a depth." - -"But not thy flattery." - -"Her name, sire?" - -"I will read you a fable." - -Uther, his eyes lit as with a lustre of recollection, turned from -Merlin and the ken of his impenetrable face. He leant against a tree -trunk, and looked far away into the dwindling vistas of the woods. His -voice won emphasis from the absolute silence of the place, and he spoke -with the level deliberation of one reading aloud from some antique book. - -"A woman befriended a knight who was smitten of a dread wound. It was -summer, and a sweet season full of the scent of flowers,--odours of -grass knee deep in dreamy meadows. The woman had red-gold hair, and -eyes like a summer night; her mouth was more wistful than an opening -rose; her voice was like a flute over moonlit waters. And the knight -lost his soul to the woman. But the woman was a nun, and so, to save -his vows, he battled down his love and left her." - -Merlin's eyes took a sudden glitter. - -"A nun, sire?" - -"A nun." - -"With hair of red gold and eyes of amethyst. Her convent, sire?" - -"Avangel. Burnt by the heathen on the southern shores." - -"And the nun's name?" - -"Igraine, Igraine." - -Merlin gave a shrill, short cry; badges of colour had stolen into his -cheeks, and he looked like a Bacchanal for the moment. - -"Sire, sire, the woman is no nun." - -Uther still leant against the tree, and looked into the distance -with his hand shadowing his eyes. It might have seemed that he had -not heard the words spoken by Merlin, or at least had not understood -their meaning, so unmoved was his look, so motionless his figure. -Unutterable thoughts were moving in his mind. There was a grandeur of -self-suppression on his face as he turned and fronted Merlin with the -quiet of a great strength. - -"Man, what words are these?" - -Merlin had recoiled suddenly within himself. He was silent again, -subtle as steel, and very debonair. - -"My lord, I swear she is no nun." - -"Give me fact, not assertion." - -"The woman is but a novice. I had the whole tale from one who knew her -well at Radamanth's in Winchester, where she found a home. She had -grieved, sire, for Pelleas." - -"Pelleas--Igraine! My heart is great in me, Merlin; where saw you her -last?" - -"Wandering in a wood by Winchester." - -"Alone?" - -"Alone in heart." - -"Where now?" - -"My lord--I know not." - -"O God!--to see her face again." - -Merlin cast his leopard skin across his visage and stood like a statue, -even his immense grandeur of reserve threatened for the moment with -summary overthrow. In the taking of twenty breaths he had calmed -himself again to stand with bare head and frank face before the King--a -promise on his lips. - -"My lord, give me a moon's season to stare into this mystery. On the -cross I swear it--I will bring you good news at Caerleon." - -"On the cross!" - -"On the cross of your sword." - -"Merlin, if this thing should come to be, if life returns to one whose -hopes were dead, you of all men in Britain shall be next my heart. -Behold--on the cross--I swear it." - -A certain season of youth seemed to have come down upon Uther, and -lighted up the solemn tenor of his mood. His face grew mellow with -the calm of a great content; he was reasonable as to the future, not -moved to any extravagant outburst of unrest; the constant overshadowing -of the cross seemed to give his faith a tranquil greenness--a -rain-refreshed calm that pervaded his being like moist quiet after a -wind. - -"Merlin, what of the night?" - -"Sire, I am well provided; I have a pavilion near a brook where a -damsel serves me." - -"I go to Caerleon. You have conjured me back into the spring of life; -my heart is beholden to you. Take my hand--and remember." - -"Sire, I am your servant." - -When Uther had passed, a streak of scarlet, into the blue twilight of -the darkening wood; when the dull clatter of hoofs had dwindled into -an ecstasy of silence, Merlin, white as the faint moon above, found -again the pool under the trees by the high-road to Caerleon. Going -on his knees by the brink he looked into its waters, black, sheeny, -mysterious, webbed with a flickering west-light, sky mosaics dim and -ethereal between swart-imaged trees. Still as a mirror was the pool, -yet touched occasionally with light as from a rippling star-beam, or -a dropped string from the moon's silver sandals. Merlin bent over it, -his fateful face making a baleful image in the water. Long he looked, -as though seeking some prophetic picture in the pool. When night had -come he rose up with a transient smile, folded his cloak about him, and -passed like a wraith into the forest. - - - - -VII - - -While Gorlois was lowering over an imagined shame, and Uther given -to brooding on a vision, the Knight of the Cloven Heart wandered -through wild Wales and endured sundry adventures that were hardly in -concatenation with the distaff or the cradle. - -In rough ages might was right, and every man's inclination law unto -himself. To strike hard was to win crude justice; to ride a horse, -to wear mail, to carry a sword, were characteristics that ensured -considerable reverence from men less fortunate, by maintaining at least -an outward arrogance of strength. Not only on these grounds alone -did the Knight of the Cloven Heart hold at a disadvantage those folk -of the wilderness who went--to speak metaphorically--naked. She made -brave show enough, had a strong arm and a strong body, and could match -any man in the mere matter of courage. The moral effect of her great -horse, her shield and harness, and the sword at her side, carried her -unchallenged through wood and valley where meaner wayfarers might have -come to grief, or suffered a tumbling. The forest folk assumed her a -knight under her helmet and her harness; a certain bold magnificence of -bearing in no wise contradicted the assumption. - -It would be wearisome to record the passage of two months or more, -to construct an itinerary of her progress, to chronicle the events -of a period that was solitary as the wilds through which she passed. -She never slept a night under populous roof the whole time of these -wanderings. Luckily it was fair weather, and a mild season; forest -shade, such as it was, and the caves of the wilderness, a ruined villa, -the forsaken hut of a charcoal burner, an empty hermitage,--such in -turn gave her shelter from the placid light of the moon, or the black -stare of a starless sky. She never ventured even among peasant folk -unhelmeted. Her food was won from cottager or herdsman by such store of -money as she had about her, though many she came across were eager to -appease so formidable a person with milk, and pottage, and the little -delicacies of the rude home. Often her fine carriage and youthful voice -won wonders from the bosom of some peasant housewife. She had her -liberty, and was free to roam; the life contented her instincts for a -season, and at least she was saved the sight of Gorlois. Since war had -failed to loose her from the man, she would essay her best to keep him -at a distance. - -If hate repelled, love drew with dreams. Yet had Igraine been asked -of peace at heart, she would have smiled and sighed together. There -are degrees of misery, and solitary suffering is preferable to that -publicity which is very torture in itself, a galling whip to the tender -flanks of pride. In being free of Gorlois she was happy; in thinking -of Uther and in contemplation of the shadows of the unknown she was of -all women most miserable. A mood of self-concentration was settling -slowly upon her like an inevitable season upon the face of the earth. -Day by day a dream prophetic of the future was pictured in the imagery -of thought till it grew familiar as an often looked on landscape that -awakes no wonder and no strange unrest. The ordinances of man had -thrust on her a damnable tyranny, and she was more than weary of the -restrictions of the world. The inevitable scorn of custom had long -taken hold upon her being, and she had been driven to that state when -the soul founds a republic within itself, and creates its ethics from -the promptings of the heart. - -Uther was at Caerleon; she had heard the truth from many a peasant -tongue. Caerleon therefrom drew her with magic influence, as a lamp -draws a golden moth from the gloom, or the light in the night sky wings -on the wild-fowl with the prophecy of water. Caerleon became the bourn -of all her holier thoughts; strange city of magic, it held love and -hate for her, desire and obloquy; though its walls were as a luring net -scintillant with spirit gossamer, her very reason lulled her fears to -sleep, and turned her southwards towards Uskland and the sea. - -It came to pass, on the very day that Uther spoke with Merlin in the -forest, that Igraine rode over a stretch of hills by a sheep-track, and -came down into a valley not many leagues from Caerleon. The place stood -thick with woodland, ranged tier on tier with the peaked bosses of huge -trees. That impenetrable mystery of solitude that abides where forests -grow was deeply hallowed in this silent dale. The infinite majesty of -nature had cast a spell there, and the vast oaks, like pyramids of -gloom, caverned a silence that was utter and divine. - -Glimmering beneath the huge, stupendous boughs, through darkling aisles -and the colossal piers that held the innumerable roofing of the leaves, -Igraine passed down through umbrage and still ecstasies of green, by -colonnade and gallery,--interminable tunnels, where stray light struck -slantwise on her armour, that it seemed a moving lustre in the solemn -shade. - -Deep in the woodland lay a valley, a pastureland girt round with trees, -and where the meadows, painted thick with flowers, seemed all enamelled -white and azure, green, purple, pink, and gold. A peace as from the -sun shone over it like saffron mist. A pool gleamed there, tranquil -and deep with shadows; all the trees that Britain knew seemed girdled -round it--oak, beech and holly, yew, thorn and cedar, the elfin pine, -the larch, whose delicate kirtle shames even broidery of silk. No sound -save the cuckoo's cry, and the uncertain twittering of birds, disturbed -the sanctuary of that forest solitude. - -Igraine, halting on the brink of the meadowland, looked down over wood -and water. The quiet of the place, the clear glint of the pool, the -scent of the meadows, brought back the valley in Andredswold, and the -manor in the mere. She loved the place on the instant. Even a blue -plume of smoke rising straight to the sky, and the grey-brown backs of -a few sheep in the meadows, evidencing as they did the proximity of -man, failed to disenchant the solitary grandeur of the scene. - -There is no stable perpetuation of peace in the world; care treads -upon the heels of Mammon, and lust lies down by the side of love. Even -in the quiet of the wilderness the hawk chases the lark's song out of -the heavens, and wind scatters the bloom from the budding tree. Thus -it was that Igraine, watching from under the woods, saw the sheep -scampering suddenly in the meadows as though disturbed by something as -yet invisible to her where she stood. Their bleating came up with a -tinge of pathos, to be followed by a sound more sinister, the cry of -one in whom pain and terror leapt into an ecstasy of anguish--a shrill, -bird-like scream that seemed to cleave the silence like the white blade -of a sword. Igraine's horse pricked its ears with a snort of wrath, -as though recognising the wounded cry of some innocent thing. The -girl's pulses stirred as she scanned the valley for explanation of this -discord, sudden as the sweep of a falcon from the blue. Nor was she -long at gaze. A flickering speck of colour appeared in the meadowlands, -the figure of a woman running through the grass like a hunted rabbit, -darting and doubling with a whimpering outcry. Near as a shadow a tall -streak of brown followed at full stride, terrible even in miniature. -Hunter and hunted passed before the eye like the figures of a dream, -yet with a fierce realism that whelmed self in an objective pity. - -Never did Britomart herself, with splendid soul, find fitter cause in -faerie-land than did the Knight of the Cloven Heart in that woodland -dale. Igraine rode down from the trees, a burning figure of chivalry -that galloped through the green, and bore fast for the scudding forms, -that skirted round the pool. Like a stag pressed to despair, the hunted -one had taken to the water, and was already waist deep in ripples that -seemed to catch the panic of the moment. Plunging on past tree and -thicket, Igraine held on, while sheep scattered from her, to turn and -stare with the stupidest of white faces at the horse thundering over -the meadows. The pursuer had passed the water-weeds, and was to his -knees in the pool when the Knight of the Cloven Heart came down to the -bank and halted, like a mailed statue of succouring vengeance. - -The white heat of the drama seemed cooled for the moment. Over the -flickering scales of the little mere the girl's white face, tumbled -hair, and blue smock showed, as she half-floated and half-paddled with -her hands. Nearer still, the leather-jerkined, fur-breeched figure of -the man bent like a baffled satyr baulked of evil. On the green slope -of the bank the mailed splendour of chivalry waited like Justice to -uphold the right. - -The man in the mere wore the short Roman sword, or parazonium; any more -effective weapon that he had possessed had been thrown aside in the -heat of the chase and in the imagined security of his rough person. He -had the face of a wolf. In girth and stature he seemed a young Goliath, -a savage thing bred in savage times and savage places, and blessed with -the instincts of mere barbarism. Igraine's disrelish equalled her heat -as she looked at him, and slanted her great sword over her shoulder. - -In another instant the scene revived, and ceased to be a mere picture. -The girl in the pool had found a footing, and her half-bare shoulders -showed above the water. The man, with his short sword held behind him, -was splashing through the shallows with a grin on his hairy face that -meant mischief. Igraine, every whit as hot as he, held her horse well -in hand, and put her shield before her. Matters went briskly for a -minute. The man made a rush; Igraine spurred up and sent him reeling -with the charging shoulder of her horse; the short sword pecked at -nothing, the long one struck home and drew blood. A second panther -leap, a blow turned by the shield, a counter cut that made good carving -of the fellow's skull. The shallows foamed and crackled crimson; hoofs -stirred up the mire; a plunge; a noise of crossed steel; a last sweep -of a sword, and then victory. Igraine's horse, neighing out the spirit -of the moment, trampled the fallen body as it had been the carcase of a -slaughtered dragon. - -The girl in the pool waded back at the sight, her blue smock clinging -about her, and showing an opulent grace of shoulder, arm, and bosom--a -full figure swept by the damp tangle of her dark brown hair. She had -full red lips, eyes of bright blue, a round and ruddy face, that told -of a mind more for tangible pleasures than for spiritual aspiration. -She came up out of the shallows like a water-nymph, her frightened face -already all aglow with a smile of gratitude, mild shame, and infinite -reverence. Going down on her knees amid the water-weeds and flags, she -held up her playful hands as to a deliverer direct from heaven. "Grace, -Lord, for thy servant." - -With the peril past, Igraine could not forego the sly scrap of mischief -that the occasion offered; her white teeth gleamed in a smile under her -helmet, as she wiped her sword on the horse's mane, before sheathing it. - -"Give Heaven thy thanks," she said, with a quaint sententiousness of -gesture. "Be sure in thy heart that it was a mere providence of God -that I heard thy screaming. As for yon clod of clay, we will bury it -later, lest it should pollute so goodly a pool. For the rest, child, I -am an old man, and hungry, and would taste bread." - -The girl jumped up instantly, with a shallow and half-puzzled smile. -The voice from the helmet was young, very young, and full of the -free tone of youth; yet both manner and matter were sage, practical, -leavened with a hoary-headedness of intention that seemed to baulk the -inferences suggested by such panoply of arms. With a bob of a curtsey, -she took the knight's bridle, and led the horse some fifty paces round -the pool, where, under the imminent shoulder of a cedar tree, a little -cabin nestled under a hood of ivy. It was built of rough timber from -the forest, and thatched with reeds; honeysuckle clustered over its -rude façade, and thrust fragrant tendrils into its reed-latticed -windows, where an early rose or so shone like a red star against the -russet-wood. A garden full of flowers lay before the rustic porch that -arched the threshold; and an outjutting of the pool brought a little -fiord of dusky silver up to the very green of the path, a streak of -silver blazoned with violet flags, golden marigolds of the marsh, and -a lace-like fringe of snowy water-weed in bloom. All around, the great -trees, those solemn senators, stood with their green shoulders bowed in -a strong dream of deep eternal thought. - -Igraine left the saddle and suffered the girl to tether her horse to a -cedar bough. Her surcoat of violet and gold swept nearly to her ankles, -and saved from any marring the infinite art of the anomaly that veiled -her sex. Her man's garb seemed every whit as worthy of a woman, nor -did it hinder that loving grace that made her beauty of body the more -admirable and rare. - -The girl came back with more bendings of the knee, and led Igraine amid -the flowers to the porch of the forest dwelling. Once within, she drew -a settle close to the doorway, spread a rug of skins thereon, and again -bowed herself in homage. - -"Let my lord be seated, and I will serve him." - -"I am hungry, child; but first put off that wet smock of thine." - -The girl crept behind the door of a great cupboard, with a blush of -colour in her cheeks. Cloth rustled for a moment; a circle of blue and -a slim pair of legs showed beneath the cupboard door; soon she was back -again in a gown of apple green, fastening it with her fingers over the -full swell of her bosom. - -"What will my lord eat?" - -"What you have, child." - -"Bread and dried fruit, the flesh of a kid, new milk and cheese, a -little cider." - -"Give me milk, child, a mere flake of meat, some cheese and bread, and -I ask nothing more. I will pay you for all I take." - -"Lord, how should you pay me, when I owe more than life to your sword?" - -The little shepherdess went about her business with a barefooted tread, -soft as any cat's. The cottage proved a wonder of a place. The great -cupboard disgorged a silver-rimmed horn, wooden platter, a napkin white -as apple blossom, red fruit piled up in a brazen bowl. The girl set the -things in order on the table, with an occasional curious look stolen -at the figure in mail on the settle--splendid visitant in so humble a -place. And what a rich voice the knight had,--how mellow, with its many -modulations of tone. His hands too were wonderfully shapen, fingers -long and tapering, with nails pink as sea-shells. There surely must be -a face worth gazing at, for its very nobility, under that great brazen -helmet that glinted in the half light of the room. - -The meal was spread, but the guest still unprepared. The forest child -dropped a curtsey, and a mild suggestion that the knight should make a -beginning. - -"Will not my lord unhelm?" - -A rich, mischief-loving laugh startled her for answer. - -"Child, take the thing off if you will." - -The little shepherdess obeyed, and nearly dropped the helmet in the -doing of it. A mass of gold fell rippling down over the violet surcoat; -a pair of deep eyes looked up with a sparkling laugh; a satin upper lip -and chin gave the lie to the nether part of the picture. - -"Christ Jesu!" quoth the girl with the helmet, and again "Christ Jesu," -as though she could get no further. - -Igraine caught her smock and drew her nearer. - -"Come, little sister, kiss me for--'thank you.'" - -With a contradictory impulse the girl fell down on her knees and began -to cry, with her brown hair tumbled in Igraine's lap. - -When persuasion and comforting had quieted her somewhat, she sat on the -floor at Igraine's feet, her round eyes big with an unstinted wonder. -Even Igraine's hunger and the devoir done upon the new milk could -hardly persuade the girl that this being in armour was no saint, but a -very real and warm-blooded woman. She even touched Igraine's fingers -with her lips, to satisfy herself as to the warmth and solidity of the -slim strong hand. She had never heard of such a marvel, a woman, and -a very beautiful woman, riding out as a man, and doing man's bravest -work with courage and cleverness. The girl made sure in her heart -that Igraine was some princess at least, who had been blessed with -miraculous power by reason of her maidenhood and the magic innocence of -her mind. - -Igraine talked to the girl and soon began to win her to less devotional -attitude with that graciousness of manner that became her so well at -such a season. She forgot herself for the time, in listening to this -child of solitude. The girl's father--an old man--had died two winters -ago, and she had buried him with her own hands, under a tree in the -dale. Since his death, she had lived on in the cabin, alone, a forest -child nurtured in forest law. Every Sabbath, Renan, a shepherd lad in -a lord's service, would come over the hills and pass the day with her. -They were betrothed, and the lord of those parts had promised Renan -freedom next Christmastide; then Renan and Garlotte were to be married, -and the cabin in the dale was to serve them as a home. - -Garlotte was soon chattering like any child. She talked to Igraine -of her sheep and goats, her little corn-field on a sunny slope, her -garden, her wild strawberry beds and vine, her fruit trees, and her -marigolds. The lad Renan, bronze-haired and brown-eyed, sprang in here -and there with irresistible romance. He could run like a hound, swim -like an otter, fish, shoot with the bow, and throw the javelin a great -many paces. He had such eyes, too, and such gentle hands. Igraine's -sympathies were quick and vivid on matters of the kind. The girl's head -was resting against her knees before an hour had gone. - -The evening was still and sultry and the sky overcast. When Igraine -went to the porch after supper, rain had begun to fall, and there was -the moist murmur of a heavy, windless shower through all the valley. -The sheep had huddled under the trees. Infinite freshness, unutterable -peace, brooded over the green meadows and the breathless leaf-clouds -of the woods. For all the sweet, dewy silence a bitter discontent lay -heavy upon Igraine's heart, and woe made quiet moan in her inmost soul. -Green summer swooned in the branches and breathed in the odours of -honeysuckle, musk, and rose, yet for her there seemed no burgeoning, no -bursting of the heart into song. - -The girl Garlotte stood by and looked with a quaint awe into the proud, -wistful face. - -"What are you thinking of, lady?" she said. - -Igraine's lips quivered. - -"Of many things, child." - -"Tell me of them." - -"What should you know, child, of plagues and sorrow, of misery in high -places, of despair coroneted with gold, of hearts that ache, and eyes -that burn for the love of the world that never comes?" - -"I am very ignorant, dear lady, but yet I think you are not happy." - -"Is any woman happy on earth?" - -"Yet you are so good and beautiful." - -"Child, child, beauty brings more misery than joy; it is a bright fire -that burns upon itself." - -"Renan has told me I am beautiful." - -"So you are, and to Renan." - -"I never think of it, lady, save when Renan looks into my eyes and -touches my mouth with his lips; then say in my heart, 'I am beautiful, -and Renan loves me, God be thanked!'" - -The words echoed into Igraine's soul. There was such pain in her great -eyes that the girl was startled from the simple contemplation of her -own affairs of heart. - -"You are sad, lady." - -"Child, I am tired to death." - -"Bide with me and rest. See, I will feed your horse and give him water; -he will do famously under the tree. There is my bed yonder in the -corner; I spread a clean sheet on it this very morning. Shall I help -you to unarm?" - -"Thanks, child. How the rain hisses into the pool." - -"I love the sound, and the soft rattle on the green leaves. All will be -fresh and aglister to-morrow, and the flowers will smile, and the trees -shake their heads and laugh. How clumsy my fingers are; I am so slow -over the buckles; ah! there is the last. I will put the sword and the -shield by the bed. Shall we say our prayers?" - -"You pray, child; I have forgotten how to these many months." - - - - -VIII - - -There is a charm in simplicity of soul, and in sympathies green in -the first rich burgeoning of the mind, unshrivelled and untainted by -the miserable misanthropies of the world. The girl Garlotte was as -ignorant as you will, but she loved God, had the heart of a thrush -in spring-time, and was possessed naturally of a warm and delicate -appreciation of the feelings of others that would have put to utter -shame the majority of court ladies. - -Women of a certain gilded class are prone to judge by superficialities. -Living often in an artificial air of courtesy, the very life about them -is a cultured, perfumed atmosphere unstirred by the deeper wind-throbs -of true passion, or the solemn sweep of the more grand emotions. -Hypocrisy, veneered with mannerisms, propped with etiquette, pegged up -with gold, passes for culture and the badge-royal of fine breeding. -Of such things the girl Garlotte was indeed flagrantly ignorant; she -had lived in solitudes, and had learnt to comprehend dumb things--the -cry of a sheep in pain, the mute look from the eyes of a sick lamb. -Her life had made her quick to see, quick to discover. She had all -the latent energy of a child, and her senses were the undebauched -handmaids of an honest heart. She knew nothing of the trivial prides, -the starched and petty arrogances, the small self-satisfactions, that -build up the customs of the so-called cultured folk. She thought her -thoughts, and they were generous ones, mark you, and spoke out on the -instant without fear, as one whose words were in very truth the audible -counterpart of the vibrations of her mind. - -To Igraine at first there was some embarrassment in the ingenuous -methods of this child of the forest. It was in measure disturbing to be -confronted with a pair of blue eyes that looked at one like two pools -of truth, and a pair of lips that naively remarked: "You seem pale, -lady, and in pain; you slept little, and talked even when you slept. I -am rosy and cheerful, and I sleep from dusk till dawn. What is there -in your heart that is not in mine?" Still, with the abruptness once -essayed, there was a refreshing sincerity in Garlotte's openness of -heart. It was as the first plunge into a clear, cool pool--a gasp at -the first moment, then infinite warmth, intense kindling of all the -senses, with the clean ripples bubbling at the lips and the swinging -water buoying up the bosom. Garlotte recalled Lilith--Radamanth's -daughter--to Igraine, only that she had more penetration, more liberty -of thought and character. The one was as a warm wind that lulled, the -other a breeze blowing over open water--clean, invigorating, kind. - -Igraine's mood of unrest found refuge in the valley, and in Garlotte's -cottage. She won some measure of inward calmness in the simple life, -the simple tasks, that kept the more sinister energies of the mind at -bay. It contented her for a season with its companionship, its air of -home, its green quiet and tranquil beauty. Garlotte's cheerfulness of -soul, like some penetrating essence, suffused itself upon Igraine, -despite the militant savour of things more turbulent. She fell into -temporary contentment almost against her will, even as sleep enforces -itself upon a brain extravagantly possessed by the delirium of fever. - -For all the quiet of the place, circumstances were gathering and -moving down upon her with that ghostly and inevitable fatefulness that -constitutes true tragedy. No one could have seemed more hidden from the -eye of fate than she in the deep umbrage of the trees, yet often when -the heart imagines itself most secure from the factious meddling of the -world, the far, faint cry of destiny smites on the ear like some sudden -stirring of a wind at night. - -It was late evening, on the fifth day of Igraine's sojourn in the -valley. The day had been dull, grey, and colourless, wrapped in a blue -haze of rain that had fallen heavily, drenching the woods and making -monotonous music on the water. Towards evening the sky had melted to a -serene azure; the air was a web of shimmering amber, the west streamed -through a mist of gold, and every leaf glittered with dew. A luminous -vapour hovered over the little mere, and there were rain pools in the -meadows that burnt with a hundred sunsets like clear brass. - -Garlotte and Igraine had been bathing in the mere. They had come up -from the water to dry themselves upon a napkin of white cloth, the -bronze-gold and brown hair of each meeting like twin clouds, while -their linen lay like snow on the trailing branches of a tree near -the pool. Their limbs and shoulders gleamed against the silver-black -mirror spread by the mere; their voices made a mellow sound through the -valley as they talked. Igraine had fastened her violet surcoat about -her beneath her breasts; Garlotte's blue smock still hung from a branch -above her head. - -As they sat under the tree, drying their hair and looking over the -pool to the forest realm beyond, Igraine told the girl much of the -outer world as she had seen it; nor was her instruction unleavened by a -certain measure of cynicism--a bitterness that surprised Garlotte not -a little. The girl had great dreams of the glories of old cities, the -splendour of court life, the zest of a mere material existence. - -"You do not love the great world," she said. - -"Once, child, I did. Everything outside a convent wall seemed good -to me; I thought men heroes, and the world a faerie place; who has -not! Thoughts change with time: that which I once hungered for, now I -despise." - -"I have never been into a great city, not even into Caerleon. My father -loved the country and said it was God's pasture." - -"I would rather have a dog for a friend than most men, child. Man is -always thinking of his stomach, his strength, or his passion; he is -vain, dull, and surly often; takes delight in slaying dumb things; -drinks beer, and sleeps like a log save for his snoring." - -"But Renan doesn't." - -"There are some _men_, child, among the swine." - -"And the women?" - -"I have known good women." - -"In the convent?" - -"I suppose there they were good, just as stones that lie in the grass -are good in that they do very little harm." - -"But they served God!" - -"Mere habit, just as you eat your dinner." - -"A hard saying." - -"Your sayings would be hard, child, if you had learnt what I have -learnt of the world." - -Garlotte pulled her blue smock from the tree and wrapped it round her -shoulders. - -"But you love God?" she said. - -"What is God?" - -"The Great Father who loves all things." - -"Methinks then I am nothing." - -"Nothing, Igraine?" - -"You say God loves all men and women. Why, then, have I been cursed -with perversities ever since I was born, tormented with contradictions, -baffled, and mocked, till the eternal trivialities of life now make my -soul sick in my body?" - -"Sorrow is heaven sent to chasten, just as rain freshens the leaves." - -"Old, old proverb. Rain comes from clouds; clouds hide the sun; how can -sorrow be good, child, when it darkens the light of life, hides God -from the heart, and makes the soul bitter?" - -"That seems the wrong spirit, Igraine." - -"So meek folk say; we are not all mild earth to be smitten and make no -moan. There are sea-spirits that lash and foam, fire-spirits that leap -and burn. My spirit is of the flame; am I to be cursed, then, because I -was born with a soul of fire?" - -"We cannot answer all this, Igraine." - -"I hate to bow down blindly, to cast ashes on the head because a -superstition bids us so." - -"I have faith!" - -"I cannot see with my heart." - -"I would you could, Igraine." - -"Perhaps you are right." - -Garlotte put on her shift and frock with a sigh, and straightway went -and kissed Igraine on the forehead. They sat close together under the -tree and watched the valley grow dim as death, and the pool black and -lustrous as a mirror turned to the twilight. Garlotte's warm heart -was yearning to Igraine; her arm was close about her, and presently -Igraine's head rested upon her shoulder. She began to tell the girl -many things in a still, stifled voice; her bitterness gushed out like -fermented wine, and for a season she was comforted--with no lasting -balm indeed, for there was but one soul in the world that could give -her that. - -"Believe, Igraine, believe," said Garlotte very softly. - -"Believe--child!" - -"That there is good for every one in the world if we wait and watch in -patience." - -"I seem to have watched years go by, and life stretches out from me as -a sea at night." - -"Look not there, Igraine, but into your own heart and into the gold of -faith." - -"I have no heart to look to, child." - -"Save into a man's. And it was a good heart." - -"Good as a god's." - -"Then look into it still." - -"You speak like a mother." - -They had talked on into the dusk of night, forgetful of time, hearing -only the dripping from the leaves, seeing nothing but the short stretch -of water and herbage at their feet. Yet an hour ago a figure in a -palmer's cloak and cowl had come out from the western forest and stood -leaning upon its staff, to stare out broodingly over the valley. The -laurel green of the man's cloak harmonised so magically with the green -of grass and tree that it was difficult to isolate his figure from the -framing of wood and meadow. - -The pilgrim had stood long in the shadows and watched the two white -forms come up out of the waters of the pool. He had seen them sit -and dry their hair under the tree as the dusk crept down. While they -talked he had passed down towards the cottage, accompliced by the -trees, slipping from trunk to trunk, to enter the cottage itself while -the girls' faces were turned from it towards the pool. From one of -the narrow casements his cowled face had looked out; he had marked -Igraine's red gold shimmering hair; he had seen her face for a moment, -also the shield hanging in the room with its cloven heart and white -lilies, the sword and helmet, the harness of workmanship so subtle. -When he had seen all this he had stolen out again into the gloaming, -a thin gliding streak of green under the gnarled thorns and the -night-bosomed cedars. The forest had taken him to its depths again and -the unutterable silence of its shades. The girls by the pool had heard -no sound, nor dreamt of the thing that had been so near, watching like -a veritable ghost through the mist of the mere's twilight. - -Caerleon slept under the moon, a dream city in a land of dreams. Its -walls were like ivory in a dark gloom of green. The tower of the palace -of the king caught a coronet from the stars, while in the window of an -upper room a thin flame flickered like a yellow rose blown athwart the -black foliage of the night. Within blood-red curtains breathed over the -arched door; a little altar stood against the eastern wall, guarded -above by angels haloed with gold, standing in a mist of lilies with -wings of crimson and green. The silence of the hour seemed embalmed in -silver--so pure, so still, so hallowed was it. - -Uther knelt before the little altar in prayer; the light from the -single lamp slanted down upon him, but left his face in the shadow. -It was past midnight, yet the man's head was still bowed down in -his devotion. He was in an ecstasy of spiritual ascent to heaven, a -mood that made the world a Patmos, and his own soul a revelation to -itself. At such a time his imagination could mount with a mystery of -poetic rapture. Angels drumming on golden bells or bearing diamond -chalices of purple wine seemed to gaze deep-eyed on him from a paradise -of snow and amethyst. Above all shone the Eternal Face, that clear -sun of Christendom shining with wounded love through the crimson -transgressions of mankind. - -Deliberate footfalls and the rustle of a drawn curtain intervened -between solitude and devotion. The curtain fell again; footfalls echoed -away to die down into a well of silence; a tall man wrapped in a cloak -stood motionless in the oratory. Uther, still upon his knees, turned to -the window and the moonlight, with big prayerful eyes that questioned -the intruding figure. - -"Merlin," he said, with a breath of prophecy. - -"Even so, sire." - -"I was praying but now for such a thing." - -"Sire, pray no longer. I have kept my tryst." - -Uther rose up straightway from before the altar and stood before the -square of the casement. The moonlight made a halo of his hair, and lit -his face with a whiteness that seemed almost supernatural. Strong as he -was, his hands shook like aspen leaves; his lips were parted, and his -eyes wide with the shadow of the night. Merlin stood in the dark angle -of the room; his voice seemed to come as from a tomb; the single lamp -flame shook and quivered in a fickle draught. - -"Sire, the moon is not yet full." - -"And Igraine?" - -"Sire." - -"Where?" - -"Suffer me, sire, a moment." - -"Speak quickly. God knows, I have prayed like a Samson." - -Merlin cast his mantle from him, and stood out in the moonlight wrapped -in the mystic symbolism of his robe. Sapphire and emerald, ruby and -sardonyx, flashed with a ghostly gleam in the pale light, and caught -the moonbeams in their folds. Merlin's thin hands quivered like a spray -of May blossom waving in the night wind, and his eyes were like the -eyes of a leopard. - -"Sire, thou wert Pelleas once." - -"I should remember it." - -"Thou art Pelleas again." - -"Again?" - -"In thy red harness with thy painted shield, thy black horse; take them -all." - -"The past rushes back like dawn." - -"Near Caerleon lies a valley." - -"There are twenty valleys." - -"Go north, sire, in thought. Pass the Cross on Beacon Hill, hold on for -the Abbey of the Blessed Mary, take to the hills, go by a ruined tower, -ford Usk, where there is a hermitage. Pass through a waste, cross more -hills, go down into a valley that runs north and south." - -"I follow." - -"Go alone, sire." - -"Alone." - -"The valley is piled steep with forestland. Go down and fear not. In -the valley's lap lie meadowlands, a pool, a cottage. In that cottage -you shall find a knight; his armour is gilded gold, his horse a grey, -his shield shows a cloven heart set amid white lilies. Speak with that -knight." - -"Yet more!" - -"Speak with that knight, sire." - -"In peace?" - -"If you love your soul." - -"And Igraine--Merlin, what of her?" - -"That knight shall lead you to her. Sire, I have said." - - - - -IX - - -It was early and a clear dewy morning when Uther rode down alone from -the palace by a narrow track that curled through the shrubberies -clothing the palace hill. A generous sky piled its blue dome with -mountainous clouds that billowed up above the horizon. The laurels -in the shrubbery flickered their leaves like innumerable scales of -silver in the sun; amber sun rays slanted through the dense branches of -the yews, and flashed on the red harness that burnt down the winding -track. The wind sang, the green larches tossed their 'kerchiefs, in the -distance the sea glimmered to the white frescoes of the sky. - -Uther--Pelleas once more--tossed his spear to the tall trees, and burst -into the brave swing of a _chant d'amour_. With caracole and flapping -mane his horse took his lord's humour. It was weather to live and love -in, weather for red lips and the clouding down of perfumed hair. God -and the Saints--what a grand thing to be strong, to have a clean heart -to show to a woman's eyes! What were all the baser fevers of life -balanced against the splendid madness of a great passion! - -Down through Caerleon's streets he rode unknown of any on his tall -black horse. It was pleasant to be unthroned for once, and to put -a kingdom from off his shoulders. With what a swing the good beast -carried him, how the towers and turrets danced in the sun, how bright -were the eyes of the women who passed him by. All the world seemed -greener, the sky bluer, the city merrier; the laughter of the children -in the gutter echoed out of heaven; the old hag who sold golden lemons -under a beech tree seemed almost a madonna--a being from a better -world. Uther laughed in his heart, and blessed God and Merlin. - -It is one of the rare reflections of philosophy dear to the -contemplative mind, how joy jostles pain in the world, and pleasure in -gold and scarlet elbows the grey-cloaked form of grief. Even innocent -merriment may throw a rose in the face of one who mourns, innocent -indeed of the desire to mock. The throstle sings in the tree while -the beggar lies under it dying. So Uther the King flashed hate in the -eyes of one who watched,--knowing him only that morning as Pelleas -the knight. In an old play the jealous man saw the devil ride by, and -promptly followed him on the chance of finding his lost wife, deeming, -indeed, the devil's guidance propitious for such a quest. - -It was the shield that caught Gorlois's eye as he stood on a balcony -of his house and looked out over Caerleon. The device smote him sudden -as the lash of a whip. The red harness, the black horse, the painted -shield, mingled a picture that burnt into his brain with a vividness -that passed comprehension. He knew well enough to whom such arms should -belong; had he not carried them fraudulently to his own doubtful -profit? This knight must be that Pelleas whose past had worked such -mischief with his own machinations, that Pelleas who had won Igraine -the novice fresh from the shadow of her convent trees. Gorlois watched -the man go by with a kind of superhuman envy twisting in him like a -colic. The smart of it made him stiffen, go pale, gnaw his lip. - -If this was the knight Pelleas, what then? Gorlois could not reason -for the moment; his brain seemed a mass of molten metal in a bowl -of iron. Convictions settled slowly, hardened and took form. Igraine -had loved the man Pelleas; Igraine was his wife; he had lost her and -Brastias also; poison and the sword waited to do their work. Supposing -then this Pelleas was in quest of Igraine; supposing they had come to -know each other again; supposing Brastias and Pelleas were one and the -same man. Hell and furies--what a thought was this! It goaded Gorlois -into action. He would ride after the man, hunt him, track him, in hope -of some fragment of the truth. Hazard and hate, blood and battle, these -were more welcome than chafing within walls as in a cage, or frying on -a bed as on a gridiron. - -Gorlois's voice rang through gallery and hall like a battle-cry. - -"Ho, there!--my sword and harness." - -There was a grimness in the sound that made those who came to arm him -bustle for dear life. They knew his black, furious humour, the hand -that struck like a mace, the tyranny that took blood for trifles. The -stoutest of them were cowards before that marred and moody face. Be as -brisk as they would, they were too slow for Gorlois's temper, a temper -vicious as a wounded bear's. - -"God and the Saints--was ever man served by such a pack of -stiff-fingered fools! The devil take your fumbling. Go and gird up -harlots, or hold cooking-pots. On with that helmet." - -A fellow, very white about the mouth, clapped the casque on, and drew -a quick breath when the angry eyes withered him no longer. Armlets, -breastplates, greaves, cuishes, all were on. Gorlois seemed to emit -fire like metal at white heat. He went clanging down stairway and -through atrium to the courtyard, where a horseboy held a white charger. -Gorlois cuffed the lad aside, mounted with a spring, took his spear -from an esquire, and rode straight for the gate, his horse's hoofs -sparking fire from the courtyard stones. Half an hour or more had gone -since Pelleas had passed by on his black horse, and Gorlois spurred at -a gallop through Caerleon, bent on catching sight of the red knight -before he should have ridden into the covering masses of the woods. - -Pelleas meanwhile rode on like a lad whose first quest led him into the -infinite romance of the unknown. Woods and waters called; bare night -and the blink of the stars summoned up that strangeness in life that -is like wine to the heart of the strong and the brave. He was young -again--young in the first glory of arms; the world shone glamoured as -of old as he turned from the high-road to a bridle-track that led up -through woods towards the north. - -Holding on at a level pace he passed the woods and saw them rolling -back like a green cataract towards the sea. Bare hills saluted him; -the beacon height with its great wooden cross stood out against the -sky; mile on mile of wooded land billowed out before him, clouded with -a blue haze where the domes of the trees rose innumerably rank on -rank. The Abbey of the Holy Mary lay low in meadows on his left, its -fish pools shimmering in the sun, its orchards densely green about its -walls. Two leagues or more of wood and wild, a climb over hills, a long -descent, and Usk again shone out trailing distant in the hollows. A -crumbling tower stood up above the trees. Pelleas passed close to it, -giving antiquity due reverence as was his custom, looking up at its -ivied walls, its crown of gillyflowers, its windows wistful as a blind -man's eyes. Another mile and Usk ran at his feet. A hermitage stood -by the ford. Pelleas gave the good man a piece of silver and besought -his prayers before he rode down and splashed through the river to the -further bank. Heathland and scrub rolled to the east, merging into the -blue swell of a low line of hills. It was wild country enough, haunted -by snipe and crested plover, an open solitude that swept into a purple -streak against the northern sky. - -It was noon before Pelleas had made an end of its shadeless glare -and taken to the hills that rose gently towards the east. His red -harness moving over the green was lost to Gorlois, who had missed the -trail long ago in the woods beyond St. Mary's. It was dusk when the -Cornishman came guided to the ford, and learnt from the hermit there -that the chase lay across Usk and eastward over the heath. Gorlois -gave the man no piece of silver, only a savage curse to gag his -alms-seeking. Night came and caught him in the open, and rather than -wander astray in the dark he spent the night under a whin bush, calming -his incontinent temper as best he might. - -An hour past noon Pelleas stood on the last hill slope and looked down -upon the massed woodland at his feet. Here at last was Merlin's valley -choked up with trees--a green lake of foliage that rippled from ridge -to ridge. Pelleas, with the sun at his back, stood and looked down on -it with a kind of quiet awe. So Godfrey and his knights looked down -upon the holy city, so Dante saw Beatrice in his vision, and Cortez -gazed at the Pacific in the west. Pelleas had taken his helmet from -his head and hung it at his saddle-bow; there was a grand hunger on -his face, a passionate calm, as he abode on the hill top with his tall -spear a black streak against the sun. - -Mystery waved him on to the great oaks whose tops rose like green -flames to the blue of the sky. Could Igraine be in this valley? Would -he set eyes on her that day, and see the bronze gloss of her hair go -shimmering through some woodland gallery? It was nigh upon a year since -he had seen her. It had been summer then, and it was summer now; his -heart was singing as it had sung on that mere island when Igraine had -looked into his eyes under the cedar tree. He had borne much, endured -much, since then; time had hallowed memory and shed a crimson lustre -over the past. Manwise, for the great love that was in him, he almost -feared to look on her again lest she should have changed in face or in -heart. Great God, what a thought was that! It had never smitten him -before. Stiffened by his own strong constancy, he had dowered Igraine -with equal loyalty of soul, nor had considered the lapse of time and -the crumbling power of hours. The thought brought a dew of sweat to his -forehead and made him cold even in the sun. No, honour to God, the girl -had a heart to be trusted, or he had never loved her as he did! - -Shaking the bridle, he rode down into the murk of the trees. He had to -slant his spear and to bow his head often as the great boughs swooped -to the ground. The dim glamour of the place had a sinister effect upon -his mind; it solemnised him, touched the spiritual chords of his heart, -uncovered the somewhat gloomy groundwork of philosophy that lay deep -under the fabric of religious habit. Merlin had told a tale and nothing -more. God's blessings were not man's blessings, God's ways not man's -ways. Pelleas had learnt to look for what he might have called the -contradictions of divine charity. We are smitten when we pray for a -blessing, chided when desirous of comfort. Life would seem at times a -gigantic tyranny for the creation of patience. Pelleas remembered the -past, and kept his hopes and desires well in hand. - -Betimes he judged himself not far from the bottom of the valley, for -through gaps in the foliage overhead he could see the woods on the -further slope towering up magnificently to touch the sky. Still further -the long galleries of the wood arched out upon grassland gemmed with -summer flowers. Showers of sunlight told of an open sky. He was soon -out of the shadows and standing under the wooelshawe, with the dale -Merlin had pictured stretching north and south before his eyes. - -The scene smiled up at him from its bath of sunlight--the green meadows -flecked white, blue, and gold, the diverse foliage of the trees, the -little pool smooth as crystal, the solemn barriers of the surrounding -woods. He looked first of all for the cottage built of timber, and -could not see it for its overshadowing trees. None the less, by the -pool a girl in a blue smock stood looking up towards him, her face -showing oval white from her loosened hair. Pelleas held his breath for -the moment, then saw well enough that it was not Igraine. Meanwhile the -figure in blue had disappeared as though in fear of him; he could no -longer see the girl from where he watched on the edge of the wood. - -Riding out, he sallied down through the long grass with its haze of -flowers, his eyes turned with a steadfast eagerness to the pool in the -meadows. His impatience grew with every step, but he was outwardly cool -as any veteran. First the brown thatch of the cottage came into view, -then the blue smock of the girl who stood by the porch and watched. -Last of all Pelleas saw a gleam of armour through the gloom of a cedar -tree, heard the neigh of a horse, the jar of a swinging shield. The -sight made his heart beat more briskly than ever ghost or goblin could -have done. Pushing through the trees he came full upon a knight mounted -on a grey horse, who was advancing towards him bearing on his shield -the cognisance of a cloven heart. - -The knight on the grey horse reined in and abode stone still in the -meadows, the sunlight flashing on his helmet and such points of his -harness uncovered by his surcoat. Pelleas as he rode down took stock -of the stranger with an eagerness that was half jealous maugre his -perspicuity of soul. What had this splendid gentleman to do with -Igraine the novice? Truth to tell, Pelleas would rather have had some -humbler person to serve as guide on such a quest. - -The knight on the grey horse never budged a foot. Pelleas saw that he -carried no spear and that his sword was safe in his scabbard. This -looked like peace. Drawing up some three paces away, he scanned the -strange knight over from head to foot, voted him a passable man, and -admired his armour. And since his whole soul was set on a certain -subject, he made no delay over courteous generalities, but came at once -to the point at issue. - -"Greeting, sir; I have ridden from Caerleon to speak with you." - -The knight in the violet surcoat swayed in the saddle as though shaken -by a spear thrust on his painted shield. Pelleas noted that both his -hands were tangled up in the grey horse's mane, though nothing could be -seen of the face behind the fixed vizor of the helmet. A voice, husky, -toneless, feeble, answered him after a moment's silence. - -"What would you with me, knight of the red shield?" - -"There is a lady whose name is Igraine; I seek her. I have been -forewarned that a knight lodging in this valley has knowledge of her, -and you, messire, seem to be that knight." - -"That is the truth," quoth the cracked, husky voice from the helmet. - -Pelleas considered a moment and held his peace. There was something -strange about this knight, something tragical, something that touched -the heart. Pelleas's instinct for superb miseries took hold of him with -a queer, twisting grip that made him shudder. His dark eyes smouldered -as he watched the strange knight, and gave voice to the grim thought -that lay heavy on his mind. - -"The lady is not dead?" - -"No," said the husky voice with blunt brevity. - -"And she is well fortuned?" - -"Passably." - -"Thank God," said Pelleas. - -There was a dry sob in the brazen helmet, but Pelleas never heard the -sound. He was staring into the woods with large, luminous eyes, and a -half smile on his lips, as though his thoughts pleased him. - -"Is the Lady Igraine far from hence?" he asked presently. - -"If you will follow me, my lord, I can bring you to her in less than an -hour." - -Pelleas flushed red to the forehead, his dark eyes beamed. He looked a -god of a man as he sat bareheaded on his black horse, his face aglow -like the face of a martyr. The Knight of the Cloven Heart looked at -him, flapped his bridle, and rode on. - -Pelleas said never a word as they passed up the valley. There were deep -thoughts in his heart, yearnings, and ecstasies of prayer that held -him in a stupor of silence. His was a grandeur of mind that grew the -grander for the majesty of passion. There was no blurting of questions, -no gabbling of news, no chatter, no flurry. Like a mountain he was -towering, sable-browed, impenetrable, while the thunder of suspense -lasted. The knight on the grey horse watched him narrowly with a white -look under his helmet that was infinitely plaintive. - -At the northern end of the valley, on the very edge of the forest, -stood a thicket of gnarled thorns still smothered with the snow of -early summer. The Knight of the Cloven Heart drew rein in the long -grass and pointed Pelleas to these white pavilions under the near -umbrage of the oaks. - -"Look yonder," said the voice. - -Pelleas answered with a stare. - -"Would you see your lady?" - -"Be careful how you jest, my friend." - -"I jest not, Uther Pendragon. Get you down and tether your horse; go in -amid yon trees and look into the forest. I swear on the cross you shall -see what you desire." - -Pelleas gave the knight a long look, said nothing, dismounted, threw -the bridle over a bough. Then he thrust his spear into the ground and -went bareheaded in among the trees. Standing under the shadow of a -great oak, he peered long into the glooms, saw nothing living but a -rabbit feeding in the grass. - -Suddenly a voice called to him. - -"Pelleas, Pelleas." - -It was a wondrous cry, clear and plaintive, yet tremulous with feeling. -It rang through the woods like silver, bringing back the picture of a -solemn beech wood under moonlight, and a girl tied naked to the trunk -of a tree. A great lustre of awe swept over Pelleas's face; his eyes -were big and luminous as the eyes of a blind man; he groped with his -hands as he passed back under the May trees to the valley. - -In the long grass stood a woman in armour, her helmet thrown aside, and -her red gold hair pouring marvellous in the sunlight over her violet -surcoat. Her head was thrown back so as to show the full sweep of her -shapely throat; her face was very pale under her parted hair, while -her lids drooped over eyes that seemed to swim with unshed tears. Her -hands, slightly outstretched, quivered as with a shuddering impulse -from her heart, and her half-parted lips looked as though they were -moulded to breathe forth a moan. - -Pelleas stood and stared at her as a dead man might look at God. He -drew near step by step, his face white as Igraine's, his eyes as deep -with desire as hers. Neither of them said a word, but stood and looked -into each other's faces as into heaven--awed, solemnised, silenced. -Above them towered the green woods; the meadows rippled from them with -their broidery of flowers; the scent of the white May swept fragrant on -the air. Solitude was with them, and the mild smile of Nature glimmered -with the sunlight over the trees. - -Igraine spoke first. - -"Pelleas," was all she said. - -The man gave a great sob, fell on his knees, and would have kissed her -surcoat. Igraine bent down to him with eyes that shone like two deep -wells of love. Both her hands were upon Pelleas's shoulders, his face -was turned to hers. - -"Kneel not to me." - -"Igraine." - -"Pelleas." - -"Let me touch you." - -"There, there, you have my hand." - -"My God, my God!" - -Igraine gave a low cry, half knelt, half fell before him. Pelleas's -arms caught her, his face hung over hers, her hair fell down and -trailed a golden pool upon the grass. She put her hands up and touched -his hair, smiled wonderfully, and looked at him as though she were -dying. - -"Kiss me, Pelleas." - -Pelleas drew a deep breath; his body seemed to quake; his whole soul -was sucked up by the girl's lips. - -"Igraine," was all he said. - -Her face blazed, her hands clung about his neck. - -"Again, again." - -"My God, have I not prayed for this!" - -His eyes were large and wonderful to look upon. There was such awe and -love in them that an angel might have looked thus upon the Christ and -have earned no reproach. Igraine kissed his lips, crept close into his -bosom, hid her face, and wept. - - - - -X - - -When Igraine had ended her tears, and grown calm and quiet, Pelleas -took her hand and led her to a grass bank painted thick with flowers -that sloped to the white boughs of a great May tree. He was radiant in -his manhood, and his eyes burnt for her with such a splendour of pride -and tenderness that she trembled in thought for the secret she had kept -from him in her heart. He could know nothing of Gorlois, or he would -not have come thus to her. The mocking face of fate leered at her like -a satyr out of the shadows, yet with the joy of the moment she put the -thoughts aside and lived on the man's lips and the great love that -brimmed for her in his eyes. - -Pelleas sat in the long grass at her feet and looked up at her as at -a saint. Never had she seen such glory of happiness on human face, -never such manhood deified by the holier instincts of the heart. The -sheer strength of his devotion carried her above her cares and made her -content to live for the present, and to gird time with the girdle of an -hour. - -"You are no nun, Igraine?" - -She smiled at him and shook her head. - -"No, no, Pelleas." - -"Would to God you had told me that a year ago." - -"Would to God I had." - -"It would have saved much woe." - -Igraine hung her head. The man's words were prophetic in their -honest ignorance, and the whole tale had almost rushed from her that -moment but for a certain selfishness that held her mute, a fear that -overpowered her. She knew the fibre of Pelleas's soul. To tell him the -truth would mean to call his honour to arms against his love, and she -dreaded that thought as she dreaded death. - -"I was a fool, Pelleas," she said, with a queer intensity of tone that -made the man look quickly into her eyes. - -"You did not know." - -"Pardon, Pelleas, I knew your soul, how true and strong it was. God -knows I tried you to the end, and bitter truth it proved to me. If you -had only waited." - -"Ah, Igraine." - -"Only a night; you would have had the truth at dawn." - -"I struggled for your soul and for mine, as I thought." - -"Yes, yes, you chose the nobler part, thinking me a mere woman, a frail -thing blown about by my own passion. I loved you, Pelleas, for the -deed, though it nigh brought me to my death." - -"God knows I honoured you, Igraine." - -"Too well; it had been better for us both if you had been more human." - -There was an anguish of regret in her voice, a plaintive accusation -that made Pelleas wince to the core. He bent down and kissed her hand -as it lay in her lap, then looked into her face with a mute appeal that -brought her to the verge of tears. - -"Courage, courage, dear heart." - -"God bless you, Igraine." - -"I am very glad of your love." - -"Come now, tell me how the year has passed." - -Igraine held his hand in hers and began to twist her hair about his -wrist into a bracelet of gold. Her eyes faltered from his, and were hot -and heavy with an inward misery of thought. The man's words wounded her -at every turn, and in his innocence he shook her happiness as a wind -shakes a tree. - -"There is little I can tell you," she said. - -"Every hour is as gold to me." - -"Would I had them lying in my lap." - -"We are young yet, Igraine." - -There was a joyousness in his voice that sounded to the girl like a -blow struck upon empty brass, or like the laugh of a child through a -ruined house. His rich optimism mocked her to the echo. - -"I took refuge in Winchester," she began, "with Radamanth my uncle, and -lodged there many months. I watched for you and waited, but got no news -of a knight named Pelleas. Week by week as my knowledge grew I began to -think and think, to piece fragments together, to dream in my heart. I -longed to see this Uther of whom all Britain talked. Ah, you remember -the cross, Pelleas, which you left at my feet?" - -Pelleas smiled. She put her hand into her bosom with a little blush of -pride and looked into the man's eyes. - -"I have it here still," she said, "where it has hung these many months. -This scrap of gold first taught me to look for Uther." - -"Ah, Igraine, am I a king!" - -"My king, sire. And oh! how long it was before I could get news of -you; yet in time tidings came. Then it was that I left Winchester, -went on foot through the land, and hearing again of you I set out for -Wales and Caerleon with rumours of war in my ears. Even from Caerleon -I followed you, even to the western sea, where I saw the great battle -with Gilomannius, and the noble deeds you did there for Britain." - -Pelleas's dark eyes flashed up to hers. A man loves to be noble in deed -before the face of the woman he serves, a species of divine vanity that -begets heroes. The girl's staunch faith was a thing that proffered the -superbest flattery. - -"You are very wonderful, Igraine." - -"It was all for my own heart; and what greater joy could I have than to -see you a king before the thundering swords of your knights." - -"You saw that, Igraine?" - -"Do you remember a hillock by the pine forest on the ridge, where you -reined in after the charge and uncovered your head to the sun?" - -"As it were yesterday." - -"I stood on that hillock, Pelleas, and saw your face after many months." - -"Ah, Igraine, said I not you were very wonderful?" - -"No, no, I am only a woman, only a woman." - -"God give me such a wife." - -The word was keen as the barb of a lance. Pelleas's head was bowed over -the girl's hand as he pressed his lips to the gold circlet of hair, and -he did not see the frown of pain upon her face. Wife! What a mockery, -what bitterness! The sky seemed black for a moment, the valley bare -with the blasts of winter and the moan of tortured trees. She half -choked in her throat, and her heart seemed to fail within her like a -bowl that is broken. Yet there was a smile on her face when Pelleas -looked up from the circlet of her hair with the pride of love in his -large eyes. - -"What ails you, Igraine?" - -"A mere thought of the past." - -"Tell it me." - -"No, no, it is a nothing, a mere vapour, and it has passed. How warm -your lips are to my fingers. Tell me of yourself, Pelleas." - -"But this armour, Igraine?" - -"I took it from a dead knight, God rest his soul. I have wandered long -in Wales, yet ever drew to Caerleon where folk spoke your name, yet -never might I come near you, lest--lest you were too great for me." - -"Child, child!" - -"Uther Pendragon, King of Britain!" - -"Let the world die." - -"And let us live; Pelleas, tell me of yourself." - -The man looked long over the valley in silence. His face was very -grave, and his eyes were deep with thought as though the past awed him -with the recollection of its bitterness. - -"May I never pass such another night," he said. - -The words were curt and calm enough as though leaving infinite things -unsaid. Igraine sat silent by him and still plaited her hair about his -wrist. - -"I went away in the dark, for I thought you were a nun, Igraine, and -I would not break your vows. I was nearly blind for an hour. Twice my -horse stumbled and fell with me in the woods, and once I was smitten -out of the saddle by a tree. Dawn came, and how I cursed the sun. I -seemed to see your face everywhere, and to hear your voice in every -sound. Days came and went, and I hated the sight of man; as for my -prayers, I could not say them, and I was dumb in my heart towards God. -I rode north into the wilds, and into the fenlands of the east. Strange -things befell me in many places. I fought often, beast and wild men and -robber ruffians out of the woods. Fighting pleased me; it eased the -wrath in my heart that seemed to rage up against the world, and against -all things that drew breath. I wandered in the night of the forests, -waded through swamps, took my food by the sword, and never blessed man -or woman. I felt bitter and evil to the core." - -Igraine bent down and touched his forehead with her lips. - -"Brave heart," she said. - -"You shall hear how I came by my own soul again." - -"Ah, tell me that." - -"It was as though a still voice came to me out of heaven. I was riding -in the northern wilds not far from rough coastland and the sea, and -riding, came upon a little house of timber all bowered round with -trees. It was a peaceful spot, flowers grew around, and the sun was -shining, and I drew near, moved in my heart to beg food and rest, for -I was half starved and gaunt as a monk from an African desert. What -did I see there? A dead man tied to a tree and gored with many wounds; -a woman kneeling dead before his feet, thrust through with a sword; a -little child lying near with its head crushed by a stone or a club. The -sword was a Saxon sword, and I knew who had done the deed; but sight -of the dead folk by their empty home seemed to smite my pity like the -thought of the dead Christ. I had pitied but myself and you, Igraine, -and had wandered through the land like a brute beast mad with the -smart of my own wound. Here was woe enough, agony enough, to shame my -heart. Straightway I went down on my knees and prayed, and came through -penitence and fire to a knowledge of myself. 'Rise up,' said the voice -in me, 'rise up and play the man. There is much sorrow in Britain, much -shedding of innocent blood, much violence, and much brute wrath. Rise -up and strike for woman and for babe, let your sword shine against the -wolves from over the sea, let your shield hurl them from the ruined -hearths of Britain, the smoking churches, and the children of the -cross.' So I rose up strong again and comforted, and rode back into the -world to do my duty." - -When Pelleas had made an end of speaking, Igraine's eyes were full of -tears. The simplicity of the man's words had awakened to the full all -the pathos of the past in her, and she was as proud of him as when she -saw him hurl Gilomannius and his host down the green slopes towards the -sea. Her lips quivered as she spoke to him--looking into his face with -her eyes dim and shadowy with tears. - -"Forgive me all this." - -"It has been good for me, Igraine, nor would I alter the days that are -gone." - -"No, no." - -"We have found love again." - -"Ah, Pelleas!" - -"What more need we ask?" - -"What more?" - -Her voice was half a wail. Again it was winter, and the wind blew as -though at midnight; the flowers and the green woods were blurred before -the girl's eyes. Gorlois's hard face and the grey walls of Tintagel -came betwixt her and the summer. And, though the mood lasted but for a -moment, it seemed like the long agony of days crushed into the compass -of a minute. - -Evening stood calm-eyed in the east. A tranquil heat hung over wood -and valley, a warm silence that seemed to bind the world into a golden -swoon. Not a ripple stirred in the grass with its tapestries of -flowers; every leaf was hushed upon the bough; nothing moved save the -droning bee and the wings of the butterflies hovering colour-bright -over the meadows. The sky was a mighty sapphire, the woods carved -emeralds piled giantwise to the sun. There was no discord and no sound -of man, as though the curse of Adam was not yet. - -Igraine had drawn Pelleas's great sword from its sheath. She held it -slantwise before her, and pressed her lips to the cold steel. - -"Old friend," she said, "be ever true to me." - -Pelleas laughed and touched her hair with his hand. A kind of -exaltation came upon them, and the zest of life crept through the -bodies like green sap in spring. Igraine had filled her brazen helmet -to the brim with flowers, and she scattered them and sang as they -roamed into the hoar shadows of the woods:-- - - "Dear love of mine, - Where art thou roaming? - The west is red, - My heart is calling." - -Never had the vaults seemed greener, the half light more mysterious -under the massive trees. The far world was out of ken; they alone lived -and had their being; the toil of man was not even like the long sob of -a moonlit sea, or the sound of rivers running in the night. - -The infinite strangeness of beauty shone over them like a wizard light -out of the west. Igraine's lips were very red, her face white in the -shadows, her eyes deep with mute desire. Hand held hand, body touched -body. Often she would lie out upon Pelleas's arm, her head upon his -shoulder, her hair clouding over his red harness. They were content -to be together, to forget the world save so much of it as came within -the ken of their eyes, and the close grip of their twined fingers. -They said little as they swayed together under the trees. Soul ebbed -into soul upon their lips, and a deep ecstasy possessed them like the -throbbing pathos of some song. - -As the day deepened Pelleas and Igraine turned back into the valley, -hand in hand. The west burnt gold above the tree tops, the gnarled -trunks were pillars of agate bearing Byzant domes of breathless leaves. -By the white May trees the two horses stood tethered, black and grey -against the grass. Loosing them, and taking each a bridle, they passed -down through flowers to the cottage and the pool. - -Garlotte met them there with her brown hair pouring over her shoulders, -and a clean white kerchief over her throat and bosom. She came to -them through a little thicket of fox-gloves that were budding early, -white and purple. Her blue eyes quivered for a moment over Pelleas's -face as she made him a deep curtsey, and bent to kiss Igraine's hand. -There was a vast measure of sympathy in Garlotte's heart, and yet for -all her well-wishing she was troubled for the two, fearing for them -instinctively with even her small knowledge of the world. She had -learnt enough from Igraine to comprehend in measure that element of -tragedy that had entered with Gorlois into her life. Her interest in -the man Pelleas was no mere vulgar curiosity, rather an intense pity -that permeated her warm innocence of spirit to the core. - -She had spread supper on the table, a much meditated feast that had -kept her eagerly busy since she had guessed the name of the strange -knight who had ridden down out of the woods. She had the pride of a -young housewife in her creamy milk, her bread. She had made a tansy -cake, and there was a rich cream cheese ready in the cupboard, and a -fat rabbit stewing by the fire. Yet for all her ingenuous pride she -felt much troubled when it came to the test lest her fare should seem -rude and meagre to the great knight in the red harness. Certainly he -had a kind face and splendid eyes, but would he not smile at her humble -supper, her horn cups, and her plates of hollywood? Her cares were -empty enough, but they were very real to the sensitive child who feared -to seem shamed before Igraine. - -Half the happiness of life lies in the kindly sensibility of others -to our desire for sympathy. A surly word, a trivial ungraciousness, -a small deed passed over in thankless silence, how much these things -mean to a sensitive heart! Garlotte, standing in her cottage door, half -shy and timid, found her small fears mere little goblins of her own -invention. Igraine, radiant as the evening, came and kissed her on the -lips. - -"Little sister, you have been very good to me." - -The great knight too was smiling at her in quite a fatherly fashion. -What a strong face he had, and what a noble look; she felt sure that he -was a good man, and her heart went out to him like an opening flower. -When he took her hand, and a lock of her hair and kissed it, she went -red as one of her own roses, and was dumb with an impulsive gladness. - -"Little sister, you have been very good to me." - -"Good, my lord, to you!" - -"Child, Igraine can tell you how." - -"But the Lady Igraine, she saved my life!" - -"Ah, I had not heard that. Tell me." - -Garlotte found her ease in a moment. The whole tale came bubbling up -like water out of a spring. Pelleas's strong face beamed; he touched -Igraine's hair with his fingers and looked into her eyes as only a -man in love can look. Garlotte saw that she was giving pleasure, and -felt a glow from head to heart. Surely this great, grave-faced knight -was a noble soul; how gentle he was, and how he looked into Igraine's -eyes and bent over her like a tall elm over a slim cypress tree. She -caught the happiness of the two, and from that moment her heart was -singing and she had no more fear for herself and her poor cottage. Even -the horn cups took a golden dignity, and her tansy cake and her cream -seemed fit for a prince. - -The three were soon at supper together round the wooden table, with -honeysuckle and roses climbing close above their heads. Garlotte would -have stood and waited on Pelleas and Igraine, but they would have none -of it; so she was set smiling at the head of her little table, and -constrained to play the lady under her own roof. It was a dull meal so -far as mere words were concerned. Pelleas's eyes were on Igraine in -the twilight, and he had no hunger save hunger of heart; yet that the -supper was a success there was no doubt whatever. Garlotte watched them -both with a quiet delight; young as she was she was wise in the simple -love of love, and so she mothered the pair to her heart's content in -her own imagination. If only Renan had been there to help her serve, -and touch her hand under the table, what a perfect guest-hour it would -have been. - -When the meal was over she jumped up with a shy smile, took a rush -basket from the wall, and went out into the garden. Igraine called her -back. - -"Where are you going, child?" - -"Up the valley to the dead oak tree where herbs grow. I must make a -stew to-morrow." - -"It will soon be dark." - -Garlotte swung her basket and laughed from her cloud of hair. - -"You gathered herbs on Sunday, Igraine." - -"You squirrel!" - -"Renan was here; you came home after dusk; good-by, good-by." - -They heard her go singing through the garden, a soft _chant d'amour_ -that would have gone wondrously to flute and cithern. It died away -slowly amid the trees like an elf's song coming from woodlands in the -moonlight. Pelleas drew a deep breath and listened in the shadow of -the room with his hands clasped before him on the table. He looked as -though he were praying. Igraine's eyes were glooms of violet mystery as -she watched him, her hands folded over a breast that rose and fell as -with the restless motion of a troubled sea. She called the man softly -by name; her body bent to him like a bow, her hair bathed his face with -dim ripples of gold as mouth touched mouth. - -They went out into the garden together and stood under the cedar tree. - -"Pelleas, my love, my own." - -"Heart of mine." - -"You will never leave me?" - -"How should the sea put the earth from his bosom, or the moon pass from -the arms of the night?" - -"I am faint, Pelleas; hold me in your arms." - -"They are strong, Igraine." - -"There, let me rest so, for ever. Look, the stars are coming out, and -there is the moon flooding silver over the trees. My lips burn, and I -am faint." - -"Courage, courage, dear heart." - -"How close you hold me! I could die so." - -"What is death to us, Igraine?" - -"Or life?" - -"God in heaven, and heaven on earth." - -"Your words hurt me." - - - - -XI - - -How the birds sang that evening as a saffron afterglow fainted over the -forest spires, and when all was still with the hush of night how the -cry of a nightingale thrilled from a tree near the cottage! - -The glamour of the day had passed, and now what mockery and bitterness -came with the cold, calculating face of the moon. Igraine tossed and -turned in her bed like one taken with a fever; her brain seemed afire, -her hair like so much flame about her forehead. As she lay staring -with wide, wakeful eyes, the birds' song mocked her to the echo, the -scent of honeysuckle and rose floated in like a sad savour of death, -and the moonlight seemed to watch her without a quaver of pity. Her -heart panted in the darkness; she was torn by the thousand torments -of a troubled conscience, wounded to tears, yet her eyes were dry and -waterless as a desert. Gorlois's face seemed to glare down at her out -of the idle gloom, and she could have cried out with the fear that lay -like an icy hand over her bosom. - -Pelleas slept under the cedar tree, wrapped in an old cloak, relic of -Garlotte's father. How Igraine's heart wailed for the man, how she -longed for the touch of his hand! God of heaven, she could not let him -go again, and starve her soul with the old cursed life. His lips had -touched hers, his arms had held her close, she had felt the warmth of -his body and the beating of his heart. Was all this nothing--a dream, -a splendid phantasm to be rent away like a crimson cloud? Was she to -be Gorlois's wife and nothing more, a bitter flower growing under a -gallows, sour wine frothing in a gilded cup? - -God of heaven, no! What had the world done for her that she should obey -its edicts and suffer for its tyrannies? Gorlois had cheated her of her -liberty, let him pay the price to the fates; what honour, indeed, had -she to preserve for him? If he was a brute piece of lust, a tyrant, -a demagogue, so much the better, it would ease her conscience. She -owed no fealty, no marriage vow, to Gorlois. Her body was no more his -than was her soul, and a dozen priests and a dozen masses might as -well marry granite to fire. How could a fool in a cape and frock by -gabbling a service bind an irresponsible woman to a man she hated more -than the foulest mud in the foulest alley? It was a stupendous piece -of nonsense, to say the least of it. No God calling himself a just God -could hold such a bargain holy. - -And then--the truth! What a stumbling-block truth was on occasions! -She knew Pelleas's intense love of honour, the fine sensibility of his -conscience, the strong thirst for the highest good, that made him the -victim of an ethical tyranny. If he had left her after Andredswold -because he thought her a nun, what hope now had she of holding him if -he knew her to be a wife? And yet for all her love she could not bring -herself to keep him wholly from the truth. For all her passion and the -fire in her rebellious heart she was not a woman who could fling reason -to the winds, and stifle up her conscience with a kiss. Besides, she -loved Pelleas to the very zenith of her soul. To have a lie understood -upon her lips, to be shamed before the man's eyes, were things that -scourged her in fancy even more than the thought of losing him. She -trembled when she thought how he might look at her in later days if a -passive lie were proven against her with open shame. - -But to tell him of Gorlois, and the humiliation of that darkest hour -of her life! Could such a man as Pelleas serve her longer after such a -confession? He would become a king again, a stranger, a man set in high -places far beyond the mere yearning of a woman's white face. And yet, -it was possible that his love might prove stronger than his reason; it -was possible that he might front the world and frown down the petty -judgments of men. Glorious and transcendent sacrifice! She could face -calumny beside him as a rock faces the froth of waves; she could look -Gorlois in the eyes, and know neither shame nor pity. - -Her mood that night was like the passage of a blown leaf, tossed up to -heaven, whirled over the tree tops, driven down again into the mire. -Strong woman that she was, her very strength made the struggle more -indecisive and more racking. She could not renounce Pelleas for the -great love she bore him, and yet she could not will to play a false -part by reason of this same great love. Her soul, like a wanderer in -the wilds, halted and wavered between two tracks that led forward into -the unknown. - -Garlotte was sleeping in the far corner of the cottage. The girl -had given up her bed to Igraine, who envied her her quiet, restful -breathing as she lay and listened. In her doubt she called and woke -Garlotte from her sleep, hardly knowing indeed what she desired to say -to her, yet half fearful of lying alone longer in the night with her -own thoughts for company. Garlotte rose up and came across the room to -the bigger bed. She knelt down; two warm arms crept under the coverlet, -and a soft cheek touched Igraine's. - -"Why are you awake, Igraine?" - -The warmth of the girl's body, her quiet breathing, the sweep of her -hair, seemed to bring a scent of peace and human sympathy into the -moonlit room. Igraine put her arms about her, and drew her down to her -side. Their white faces and clouding hair lay close together on the -pillow. - -"You are in trouble, Igraine?" - -"How should I be in trouble?" - -"You breathe like one in pain, and your voice is strange." - -"Hush, Garlotte." - -"Am I not right?" - -"Pelleas must not hear us talking." - -They were silent awhile, lying in each other's arms with no sound -save that of their breathing. Igraine's misery burnt in her and cried -out for sympathy; Garlotte, half wise by instinct, yearned to share a -trouble which she did not wholly comprehend, to advise where she was -partly ignorant. The girl felt a great stirring of her heart towards -Igraine, but could say nothing for the moment. Having no better -eloquence at command she raised her head and kissed the other's lips, a -warm, impulsive kiss that seemed as rich in sympathy as a rose in scent. - -Igraine's confidence woke at the touch of the girl's lips; she hungered -even for this child's comfort, her simple guidance in this matter of -life and love. It was easy enough to die, hard to exist as a mere -spiritless Galatea devoid of soul. - -"Garlotte!" - -"Yes, Igraine." - -"Imagine that you were married to a man you hated, and you loved Renan." - -Garlotte raised herself in bed. - -"And Renan loved you and knew nothing?" - -"Yes." - -"Would you tell Renan the truth?" - -Garlotte remained motionless, propped on her two hands, and looking -out of the window into the streaming moonlight. Her brown hair touched -Igraine's face as she lay still and watched her. The room was very -silent, not a breeze seemed stirring, the roses athwart the window were -still as though carved in wood. - -Garlotte spoke very softly, looking up with her face white and solemn -in the moonlight. - -"I should tell Renan," she said. - -"Why?" - -"Because I love him." - -"Yes--go on." - -"I should not love him rightly in God's eyes if I kept him from the -truth." - -The coverlet rose and fell over Igraine's bosom, and there was a queer -twisting pain at her heart. - -"But if you were never to see Renan again?" she said. - -"If I told him the truth?" - -"Yes, child." - -Garlotte dared not look into Igraine's face; her lips were twitching, -and her eyes were hot with tears. - -"I do not know," she faltered. - -"Think, child, think!" - -"I should not tell him." - -In half a breath she had contradicted herself with a little gasp. - -"Yes, yes, I should tell him." - -"The truth?" - -"Because I should not be happy even with him if I were acting a lie." - -Igraine gave a dry sob, and drew Garlotte down again to her side. They -lay very close, almost mouth to mouth, their arms about each other's -bodies. - -"I love Pelleas." - -"Yes, yes." - -"I will tell him the truth." - -"Ah, Igraine, it is best, it is best." - -"But it will kill me if I lose him." - -"Ah, Igraine, but he will love you all the more." - -It was Garlotte who broke into tears, and hid her face in the other's -bosom. Igraine's eyes were as dry as a blue sky parched with a summer -sun, and her voice failed her like the slack string of a lute. The -moonlight slanted down upon them both. Before dawn they had fallen -asleep in each other's arms. - -How many a heart trembles with the return of day; what fears rise with -the first blush of light in an empty sky! The cloak of night is lifted -from weary faces; the quiet balm of darkness is withdrawn from the -moiling care of many a heart. To Igraine the dawn light came like a -message of misery as she lay beside the sleeping Garlotte, and watched -the gloom grow less and less in the little room. This dawn seemed -a veritable symbol of the truth that she feared to look upon--and -recognise. The night seemed kinder, less implacable, less grave of -face. Day, like a pale justiciary, stalked up out of the east to call -her to that assize where truth and the soul meet under the eye of -heaven. - -How different was it with Pelleas under the eaves of the great cedar. -He had slept little that night for mere wakeful happiness; the moon had -kept carnival for him above the world; at dawn the stars had crept back -from the choir stalls into the chambers of the night. He had known no -weariness, no abatement of his deep calm joy. His heart had answered -blithely to the dawn-song of the birds as though he had risen fresh -from a dreamless sleep. The day to him had no look of evil; the sky -was never grey; the flush in the east recalled no flashing of torches -over a funeral bier. He rose up in the glory of his clean manhood, the -strong kindliness of his great love. His prayers went to heaven that -morning with the lark, and the Spirit of God seemed like a wind moving -softly in the green boughs above his head. - -Very early before it was light he had taken a plunge and a swim in -the pool, a swinging burst through the still water that had made him -revel in his great strength. He had come up from the pool like a god -refreshed, and had put on his red harness while the mists rose from the -valley, and the birds chanted in the ghostly trees. When the day was -fully awake he walked the grass-path in the garden like a watchman, -with the scent of honeysuckle and thyme in his nostrils, and a blaze -of flowers at his feet. As he paced up and down with his face turned -to the sky, he sang in a mellow bass a song of Guyon's, the Court -minstrel-- - - "When the dawn has come, - My heart sighs for thee and the gleam of thy hair; - Eyes deep as the night - When the summer sky arches the world." - -So sang Pelleas as he paced the grass with his eyes wandering ever -towards the doorway of the cottage. - -Presently Igraine came out to him, and stood under the shadow of the -porch. Her hair hung lustrous about a face that was white and drawn, -despite a smile. Certainly a haze of red flushed her cheeks when -Pelleas came up with a glory of love in his eyes, took her hands and -kissed them, as though there was no such divine flesh in the whole wide -world. How wonderful it was to be touched so, to have such eyes pouring -out so strong a soul before her face, to know the presence of a great -love, and to feel the echoing passion of it in her own heart! - -After the barren months of winter, and the long bondage in Tintagel, -it seemed ah idyllic thing to be so served, so comforted. And was this -faery time but for an hour, a day, and no longer? Was she but to see -the man's face, to feel the touch of his hands, the grand calm of his -love, before losing him, perhaps for life? Her heart fluttered in her -like a smitten bird. And Pelleas, too, what a thrust lurked for the -man, a blow to be given in the name of truth. How could she speak to -him of Gorlois when he came and looked at her with those eyes of his? - -Igraine had never felt such misery as this even in the gloomy galleries -of Tintagel. It tried her courage to the death to face Pelleas's -wistful gaiety, and the adoration that beamed on her from his eyes. - -"Dear heart, it is dawn--it is dawn!" - -Pelleas held her hands, and waited for her lips to be turned to his. -Instead, he saw lowered lids and quivering lashes, lips that were -plaintive, a face white beneath a wealth of hair. - -"Ah, Igraine, you do not look at me." - -Her eyes trembled up to his with a sudden infinite lustre. - -"Pelleas!" - -"Girl, girl!" - -"Ah, I have hardly slept." - -"Nor I, Igraine." - -"I think I am worn out with thinking of you." - -"Ha, little woman, you are extravagant; you will die like a flower even -while I hold you in my bosom." - -Garlotte came out from the cottage, and was kissed by Pelleas on the -lips. The girl's eyes were red and heavy; she had been crying but a -moment ago in the shadow of the cottage room, and she was timid and -very solemn. Pelleas looked at her like a big brother. - -"Come now, little sister," he said, with a rare smile; "methinks you -must be in love too by your looks." - -"Yes, lord." - -"Said I not so? You women take things so to heart." - -"Yes, lord." - -"What a solemn face, little sister!" - -Garlotte mastered herself for a moment, then burst into tears and ran -back into the cottage. Pelleas coloured, looked troubled, glanced -at Igraine, thinking he had hurt the girl's heart with his words. -Igraine's face startled him as if the visage of death had risen up -suddenly amid the flowers. He stood mute before her watching her -starved lips, her drawn face, her eyes that stared beyond him with a -kind of cold frenzy. - -"Pelleas, Pelleas!" - -It was like the wild cry of a woman over her dead love. The sound -struck Pelleas with a vague sense of stupendous woe, a dim prophecy -of evil like the noise of autumn in the woods. Before he could gather -words, Igraine had turned and run from him as in great fear, skirting -the pool and holding for the black yawn of the forest aisles. Pelleas -started to follow her in a daze of wonder. Was the girl mad? Had love -turned her brain? What was there hid in her heart that made her wing -from him like a dove from a hawk? - -By the trees Igraine slackened and turned breathless on the man as -he came towards her through the long grass. Her eyes were dim and -frightened, her lips twitching, and there was a bleak hunted look upon -her face that made her seem white and old. Pelleas's blood ran cold in -him like water; a vague dread sapped his manhood; he stared at Igraine -and was speechless. - -The girl put her arm before her eyes and shook as she stood. Pelleas -fell on his knees with a cry, and reached for her hand. - -"Igraine, Igraine!" - -She snatched her arm away and would not look at him. - -"My God, what is this, Igraine?" - -"Don't touch me; I am Gorlois's wife!" - -A vast silence seemed to fall sudden on the world. It might have been -dead of night in winter, with deep snow upon the ground and no wind -stirring in the forest. To Igraine, swaying in an agony with her arm -over her face, the silence came like the hush that might fall on heaven -before the damning of a lost soul to hell. She wondered what was in -Pelleas's heart, and dared not look at him or meet his eyes. God in -heaven! would the man never speak; would the silence crawl on into an -eternity! - -At last she did look, and nearly fell at the wrench of it. Pelleas was -standing near her looking at her with his great solemn eyes as though -she had given him his death. His face seemed to have gone grey and -haggard in a moment. - -"Gorlois's wife!" was all he said. - -Igraine hung her head, shivered, and said nothing. Pelleas never -stirred; he seemed like so much stone, a mere pillar of granite misery. -Igraine could have writhed at his feet and caught him by the knees only -to melt for a moment that white calm on his face that looked like the -mask of death. - -A voice that was almost strange to her startled her out of her stupor -of despair. - -"How long have you been wed, Igraine?" - -"Nine months, Pelleas." - -The man seemed to be struggling with himself as though he strove after -the truth, yet could not confront it for all his strength. When he -spoke his voice was like the voice of a man winded by hard running. He -appeared to urge himself forward, to goad his courage to a task that -he dreaded. There was great anguish on his face as he looked into the -girl's eyes. - -"I must speak what I know, Igraine." - -The words seemed slow with effort. Igraine watched him in silence, full -of a vague dread. - -"Gorlois has spoken to me of his wife." - -"Say on, Pelleas." - -Pelleas hesitated. - -"The truth--tell me the truth." - -She was almost clamorous. Pelleas plunged on. - -"Gorlois told me how his wife was faithless to him, how she had fled -with Brastias, the knight who had ward over her at Caerleon. I never -knew her name until this hour." - -The words might have fallen like the strokes of a lash. Igraine -stood and stared at the man, her open mouth a black circle, her eyes -expressionless for the moment, like the eyes of one smitten blind. The -full meaning of the words numbed her and hindered her understanding. A -babel of shame sounded in her ears. The sinister intent of the man's -accusation rose gradual before her reason like the distorted image of a -dream. She felt cold to the core; a strange terror possessed her. - -"Pelleas, what have you said to me?" - -Her voice was a mere whisper. Pelleas hung his head and said never a -word. His silence seemed to fling sudden fire into Igraine's eyes, and -her face flamed like a sunset. It might have been Gorlois who stood and -challenged the honour of her soul. - -"Man, tell me what is in your heart." - -Her voice was shrill--even imperious. Pelleas hung his head. - -"Gorlois keeps poison for his wife," were his words. - -Igraine's lips curled. - -"A sword for Brastias." - -"Generous man." - -Pelleas was watching her as a prisoner watches a judge. He had a great -yearning to believe. Fear, anguish, anger, were in Igraine's heart, -but she showed none of the three as she stood forward and looked into -the man's eyes with a steadfastness no honour could gainsay. - -"Pelleas!" she said. - -"Girl!" - -"Look into my eyes." - -He did so without flinching. Igraine took his sword and gave it naked -into his hand. - -"Listen! Gorlois told you a lie." - -"Igraine!" - -"Do you believe me, Pelleas? If not, strike with the sword, for I will -live no longer." - -The man gave a sudden cry, like one who leaps over a precipice, threw -the sword far away into the grass, and falling on his knees, buried his -face in his hands. - - - - -XII - - -Igraine stood and watched Pelleas as he knelt in the grass at her feet -with his face hidden from her by his hands. She saw the curve of his -strong neck, the sweep of his great shoulders. She even counted the -steel plates in his shoulder pieces, and marked the tinge of grey in -his coronal of hair. - -Calm had come upon her with the trust won by the confessional of -the sword. She felt sure of the man in her heart, and eased of a -double burden since she had told him the truth and brought him to a -declaration of his faith. She knew well from instinct that her honour -stood sure in Pelleas's heart. - -Going to him, she bent and touched his head with her hand. - -"Pelleas," she said very softly. - -The man groaned and would not look at her. - -"Mea culpa, mea culpa!" was his cry. - -Igraine smiled like a young mother as she put his hands from his face -with a gradual insistence. It was right that he should kneel to her, -but it was also right that she should forgive and forget like a woman. -Yet as she stood and held his hands in hers, Pelleas hung his head and -would not so much as look into her face. He was convicted in his own -heart, and contrite according to the deep measure of his manhood. - -Igraine touched his hair softly with her fingers, and there was a great -light in her eyes as she bent over him. - -"Come, Pelleas, and sit by me under the trees, and I will tell you the -whole tale." - -Never had she seemed so stately or so superb in Pelleas's eyes as she -stood before him that morning, strong and sorrowful with the burden -of her past. He knelt and looked up at her, knowing himself pardoned, -humbled to see love in the ascendent so soon upon her face as she -looked down at him from her golden aureole of hair. - -"I am forgiven?" he said. - -"Ah, Pelleas!" - -"You have shamed me; I am a broken man." - -He rose up half wearily and stood looking at her as though some -mysterious influence had parted them suddenly asunder. So expressive -were his eyes, that Igraine read a distant anguish in them on the -instant, and fathomed his thoughts, to the troubling of her own heart. - -"Look not so," she said, "as though a gulf lay deep between us here." - -"How else should I look at you, Igraine, when you are wife to Gorlois?" - -"Never in my soul." - -"How can that help us?" - -Igraine winced at the words and took refuge in silence. She went and -seated herself at the foot of a gnarled oak. Pelleas followed her and -lay down more than a sword's length away, leaving a stretch of green -turf between, a thing insignificant in itself, yet full of meaning to -the girl's instinctive watchfulness. The man's face too was turned -from her towards the valley, and she could only see the curve of his -cheek and chin as she began to speak to him of that which was in her -heart. - -"You know the man Gorlois?" she said. - -Pelleas nodded. - -"In Winchester Gorlois saw my face and straightway pestered me as -he had been turned into my shadow. By chance he had rendered me -service, and from the favour casually conferred plucked the right of -thrusting his perpetual homage upon me. I trusted Gorlois little from -the beginning, and trusted him less as the weeks went by. His eyes -frightened me, and his mouth made my soul shiver; the more importunate -he grew the more I began to fear him." - -Pelleas shifted his sword and said nothing. - -"A day came when the man Gorlois grew tired of courtesies, and would be -gainsaid no longer. It was in Radamanth's garden; we quarrelled, and -the man laid hands upon me and crushed me against the wall to thieve -a kiss. In my anger I broke from him and ran into my uncle's house. -The same night I fled to an abbey, the abbey of St. Helena, and left -Winchester in my dress at dawn." - -Igraine could see the muscles of Pelleas's jaw standing out contracted -as though his teeth were clenched in an access of anger. He was -breathing deeply through his nostrils, and his hands plucked at the -grass with a terse snapping sound. These things pleased Igraine, and -she went on forthwith. - -"I left Winchester on foot at dawn and travelled towards Sarum, for I -heard that Uther the King was there, and it was greatly in my mind, -sire, to see his face. An old merchant friend of Radamanth's overtook -me on the road; at a ford the horse he had lent me fell and twisted -my ankle. I was carried to Eudol's house, and lay abed there many -days, learning little to my comfort that Gorlois had ridden out and -was hunting me through the countryside. Recovered of my strain, and -fearful of Gorlois's trackers, I held on for Sarum through the woods, -and lodged the same night in a hermitage in a little valley. Here the -first piece of craft overtook me, for early in the morning outside the -hermitage I saw a knight ride by on a black horse, bearing red harness, -and armed at all points like to you." - -Pelleas turned his head for the first time and looked at her as though -with some sudden suspicion of what was to follow. Igraine saw something -in his dark eyes that made her heart hurry. His face was like the face -of a man who fronts a storm of wind and rain with brows furrowed and -eyes half-closed. There was much that was threatening in his look, a -subdued ominous wrath like a storm nursed in the bosom of a cloud. - -Igraine told the whole quaint tale, how she followed Gorlois in faith, -how she was led into the forest, bewitched there, and made a wife, -mesmerised into a false affection for the man by Merlin's craft. It -was a grim tale, with a clear contour of truth, and credible by reason -of its very strangeness. It was sufficient to manifest to Pelleas how -Igraine's strong love for him had lost her her liberty and made her the -victim of a man's lust. - -When she had ended the tale Pelleas left the grass at her feet and -began to pace under the trees like a sentinel on a wall. His scabbard -clanged occasionally against his greaves. Masses of young bracken -covered the ground between the trees with a rich carpet of green, and -his armour shone like red wrath under the wreathing arcs of foliage. -His face was dark and moody with the turmoil of thought, but there -was no visible agitation upon him; nothing of the aspen, more of the -unbending oak. Igraine leant against her tree and watched him with a -curious care, wondering what would be the outcome of all this silence. -Down in the valley the pool glistened, and she could see Garlotte -walking in the cottage garden. How different was this child's lot to -hers. With what warm philosophy could she have changed Pelleas into a -shepherd, and taken the part of Garlotte to herself. - -Presently Pelleas stayed in his stride through the bracken, and came -and stood before her, looking not into her face but beyond her into the -deeps of the wood. - -"Tell me more, Igraine." - -"What more would you hear from me?" - -"That which is bitterest of all." - -"God, must I tell you that!" - -"Let us both drink it to the dregs." - -Igraine's face and neck coloured rich as one of Garlotte's red roses, -and she seemed to shrink from the man's eyes behind the quivering -sunlight of her hair. She put her hands to her breast and stood in a -strain of thought, of struggle against the infinite unfitness of the -past. - -Pelleas saw her trouble, and his strong face softened on the instant. -He had forgotten milder things in his grappling of the truth. Igraine's -red and troubled look revived the finer instincts of his manhood. - -"Never trouble, child," he said; "I know enough of Gorlois to read the -rest." - -But Igraine, as by inspiration, had come by other reasons for telling -out the whole to the last pang. She was at pains to justify herself -to Pelleas, nor was she undesirous of inflaming him against Gorlois, -her lord. She had wit enough to grasp the fact that Pelleas's wrath -might be roused into insurrection against custom and the edicts of the -Church. A volcanic outburst might throw down the barriers of man and -leave her at liberty to choose her lot. Moreover, her hate of Gorlois, -an iconoclastic passion, had crushed the reverence of things existing -out of her heart. A contemplation of her evil fortune had brought her -to the conviction that she was exiled from the sympathies of men, a -spiritual bandit driven to compass the instincts of a rebellious soul. -In her hot impulse for liberty and the justification of her faith, she -did not halt from making Pelleas feel the full malignity of truth. She -neither embellished nor emphasised, but portrayed incidents simply in -their glaring nakedness in a fashion that promised to inflame the man -to the very top of her desire. - -Igraine's cheeks kindled, and she could not look at the man for the -words upon her lips. Pelleas's face was like the face of man in -torture. The woman's words entered into him like iron; his wrath -whistled like a wind, and the very air seemed tainted in his mouth. -What a purgatory of passion was let loose into the calm precincts of -the place! This burning vault of blue, was it the same as roofed the -world of yesterday? The feathery mounts of green dappled with amber, -and these flowers, had they not changed with the noon lust of the sun? -There was a rank savour of fleshliness over the whole earth, and all -life seemed impious, passionate, and unclean. - -"My God, my God!" - -The man's cry shook Igraine from her rage for truth. In her -confessional she had been carried like a bird with the wind. Looking -into Pelleas's face she saw that he was in torment, and that her words -had smitten him in a fashion other than she had foreseen. It was not -wrath that burnt in his eyes, only a deep grieving, a frenzy of shame -and anguish that seemed to cry out against her soul. A sudden stupor -made her mute. With a great void in her heart she fell down amid the -bracken with a sense of ignominy and abasement overwhelming her like a -deluge. - -Pelleas stood and shut his eyes to the sun. A red glare smote into his -brain; love seemed numb in him and his blood stagnant. Prayer eluded -him like a vapour. Looking out again over wood and valley, the golden -haze, the torpor of the trees mocked him with a lethargy that smiled at -the impotence of man. - -And Igraine! He saw her prone beneath the green mist of the fern -fronds, lying with her face pillowed on her arms, her hair spread like -a golden net over the brown wreckage of the bygone year. To what a pass -had their love come! Better, he thought, to have lived a king solitary -on a throne than to have wandered into youth again to give and win -such dolor. - -His face was dark as he stood and looked at the woman's violet surcoat -gleaming low under the bracken. How symbolical this attitude seemed of -all that had fallen upon his heart--love cast down upon dead leaves! -Igraine had feared his honour. Pelleas feared for it in another sense -as he looked at the woman, and felt his pity clamouring for life. -He could have given his soul to comfort her if no shame could have -come upon her name thereby. As it was, some spiritual hand seemed at -his throat stifling aught of love that found impulse on his lips. A -superhuman sincerity chilled him into silence, and held him in bondage -to the truth. - -A face stared up from the bracken, wan, tearless, and tragic. The -wistfulness of the face made him quail within his harness. He knew too -well what was in Igraine's heart, and the look that questioned him like -the look of a wounded hare. Her eyes searched his face as though to -read her doom thereon. There was no whimpering, no noise, no passionate -rhetoric. A great quiet seemed to take its temper from the silence of -the woods. - -"Pelleas." - -"Yes, Igraine." - -"Tell me what is in your heart." - -Pelleas hung his head; he could not look at her for all his courage. -She was kneeling in the bracken with her hands crossed over her breast -and her face turned to his with the white wistfulness of a full moon. -Pelleas felt death in his heart, and he could not speak nor look into -her eyes. - -"Pelleas." - -"Child." - -"You do not look at me." - -"Great God, would I were blind!" - -The truth came crying to her like the wild cry of a bird taken by a -weasel in the woods. A great sobbing shook her; she fell down and -caught Pelleas by the knees. - -"Pelleas, Pelleas!" - -"My God, Igraine, I stifle!" - -"Don't leave me, don't send me away." - -"What can I say to you?" - -"Only look into my eyes again." - -Pelleas put his fists before his face; the girl felt him quiver, and he -seemed to twist in an agony like a man dangling on a rope. Igraine's -hands crept to his shoulders; she drew herself by his body as by a -pillar till her face met his and she lay heavy upon his breast. - -"Pelleas!" - -Her breath was on his lips, and her hair flooded over his hands like -golden wine. - -"Pelleas, Pelleas!" - -The words came with a windless whisper. - -"Have pity, Igraine." - -"I will never leave you." - -"Gorlois's wife!" - -"Never, never!" - -"My God!" - -"I am not his. Pelleas, take me body and soul; take me and let me be -your wife." - -"How can I sin against your soul, Igraine?" - -"Is it sin, then, to love me?" - -"You are Gorlois's wife before God." - -"There is no God." - -"Igraine!" - -"I will have no God but you, Pelleas." - -The man took his hands from his face and looked into Igraine's eyes. A -strong shudder passed over him, and he seemed like a great ship smitten -by a wave, till every fibre groaned and quivered in his massive frame. - -A green calm covered the valley, and the whole world seemed to faint -in the golden bosom of the day. Not the twitter of a bird broke the -vast hush of the forest. The sunlit aisles climbed into a shadowland -of mysterious silence, and an azure quiet hung above the trees. As for -Pelleas and Igraine, their two lives seemed knotted up with a cord of -gold. They had mingled breath, and taken the savour of each other's -souls. Yet for all the glory of the moment it was but autumn with -them--a pomp of passion, a red splendour dying while it blazed into the -grey ruin of a winter day. - -Igraine read her doom in the man's face. It was the face of a martyr, -pale, resolute, yet inspired. A dry sob died in her throat, and her -hands dropped from the man's shoulders. Pelleas stood back and looked -at her with a warm light in his dark eyes, the green woods rising -behind him like a bank of clouds. - -"Igraine." - -She nodded, felt miserable, and said nothing. - -"I cannot love you easily." - -Igraine's eyes stared at him with a mute bitterness. She was a woman, -and thought like a woman; mere saintly philosophy was beyond her. - -"You are too good a man, Pelleas," she said. - -"I would hold my love in my heart like a great pearl in a casket of -gold." - -"What comfort is there in mere splendid misery, and in such words?" - -"How should I love you best?" - -"Ah, Pelleas, ask your own heart." - -The man was an impossible being for mere mortal argument. He seemed to -bear spiritual pinions that tantalised the intelligence of the heart. -Igraine felt herself adrift and beaten, and she was hopeless of him to -the core. - -"Think you I shall be a saint, Pelleas," she said, "when you have given -me back to myself?" - -"I shall pray for you." - -"And for a devil!" - -She gave a shrill laugh, and twined her hair about her wrist. - -"Ah, Pelleas! you know not what you do." - -"Too well, Igraine." - -"You are too strong for me, and yet--and yet--I should not have loved -you so well if you had not been strong." - -"That is how I think of you, Igraine." - -"You love me more by leaving me." - -"I love you more by keeping you pure before my soul." - -A great calm had come upon Igraine. She was very pale and firm about -the lips, and her eyes were staunch as steel. Her voice was as clear -and level as though she spoke of trivial things. - -"I shall not go back to Gorlois," she said. - -"Beware of the man." - -"Doubtless you would speak to me of a convent." - -Pelleas fell into thought, with his dark eyes fixed upon her face. - -"As a novice." - -Igraine almost smiled at him. - -"And not a nun?" - -For answer he spoke three simple words. - -"Gorlois might die." - -The stillness of the woods seemed like the hush of a listening -multitude. A blue haze of heat hung over the rolling domes of -the western trees, and never a wind-wave stirred the long grass. -Mountainous clouds sailed radiant over ridge and spur, and it might -have been Elysium where souls wandered through meads of asphodel. - -Igraine looked long over the valley with its stately trees, its -flowering grass and quiet pool in the meadows. She was vastly calm, -though her eyes were full of a woe that seemed to well up like water -out of her soul. She still twisted and untwisted a strand of her hair -about her wrist, but for all else she was as quiet as one of the trees -that stood near and overshadowed her. - -"Pelleas," she said. - -The man came two steps nearer. - -"Go quickly." - -"Igraine!" - -"Man, man, how long will you torture me? I am only a little strong." - -The calm of tragedy seemed to dissolve away on the instant. Pelleas -thrust his hands into the air like a swimmer sinking to his death. His -heart answered Igraine's exceeding bitter cry. - -"Would we had never come to this!" - -"I cannot say that, though my heart breaks." - -Pelleas fell down and clasped her with his arms about the knees. His -face was hidden in the folds of her surcoat. Presently he loosed his -hold, looked up, took a ring from his hand and thrust it into her palm. - -"The signet of a king," he said; "keep it for need, Igraine. Have you -money?" - -"I have money, Pelleas." - -"God guard you!" - -Igraine was white to the lips, but she never wavered. - -"Heaven keep you!" she said. - -Her voice was hoarse in her throat, and she began to shiver as though -chilled by a sleety wind. - -"Go quickly, Pelleas; for God's sake hide your face from me!" - -"It is death; it is death!" - -He sprang up and left her without a look. Igraine saw him go through -the long grass with his hand over his eyes, staggering like one -sword-smitten to the brain. He never stared back at her, but held -straight for the cottage and the cedar tree where his black horse was -tethered under the shade. She watched him mount and gallop for the -forest, nor did she move till his red harness had died into the gloom -of the trees. - - - - -XIII - - -Down through the woods that morning rode Gorlois on his great white -horse, with helmet clanging at saddle-bow, shield hung at his left -shoulder, spear trailing under the trees. He was hot, thirsty, and in -a most evil temper. His bronzed face glistened with sweat, and the -chequered webs of light flickering through the leaves flashed fitfully -upon his golden harness. Since dawn he had ridden the hills in the -glare of the sun till his armour blazed like an oven; it was June -weather, and hot at that; his tongue felt like wood rubbing against -leather; it was a damnable month for bearing harness. - -Casting about over the hills he had come upon Garlotte's valley, and -seeing it green and shadowy, had plunged down to profit by the shade. -Since the Red Knight was lost to him, it was immaterial whether he rode -by wood or hill. On this account, too, Gorlois's temper was as hot as -his skin. He hated a baulking above all things; he was moved to be -furious with trifles, and like the savage who gnashes at the stone that -bruises his foot, he cursed creation and felt thoroughly at war with -the world. A grim unreason had possession of him, such a mood as makes -murder a mere impulse of the hand, and malice the prime instinct of the -heart. - -As he rode with loose rein the trees thinned suddenly, and the forest -gloom rolled back over his head. Gorlois halted mechanically under the -wooelshawe, and scanned the valley spread before him under the brown -hollow of his hand. He had expected no such open land in this waste -of wood--open land with water, a cottage, sheep feeding, and horses -tethered under the trees. One of the horses tethered there was a black. -The coincidence livened Gorlois's torpid, sunburnt face with a cool -gleam of intelligence. He sat motionless in the saddle and took the -length and breadth of the valley under the keen ken of his black eyes. - -The man swore a little oath into his peaked black beard. His face grew -suddenly rapacious as he stared out under the hollow of his hand. He -had seen a streak of red strike through the green wall far up the -eastern slope that fronted him, a scrap of colour metallic with the -hint of armour. It went to and fro under the distant trees like a -torch past the windows of a church. Gorlois's hand tightened on the -bridle. He watched the thing as a hawk watches a young rabbit in the -grass. - -Betimes he gave a queer little chuckle, and turned his horse into the -deeper shade of the trees. He began to make a circuit round the valley, -holding northwards to compass the meadows. He cast long, wary glances -into the wood as he went; tried his sword to see that it was loose in -the scabbard; took his helmet from the saddle-bow, and let down the -cheek-pieces from the crown. Before long he kicked his stirrups away, -rolled out of the saddle, and tied his horse to an oak sapling in a -little dell. Going silently on foot over the mossy grass, stopping -often to stare into the sunny vistas of the forest, moving more or -less from tree to tree, he worked his way southwards along the eastern -slope. Streaks of meadowland and the glint of water showed below him, -and he heard the bleat of sheep far away, and the tinkling of a bell. - -Presently the murmur of voices came to him through the woods. He -ventured on another fifty paces, then stopped behind a tree to listen. -There were two voices, he was sure of that: one was a woman's, and the -other had the sonorous vibration of a man's bass. Gorlois's eyes took a -queer, far-away look, and his strong teeth showed between his lips. - -He worked his way on through the trees with the cautious and deliberate -instinct of a hunter. The two voices gained in timbre, character, and -expression. Their talk was no jays' chatter; Gorlois could tell that -from the emphasis of sound, and a certain dramatic melody that ran -through the whole. Soon the voices were very near. Going on his belly, -with his sword held in his left hand, he crawled like a gilt dragon -through a forest of springing fern. He crawled on till he was quite -near the two who stood and talked under the trees. Lying flat, never -venturing to lift his head, he crouched, breathing hard through his -nostrils and holding his scabbarded sword crosswise beneath his chin. - -Gorlois's face, scarred and drawn as it was, seemed as he listened a -clear mirror for the portrayal of human passion. His black moustachios -twitched above his angular jaw; his eyes took a rapacious and glazed -look, and a shadow seemed to cover his face. He turned and twisted as -he lay, and dug the points of his iron-shod shoes into the soft ground -as though in the crisis of some pain. It was the woman's voice that did -all this for him. Every word seemed like the wrench of a hook in his -flesh, as he cursed and twisted under the bracken. - -Presently he lay still again, as though to listen the better. He could -hear something of what was said to the man in the red harness, but the -main drift of their talk was beyond him. Pelleas! Pelleas! He squirmed -like a crushed snake at each sounding of the name. The bracken hardly -swayed as he crawled on some twenty paces and again lay still, with his -cheek resting upon the scabbard of his sword. - -"Gorlois might die." - -Gorlois heard the words as plainly as though they had been spoken into -his ear. A vast silence hung like thunder over the forest. Gorlois lay -as though stunned with a stone, his dry mouth pressed to the cold steel -of the sword. His eyes took a stubborn stare under the sweep of his -casque. With gradual labour he raised himself upon his elbows, drew his -knees up under his body, and lifted his head slowly above the sweep of -green. - -The ground fell away slightly from where Gorlois knelt in the bracken, -and he could look down on the two who stood under the trees, while the -fern fronds hid his harness. He saw a woman in violet and gold, her -hair falling straight on either side of her face, and her arms folded -crosswise over her breast. He saw also the knight in red harness, with -his locked hands twisting above his head as in an agony, while his face -was hidden by his arm. A passionate whisper of words passed between the -two. Even when Gorlois watched, the man in the red harness jerked -round and fell on his knees at the woman's feet. Gorlois suddenly saw -his face; it was the face of Uther the King. - -[Illustration: "LIFTED HIS HEAD SLOWLY ABOVE THE SWEEP OF GREEN"] - -Gorlois dropped back under the bracken as though smitten through with a -sword. He lay there a long while with his head upon his arms. A sudden -breeze came up the valley, sounding through the trees, swaying the -green fronds above the man's harness, calling a gradual clamour from -the woods. The overmastering image of the King seemed to frown down -Gorlois for the moment, and he crouched like a dog--with the courage -crushed out of his soul. - -Betimes Gorlois's reason revived from the stroke that had stunned it -for a season. Like Jonah's gourd a quick purpose sprang up and shadowed -him from the too hasty heat of his own passions. He was a virile -man, capable of great wrath and great resentment. Yet he was no mere -firebrand. His malice, strangely enough, was one-handed and reached out -only against the woman. For Uther he conceived a superhuman envy, a -passion that rose above mere bloody expiation by the sword. Gorlois had -the wit to remember the finer cruelties of a spiritual vengeance, the -gain of wounding the soul rather than the flesh. His malice was a thing -fanatical in itself, yet taken from the forge to be cooled and tempered -like steel. - -When he lifted his head again above the bracken, Uther had gone, and -Igraine stood alone under the trees. She stood straight and motionless -as some tall flower, her hair falling like quiet sunlight, unshaken by -a wind. Her great beauty leapt out into Gorlois's blood and maddened -him. As she looked out over the valley, Gorlois, straining his neck -above the bracken, could see that she watched Uther as he went down -from her towards the pool. Even to Gorlois there was something tragic -about the solitary figure under the trees, a stiff, grievous look as -though woe had transformed her into a pillar of stone. To him the -affair seemed a mere assignation, a hazardous passage of romance. -Measuring the souls of others by his own morality, he guessed nothing -of the deeper throes that surged through the tale like the long moan of -a night wind. - -Gorlois saw Uther and his black horse disappear into the opposing bank -of woodland. Viciously satisfied, he lay in the bracken and watched -Igraine, coming by a queer pleasure in considering her beauty, and -in the knowledge that her very life was poised on the point of his -sword. How little she thought of the man-dragon lying in his gilded -scales under the green of the feathery fronds. Gorlois felt a kind of -arrogance of ownership boasting itself in his heart. Certainly he held -a means more sinister than the sword wherewith to perfect his vengeance -and to preserve his honour. A very purgatory, bolgia upon bolgia, -stretched out in prospect for the souls of the two who had done him -this great evil. Gorlois made much of it, with a joy that was hard and -durable as iron. - -Igraine stirred at last from her stupor of immobility. Walking -unsteadily, as though faint in the heat, she passed out from the -trees with their mingling of sun and shadow, and went down through -the long grass towards the pool and the cottage. Gorlois knelt in the -bracken, and watched her with a smile. There was little chance of her -escaping, and he could be as deliberate as he pleased over the matter. -He inferred with reason that the cottage served her as a lodging in -this woodland solitude, where she lay hid from all the world save -from Uther, whose courtezan she was. Gorlois laughed--a keen, biting -laugh--at the thought of it all. At least he would go back for his -horse and spear, and make a fitting entry before the woman who was his -wife. - -Igraine, walking as though in her sleep, came into the cottage, and -almost fell into Garlotte's arms. The girl looked frightened, and very -white about the lips. She could find nothing in her heart to say to -Igraine; she helped her to the bed, and ran to the cupboard to get wine. - -"Drink it," she said, the cup rocking to and fro in her hand. - -Igraine did her best, but spilt much of the stuff upon her bosom, -where it made a stain like blood. She sat on the edge of the bed, and -looked into the distance with expressionless eyes. Her hands were very -cold. Garlotte chafed them between her own, murmured a word or two, but -could not bring herself to look into Igraine's face. From the valley -the bleating of sheep came up with a sudden wind, and the red roses -flung their faces across the latticed casement. - -Igraine was looking through the window into the deep green of the -woods. She could see the place where Pelleas had left her, even the -tree under which she had stood when she had pleaded with him without -avail. How utterly quiet everything seemed. Surely June was an evil -month for her; had it not brought double misery--and well-nigh broken -her heart? And the end of it all was that she was to go back to a -convent, to grey walls, vigils, and the sounding of a bell. Even that -was better than being Gorlois's wife. - -Suddenly, as she sat and stared out of the casement, her body grew -tense and eager as a bent bow. Her eyes hardened, lost their dreamy -look; the hands that had rested in Garlotte's gripped the girl's wrists -with a force that made her wince. - -"Saddle the horse." - -The words came in a hard whisper. Garlotte stared at her, and did not -stir. - -"Child, never question me; be quick, on your life." - -Igraine, a different woman in a moment, had started up and taken her -shield and helmet from the wall. Her sword was girded to her. Quick -as thought, she gathered up her trailing hair, thrust on the casque, -strapped it to the neck-plate under her surcoat. Garlotte, vastly -puzzled, but inspired by Igraine's earnestness, had hurried out with -saddle and bridle over her shoulder. As she ran through the garden, she -looked up to the woods and saw the reason of Igraine's flurry. A knight -had come out from the forest on a white horse, his armour flashing and -blazing in the noonday sun. He had halted motionless at the edge of -the woodland, as though to mark what was passing beneath him in the -valley. - -Garlotte found Igraine armed beside her, as she stood by the grey -horse under the cedar, and tugged with trembling fingers at the saddle -straps. Bit and bridle were quickly in place. Igraine, moved by a -hurried tenderness, gripped Garlotte to her with both arms. - -"God guard you, little sister." - -"Where are you going, Igraine?" - -"God knows!" - -"Who is yonder knight?" - -"Gorlois, my husband." - -Igraine climbed into the saddle from the girl's knee. She dashed in -the spurs and went at a gallop over the meadows towards the south. -Gorlois's white horse was coming at full stride through the feathery -grass. The man was riding crosswise over the valley, bent on cutting -off Igraine from the southern stretch of meadows, and driving her back -upon the woods. It was Igraine's hope to overtake Pelleas, and to put -herself behind the barrier of his shield. Gorlois, guessing her desire, -drove home the spurs, and hunted her in earnest. - -Igraine headed the man and won a lead in the first half mile. Her grey -horse plunged like a galley in a rough sea, and she held to the pommel -of her saddle to keep her seat. Gorlois thundered at full gallop in her -wake, the long grass flying before his horse's hoofs like foam. He had -thrown away his spear, and his eyes were set in a long stare on the -galloping horse ahead. The zest of the chase had hold of him, and he -used the spurs with heavy heel. - -The green woods rolled down on them as the valley narrowed to its -southern end. Igraine had never wandered so far from Garlotte's -cottage, and the ground was strange to her, nor did she know how the -country promised. Riding at full gallop, she saw with a shudder of -fear a barrier of rock running serrate across her path and closing the -narrow valley like a wall. Gorlois saw it too, and sent up a shout -that made Igraine's hate flame up into a kind of rapture. To have -turned right or left up the steep grass slope towards the woods, would -have given back to Gorlois the little start she had of him. With a numb -chill at her heart she abandoned all hope of Pelleas, and turned to -face the inevitable, and Gorlois her lord. - -The man came up like a wind through the grass, and drew rein roughly -some ten paces away. He laughed as he stared at Igraine, an uncouth, -angering laugh like the yapping of a dog. He looked big and burly in -the saddle, and the muscles stood out in his neck as he tilted his -square jaw and stared down at his wife. Igraine had not looked upon his -face since he had been smitten in battle. Its ugliness seemed to match -his soul. - -Gorlois lifted up his voice and mocked her. - -"Ha, my brave, you are trapped, are you? Mother of God, but you make -a good figure of a man. These many months I have missed you, wife in -arms. And you have served in the pay of my lord the King. Good service -and good pay, I warrant, and plenty of plunder. I will have that -harness of yours hung over my bed." - -Igraine suffered him not so much as a word. She was furious, and in no -mood to be scoffed down and cowed by mere insolent strength. She looked -into Gorlois's libidinous face from behind the vizor of her helmet, -and thought her thoughts. Gorlois ran on in his mocking fashion. His -bronzed face gleamed with sweat, and a rough lascivious smile showed up -his strong white teeth to her. - -"Ha, now, madame! deliver, and let us have sight of you. The King loves -your lips, eh! They are red, and your arms are soft. I warrant he found -your bosom a good pillow. Uther was ever such a solemn soul, such a -monk, such a father. It is good for the heart to hear of him knotted up -in a woman's hair." - -Igraine shook with the immensity of her hate. - -"You were ever a foul-tongued hound," she said. - -"Am I your echo?" - -"I wish you were dead." - -"So said the King." - -"So you spied on us?" - -Gorlois set up a scoffing laugh, showing his red throat like a hungry -bird. - -"And saw my wife the King's courtezan; ha, what a jest! Come, madame, -let us be going; your honest home waits for you. I will chatter to you -of moralities by the way." - -He had hardly delivered himself of the saying, when Igraine's hand -clutched at the handle of her sword. She jerked the spurs in with her -heels. Her grey horse started forward like a bolt; blundered into -Gorlois; caught him cross-counter, and rolled his white stallion down -into the grass. Igraine had lashed out at the shock. Her sword caught -Gorlois's arm, and cut through sleeve and arm-guard to the bone. As he -rolled with his horse in the grass, she wheeled round, and clapping in -the spurs, rode hard uphill for the forest. - -Gorlois, hot as a furnace, scrambled to his feet, and dragged his horse -up by the bridle. Half off the saddle, with empty stirrups dangling, -he went at a canter for the yawn of the wood. His slashed arm burnt as -though it had been touched with a branding-iron; blood dripped down -upon his horse's white shoulder. He was soon steady in the saddle -and galloping full pelt after Igraine, the ground slipping under his -horse's hoofs like water, the long grass flying like spray. - -Igraine's horse lost ground up the slope; he had less heart than -Gorlois's beast, and was weaker in the haunches. By the time they -reached the trees, Igraine had twenty yards to her credit and no more. -She saw her chance gone, and heard Gorlois close in her wake, caught -sideways a glimpse of plunging hoofs and angry harness. Drawing aside -suddenly with all her strength, she let Gorlois sweep up on her flank -and pass her by some yards. Before he could turn, she rode into him as -fast as she could gather; her sword clattered on his helmet,--sparks -flew. - -Gorlois wrenched round and put his shield above his head. - -"By God,--hold off,--would you have me fight a woman?" - -A swinging cut rattled on his shoulder-plate for answer. - -Gorlois rapped out an oath and drew his sword. - -"Hold off!" - -His roar seemed to shake the trees. To Igraine it was the mere -meaningless threatening of a sea. She struck home again and again while -Gorlois foined with her; more than once she reached his flesh. - -Gorlois's grim patience gave way at last; a clean cut drew spurting -blood from his shoulder. - -"God curse you!--take it then." - -He swung his sword with a great downward sweep, a streak of steel that -struck crackling fire from the burnished casque. Igraine's arm dropped -like a broken bough; for half a breath she sat straight in the saddle, -swayed, sank slantwise, and slid down into the long grass. Her horse -stood still at her side, looking at her with mild blue eyes. - -Gorlois gave a queer short laugh. He looked frightened for the moment; -the flush of anger had passed and left him pale. He dismounted, bent -over Igraine, unstrapped her helmet. She was only dazed by the blow; -blood trickled red amid her hair, and her blue eyes stared him in the -face. - -She lifted up a hand with a bitter cry of defiance. - -"Strike, strike, and make an end." - -Gorlois's grimness came back, and his eyes hardened. - -"That were too good for you." - -"Devil!" - -"By God, I shall tame you--never fear!" - - - - -BOOK IV - -TINTAGEL - - - - -I - - -The castle of Tintagel stood out above the sea on a headland that rose -bluffly above the white foam that girdled it. The waves swinging in -from the west seemed to lift ever a hoarse chant about the place with -their perpetual grumbling against the cliff. Colour shifted upon the -bosom of the sea. Blue, green, and grey it would sweep into the west, -netted gold with the sun, banded with foam, or spread with purple -beneath the drifting shadow of a cloud. Hills rose in the east. Between -these crags and the sea rolled a wilderness cloven by green valleys and -a casual stream. Tintagel seemed to crown a region grand and calamitous -as the sea itself. - -The sun was going down over the waters, watched by a flaxen-haired lad -squatting on the wall of an outstanding turret. His legs dangled over -the battlements, and his heels smote against the weathered stone. There -was a premature look of age upon his face, a certain wistful wisdom -as though he had completed his novitiate early in the world. His blue -eyes, large and sensitive as a dog's, stared away over the golden edge -of the sea. - -This was Jehan the bastard, a pathetic shred of humanity, thin and -motherless, blessed with nothing save a dreamy nature that stood him in -poor stead in such a hold as Tintagel. Like any mongrel owned of none, -he was given over largely to the cuffs and curses of the community. -Men called him a fool, and treated him accordingly. He was scullion, -horse-boy, pot-bearer, by turns. The men of the garrison could make -nothing of a lad who wept at a word, never showed fight, but crept -away to mope and snivel in a corner. He had earned epithets enough, but -little else; and the rude Philistines of the place, beings of beer and -bone, knew little of those finer instincts with which Nature chooses on -occasion to endow a soul. - -At times Jehan would creep away up this turret stair to live and -breathe for a season with no friend save the ever-complaining sea. -He would perch himself on the battlements with the salt wind blowing -through his hair, the rocks beneath him boiling foam from the waves -that swept in from the west. The perch was perilous enough, but the lad -had no fear of the windy height, or of the waves breaking against the -pediment of the cliff. To him man alone was terrible. There appeared -to be a confident understanding between Nature and himself, a sense of -good fellowship with his surroundings, such as the chamois may feel for -its mountain pinnacle, and the bird for the tree that bears its nest. - -Jehan's thin face was turned often towards the central tower of the -castle, a square campanile that stood in the centre of the main court, -forming a species of citadel or keep. High up in the wall there was -a window, a streak of gloom that showed nothing of the room within. -Over Jehan this window possessed a peculiar influence. It was the -casement-royal of romance. Day by day, ever since Gorlois had come -south again, the lad had watched for the white oval of a face that -would look out momentarily from the shadow. Sometimes he saw a woman's -hand, a golden head glimmering in the sun. Jehan had seen Gorlois's -wife brought a second time into Tintagel. Her staring grief had taken -strange hold upon his heart. Ever since, with the kindled chivalry of a -boy, he had done great deeds in dreams, handled a sword, taken strong -men by the throat. The imagined event had fired the soul in him, and -made him the disciple of these sad and wistful eyes. - -A bell smote in the court below. Its iron clapper dinned the fancies -out of Jehan's head, calling him to the menial realities of life. It -was the supper hour, and the men of the guard would be strenuously -inclined over the steaming pot, the wine-jar, and the twisting spit. -Jehan left his turret with the pathetic cynicism of an autumn twilight. -Little drudge that he was, he yet had the inward independence to -despise the folk who fed like swine, and terrorised him with pure -blatant barbarism. He could listen to their blasphemy, their ribald -songs, and breathe the moral garlic of their tongues with a disrelish -that never wavered. He had none of the innate impudence of youth. -Had he been of coarser fibre the men would soon have made a lewd -and insolent imp of him, but he was spared such a fate by a certain -spiritual instinct that recoiled from the vapouring brutality of it all. - -There seemed more ribaldry abroad in the guard-room that night than was -customary even in so pious a place. The company, much like a pack of -hounds, hunted jest after jest from cover, and gave tongue royally with -a zest that would have been admirable in any other cause. Lamps swirled -ill-smelling smoke about the room. There was a lavish scattering of -armour along the benches, and the floor was dirtier than the floor of -any tavern. - -Jehan's ears tingled as he went among the men, climbing over sprawling -legs, edging between stools and benches. The air reeked of mead, and -the miasma of loose talk rising from twenty throats. A woman's name was -tossed from tongue to tongue, bandied about with a familiar insolence -that made him blush for her like a brother. His heart burnt with the -bestial impudence, the sweat, the foul breath of it all. Yet before -these red-bearded faces, these vociferous mouths, he was a coward, -hating himself for his fear, hating the men for the sheer tyranny of -the flesh that awed him. - -To hear in this den such things spoken of a woman, and of such a woman! -That she was true his quick instinct could aver in the very maw of the -world. There was the silver calm of the full moon in her face, and -she had for him the steadfastness, the incomprehensible eloquence, of -the stars. Were these men blind, that the staring grief, the divine -scorn, that had smitten him from the first with a vague awe, were -invisible to them? Their coarse cynicism was brutally incomprehensible -to Jehan. Having a soul, he could not see with the eyes of the sot or -the adulterer, nor had he learnt to mistrust the intelligence of his -own heart. - -As he laboured from man to man with his jug of mead to keep the brown -horns brimming, he thought of the golden head that had glimmered in -the criss-cross light of the yews in the castle garden. The woman had -been faithless, to put popular report mildly; and Gorlois was a hard -man; he would see her dead before he pitied her. Jehan was so far gone -in dreams for the moment that he tripped over an outstretched pair of -legs, and shattered his stone jar on the floor. - -A "God curse you," and lavish largesse in the way of kicks, recompensed -the dreamer for this contempt of office. Jehan, bruised, spattered -with mead, crawled away under the benches, and took refuge in a dark -corner, where he could recover his wits behind the piled pikes of the -gentlemen who cursed him. Such incidents were the trivialities of a -menial existence. Jehan wiped his face on his sleeve, choked down his -sobs with a dirty fist, and devoutly hoped to be forgotten. - -Meanwhile a broad figure had stood framed in the doorway, and drawn the -attention of the company from the boy squirming like an eel along the -floor. Jehan, peeping round the pile of pikes, saw a woman in a scarlet -gown standing under a lamp that flared on the threshold. The woman was -of unusual girth and height. Her black hair streamed about her sensual -red face like clouds about a winter sun. Her neck was like the neck of -a bull, and her bare arms would have shamed the arms of a smith. Jehan -watched her as he would have watched a natural enemy, a thing whose -destiny was to be brutish and to destroy. - -Men called her Malmain, the evil-handed. She was a cub of the forest, -strong as a bear, cruel as any wolf. Years ago she had been caught as a -child in the woods, tracked down to a rocky hole, a whelp that clawed -and bit, and knew nothing of the speech of men. She had been brought -to Tintagel and bred in the place, the pet of the soldiery, who had -taught her the use of arms and the smack of wine. In ten years she had -grown to her full strength, a creature wise in all the uncomely things -of life, coarse, bold, and violent. Last of all, Gorlois, with a genius -for vengeance, had given her charge of Igraine, his wife. - -The woman was good to look upon in a large, florid fashion. She came in -and sat herself down on a stool at the end of one long wooden table, -and stared round with her hard brown eyes. One man passed her a cup, -another the wine jar. She tossed the former aside with an air of scorn, -and buried her face in the mouth of the jar. When she had taken her -pull she spat on the floor with a certain quaint deliberation, and -wiped her mouth on the back of her bare arm. - -A wicked innuendo came from a man grinning at her elbow. Malmain -laughed and pulled at her lip. Her presence conferred no leavening -influence upon the place, and her sex made no claim for decorum. She -was more than capable of caring for herself in the company of these -gentlemen of the guard, for she could take her laugh and liquor with -the best of them, and claim a solid respect for a fist that could smite -like a mace. - -She flustered up a sigh that ended in a hiccough. "I am tired," she -said, stretching her arms and showing the breadth and depth of her -great chest. - -"Go to bed, fragile one, and shake the castle." - -"Little chance of that; who says I snore?" - -"Gildas the trumpeter." - -"Curse him; how should he know?" - -The man questioned grinned, and shrugged his shoulders. - -"I meddle no further," he said. "How is the lord's wife?" - -Malmain licked her lips and reached for the pot. She tilted it with -such gusto that the liquor overflowed and ran down her chin. After more -cat's-pawing and a snivel she waxed communicative with a matter-of-fact -coarseness, and like an old hound soon had the rest tonguing in her -track. - -"Gorlois will break her yet," quoth one. - -"Or bury her." - -"A fit fellow, too,--and a gentleman; why can't she knuckle to him and -play the lady?" - -"The woman's worth three of that chit with the white face; a fine brat -ought to come of it." - -Malmain showed her strong white teeth. - -"Somehow," she said, "there's no more cross-grained creature than a -woman with a grievance, especially when she has been baulked of her -man. Let a woman speak for a woman, though I break the spirit of her -with a whip. There's less fighting now; by Jesus, you should see her -bones staring through her skin." - -Jehan had listened to their talk behind the pile of pikes in the -corner. The blatant cynicism of it all chilled him like a March wind. -He thought of the sad, strong face, the patient scorn, the youth, the -prophetic May of her of whom they spoke. There was a certain terrible -realism here that tore the tender bosom of his dreams. - -The room stifled him with its smoke and stew. Crawling round by the -wall on all fours, he gained the door and crept out unnoticed into the -dark. In the sky above the stars were shining. The world seemed big -with peace, and the face of the heavens shone mild and clear as the -face of God. - -Jehan stood under the shadow of the wall and looked at the window high -up in the tower. It was black and lustreless, and only the dust of the -stars shone up in the vast canopy of gloom. Jehan shook his fist at the -dark pile of stone. Then he went up to the roof of the little turret -and watched the sea foaming dimly on the rocks below. - - - - -II - - -"I would have you know, madame, that every woman is pleasing to -man,--saving his own wife." - -"Who in turn is pleasing to his friend,--even if he chance to be a -king." - -The woman on the couch tossed her slipper from her small foot, and -struck a series of snapping chords from the guitar that she held in -her bosom. There was a certain rich insolence in her look,--a sensuous -wickedness that was wholly poetic. The man bent forward from his stool, -lifted the slipper, and kissed the foot whence it had fallen. He won a -smile from the face bowered up in cushions, a smile like sunlight on -a brazen mirror, brilliant, clear, metallic. There was a fine flush -on her face, and the star on her bosom rose and fell as her breathing -seemed to quicken and deepen for the moment. Her fingers plucked -waywardly at the strings as she looked out from the window towards the -sea. - -"I love life," she said. - -"Surely." - -"The pomp, the pride, the glory of being great. I have a future for -you." - -A kind of spiritual echo burnt in the man's eyes. - -"And my wife?" - -"You are still something of a madman." - -"So you say." - -"I--indeed!" - -He bent forward with a sudden eruption of passion and kissed her foot -again, till she drew it away under the folds of her dress. - -"Ah, you are still a little mad," she said, turning and smiling at him -with her quick eyes; "bide so, my dear lord; I can suffer it." - -"And yet--" - -"I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" - -"Bah!--she cannot harm you." - -"I hate her for being a martyr, for being strong, for thinking herself -a saint. Pah!--how I could scratch her proud, big face. She humiliates -me because of her misery, because she is contented to suffer. It is -impossible to trample such a woman underfoot." - -The man gave a queer laugh. - -"You are still envious." - -"I envious,--I!" - -"Because she is never humbled, never asks mercy." - -"Curse her, let her die! Come and fan me, I am sleepy." - -On the southern side of the central tower, between it and the State -quarters of the castle, lay the garden of Tintagel. It was a lustrous -nook, barriered by grey walls, sheltered from the sea wind, and open to -the full stare of the sun. Sombre cypresses lifted their spires above -flower-beds mosaicked red, gold, and blue. The paths were tiled with -coloured stones, and bordered with helichryse. In the centre of all a -pool glimmered from a square of bright green grass. - -The window in the tower that had so seized upon the lad Jehan's heart -looked out upon this square of colour that shone beneath the extreme -blue of the summer sky. The casement was an open mihrab whence tragedy -could look out upon the world. The glory of the sea, the sky, the -cliffs, contrasted with the twilight tint of the prison room. - -Gorlois's wife sat in the window-seat and watched the waves and the -horizon with vacant eyes. She was clad in a tattered gown of grey. Her -hair had been shorn close, leaving but a golden aureole over neck, -ears, and forehead. One hand was wrapped in a blood-stained cloth, and -there were marks left by a whip upon her face. Her gown reached hardly -to her ankles, showing bare feet and wheals, where the scourge had -been. She was very frail, very worn, very spiritual. - -Her face was the face of one who looks into the solemn sadness of the -past. Her lips were pressed together as in pain, and a certain divine -despair dwelt in her deep eyes like light reflected from some twilight -pool. The muscles stood limned in her neck like cords, and the fingers -of one hand were hooked in the neck-band of her gown. - -Many days had passed since the life in Garlotte's valley. They had -taught Igraine the deeds that might result from the stirring of the -passions of such a man as Gorlois. It was a strenuous age, and men's -souls were cast in large mould either to the image of good or evil. -Even Boethius could not escape the malice of a great king. Attila had -scourged the nations with a scourge of steel. Old things were passing -amid disruption and despair. Gorlois had caught the Titanic, violent -spirit of the age. His personality had won a lurid emphasis from -tragedies that shook the world. - -Igraine had suffered many things, shame, torture, famine, since she had -fallen again into his power. The man had shown no pity, only a fine -fecundity in his devices for the breaking of her spirit. He could be -barbarous as any Hun, and though she had guessed his fibre, it was not -till these latter days that she learnt to know him more fully to her -own distress. It was not the physical alone that oppressed her; Gorlois -had imagination, ingenuity; he made her moral sufferings keener than -the lash, and subordinated the flesh to the spirit. Igraine withstood -him through it all. She felt in her heart that she was going to die. - -As she sat at the window, the sound of laughter came up suddenly from -the garden, glowing in the sunlight. Mere mockery might have been its -inspiration, so light, so merry, and so mellow was it. Igraine heard -it, and leant forward over the sill to gain a broader view of the tiled -walks and flower-beds below. She saw a woman dart out of a doorway in -the wall opposite, and run in very dainty fashion, holding her skirts -gathered in one hand, the other flourishing a posy of red roses. As -she ran she laughed with an unrestrained extravagance that had in it -something sensual and alluring. - -Igraine watched her with a badge of colour in her cheeks. The woman -in the garden was clad in a tunic of sky-blue silk that ran down her -body like flowing water. The tunic was cut low at the neck so as to -show her white breast, whereon shone a little cross of gold. Her hair -shimmered loose about her in the sunlight like an amber veil. Her -lips were tinctured with vermilion; her face seemed white as apple -blossom, and shadows had been painted under her lids. She moved with -a graceful, sinuous air, her blue gown rippling about her, her small -feet, slippered with silver embroidery, flashing glibly over the stones. - -A man was following her among the cypresses, and Igraine saw that it -was Gorlois, sunburnt and strong, with ruddy arms, and the strenuous -zest of manhood. There was something unpleasing in the muscular -movement of his mood. He was Græcian and antique, a Mars striding with -the red face of no godly love; sheer bovine vigour in the curves of his -strong throat. - -Igraine saw the woman run round the garden, laughing as she went, her -hair blowing behind her in the sunlight. She turned up the central -path that led to the pool, with its little lawn closed by a balustrade -of carved stone. Morgan la Blanche stood by the water and watched -Gorlois abjuring the paths and striding towards her, knee-deep in blue -and purple. He leapt the balustrade, and stood looking at the woman -laughing at him through her hair. - -The red roses were thrust into Gorlois's face as he came to closer -quarters. There was a short scuffle before the girl abandoned herself -to him with a kind of sensuous languor. Igraine saw her body wrapped up -in the man's brown arms. - -It was a minute or more before the two became aware of the face at -the window overhead. Igraine found them staring up at her, Gorlois's -swarthy face close to the woman's light aureole of hair as she stood -buttressed against his broad chest. By instinct Igraine drew back -into the room, till pride conquered this shrinking impulse. She leant -forward upon her hands and stared down at the two, allegorical as Truth -shaming Falsehood. - -The woman, meanwhile, had drawn aside from Gorlois's arms. She was -pulling the roses to pieces, and scattering the red petals on the -water, and there was a peevish sneer upon her lips. - -"Ever this white death," she said. - -Igraine saw the impatient gesturing of Morgan's hands, the tap of -the embroidered slipper on the grass. The woman's words seemed to -trouble Gorlois; he stood aside, and did not look at her, even when -she edged away, watching him over her shoulder. It was a conflict of -dishonourable sensations. Morgan jerked a quick look from her large -blue eyes at the window overhead. There was nothing but rampant egotism -upon her face, and it was evident that she trusted on Gorlois to follow -her. He was staring swarthily into the water as though he watched the -fish moving in the shallow basin. He hardly heeded Morgan as she picked -up her pride and left him. Other thoughts seemed to have strong hold -upon his mind, and he stood at gaze till the blue gown disappeared -under the arch of the door it had so lately quitted. - -Gorlois leant against the balustrade and pulled his moustachios. His -eyes had no very spiritual look, and his red lower lip drooped like an -unfurled scroll. More than once he cast a quick, restless glance at -the window in the tower. Irresolution seemed to run largely through -his mood, and it was some while before he gathered his manhood and -passed up an avenue of cypresses towards the tower. At the foot of the -stairway he stood pulling his lip, and staring at the stones, oppressed -by a certain dubiousness of thought. - -Climbing the stairs, he found the woman Malmain in an alcove, asleep -on a settle. Her head had fallen back against the wall, her mouth was -agape, and she was snoring with her black hair tumbled over her face. -Gorlois woke her with his foot. - -The woman started up with the growl of a watch-dog, stared, and stood -silent. Gorlois, curt as a man burdened with a purpose, spoke few words -to her. She opened a door by a certain, mechanical catch, went in, and -closed it after her. - -Half an hour passed. - -The door rolled again on its hinges. Malmain came out and stood before -Gorlois on the threshold. She was breathing hard, and sweat stood on -her face. Gorlois gave her a look and a word, passed in, and slammed -the door after him. Malmain sat down on the settle, wiped her face, and -listened. - -For a minute or more she heard nothing. An indefinite sound broke the -silence, like the moving of branches in a wind at night. There was the -sound of hard breathing, and the creaking of wood. Something clattered -to the floor. - -"God judge between you and me." - -The voice was half-stifled as with the choking bitterness of great -shame. Malmain grinned in her corner, and leant her head against the -door to listen the better. - -"What of God!" said the man's voice with a certain hot scorn; "what is -God?" - -"Take your knife and end it." - -"Madame wife, there is good in you yet." - -There was silence again, like a lull betwixt ecstasies of rain. -Presently the woman's voice was heard, low, sullen, shamed. - -"Man--man, let me die!" - -"Own me master." - -"You--you! How can I lie in my throat!" - -"Is truth so new a thing?" - -"You have taught me to love death." - -Malmain heard Gorlois's hand upon the door. She opened it forthwith; -he came out upon the threshold. His hands were trembling, and his face -seemed dull, his eyes passionless. - -"I shall tame you yet," he said. - -"You can kill me!" came the retort from the room. - - - - -III - - -There was in Tintagel a certain man named Mark, a legionary of the -guard. The castle had known him two months or less, when he had come -south into Cornwall with Gorlois's troop from Caerleon. He was an -olive-skinned mercenary, black of beard and black of eye. In the -guard-room he had become vastly popular; he could harp, tell a tale, -hurl the bar, with any man in the garrison. He was strong and agile as -a panther, and as ready with his tongue as he was with his sword. His -comrades thought him a merry rapscallion enough, a good fellow whose -life was rounded comfortably by the needs of the flesh. He could drink -and jest, eat, sleep, and be happy. - -Women have quick instinct for a man of mettle, one whose capabilities -for pleasing are somewhat of a perilous kind. Malmain of the Forest -had taken note of Mark's black eyes, his olive skin, the immense -self-control that seemed to bridle him. He had a fine leg, and a most -gentlemanly hand. Moreover, his inimitable impudence, his supple wit, -took her fancy, seeing that he was a man who professed a superb scorn -for petticoats, and posed as being wise beyond his generation. There -was a certain insolent independence about him that seemed to make of -him a philosopher, a person pleased with the puerilities of others. - -It came about that Malmain--clumsy, lumbering creature--took to heaving -stupendous sighs under the very nose of Mark of the guard. She had not -been bred to reservations. If she liked a man, she told him the truth, -with a certain admirable frankness. If she hated him, he could always -rely upon her fist. Any ethical principle was like a book to her--very -curious, no doubt, but absolutely beyond her understanding. - -Now the man Mark was a person of intelligence and discretion. He needed -the woman's friendship for diplomatic reasons snared up in his own -long skull, and since such partisanship could be won by a look and a -word, he soon had Malmain very much at his service. Shrewd and cunning -wench that she was in the course of nature, she was somewhat easily -fooled by the man's suave impudence. She haunted Mark like a shadow -when off her duty,--a very substantial shadow, be it noted,--and made -it extravagantly plain that she was blessed after all with some of the -sentiments of a woman. - -One evening, being in the mood, she caught him in a bye-passage as he -came off guard. He was in armour, and carried a spear slanted over his -shoulder. His burnished casque seemed to give a fine setting to his -strong, sallow face. - -Malmain, generous creature, filled the passage like a gate. Her face -matched her scarlet smock, and she was grinning like some grotesque -head from the antique. Mark came to a halt, and leaning on his spear, -looked at her in the most bland manner possible. He did not trust -women overmuch, and he mistrusted Malmain in particular. Moreover, she -smacked of the wine-cask. - -The woman edged close, and shook a fist in his face with a certain -bluff enthusiasm. - -"A bargain! a bargain!" - -The passage was open to the west, and a glare of sunlight shimmered -into Mark's eyes. He could only see the woman as a great blur, a mass -of trailing hair, a loose, exuberant smock haloed with gold. - -"Ha! my cherub, you seem in fettle." - -The fist still flickered in his face. - -"A bargain! a bargain!" - -"Mother of mercy! you are in such a devil of a hurry." - -"A kiss for what's in my hand." - -"A buffet--big one--a rush-ring, or a garter?" - -"That tongue of yours; look and see, look and see!" - -Malmain spread her fingers. The man saw a ring of gold carved in the -form of a dragon, with rubies for eyes, and a collar of emeralds about -its throat. Lying in the woman's moist, fat palm, it glimmered in the -slant light of the sun. Mark's eyes glittered as he looked at it. - -"I had the thing from the woman above," quoth Malmain, jerking her -thumb over her shoulder. - -"A bribe?" - -"Who'd bribe me? Not a woman!" - -"Honest soul." - -"'That ring looks well on your finger,' said I. 'I shall have it.' -'Never!' said she. 'That's too big a word,' said I. So I forced it off, -for all her temper, and broke her finger in the doing of it." - -A transient shadow seemed to pass across the man's face, the wraith of -a ghost-wrath insensible to the world. - -"Close the bargain, cherub." - -"A buss for it." - -"Twenty kisses in a week, and my mug of supper beer." He had the ring. - -Malmain did not stand alone in her devotion to Mark of the guard. The -man had come by another friend in Tintagel, a friend without influence, -it is true, but one, at least, who possessed abundant individuality, -and the charm of an ingenuous nature. Mark was no mere bravo when he -turned partisan to the lad Jehan, and took him within the pale of his -mothering wit. He had a profound knowledge of men, and a philosophic -insight into character that had not been gained solely on the march or -in the ale-house. By profession he appeared a devil-may-care gentleman -of the sword, a man of bone and muscle, the possessor of a vigorous -stomach. These attributes were mere stage properties, so to speak, -necessary to him for the occasion. For the rest, he knew what he knew. - -Mark had seen more than cowardice in the sensitive face of the lad. -He had discovered the soul beneath the surface, the warmer, bolder -personality behind the deceit of the flesh. Jehan appealed to him as -a friendless thing, a vial of glass jostled in the stream of life by -rough potsherds and sounding bowls. Mark took the lad in hand and made -a disciple of him in less than a week. He humoured the lad, encouraged -him, treated him like a comrade, drew the soul out of his limp, -starved body. Jehan had never fallen upon such a friend before. He was -bewitched by the man's personality. This Mark with the strong face and -the falcon's eye seemed to see deep into the finer sentiments of life, -to think as he thought, to conceive as he conceived. Jehan, unconscious -little idealist that he was, bubbled over into innumerable confidences -and confessions of feeling. This dark-eyed man, who never laughed at -him, whose voice was never blatant and threatening, seemed to exert -a magnetic influence upon his spirit. Jehan throned him a species of -demigod, and idolised him as he had idolised few living things on earth -before. - -There was more method in Mark's friendship than his comrades of the -guard ever dreamt of in their thick noddles. They had many a laugh at -Malmain and many a jest at her expense, but their wit never worked -beyond vulgar banality. As for Jehan, his existence certainly seemed -to better itself so far as they were concerned, though what the man -Mark could see worth patronising in the lad, they were at a loss -to discover. Jehan grew less servile, less diffident, more open of -countenance. He hided a cook-boy of his own age in a casual scuffle. -Mark had used a strong arm and a stronger wit for him on occasion, and -the little bastard was no longer cuffed at the random pleasure of every -gentleman of Gorlois's guard. - -Jehan often spoke to Mark of the lady of the tower whose hair was like -the red-gold cloak of autumn. The man seemed ready to hear of her -beauty and her distress, and all the multitudinous tales concerning her -given from the guard-room. He kindled to the romantic possibilities -of the affair, and was as full of sentiment as Jehan himself could -wish. Saying little at first, he watched the lad with keen, discerning -eyes, as though tracing out the trend, depth, and sincerity of his -sympathies; nor was he long ignorant of the strain of chivalry that was -sounding in the lad's heart. The more generous sentiments leapt out -in a look, a word, a colouring of the cheek. Given inspiration, it was -possible to make a fanatic of the boy, a hero in the higher rendering -of the term. - -In due course the man grew more communicative, less of a listener. -Jehan heard of Avangel, of the island manor in Andredswold, of Pelleas, -and of the days in Winchester. The whole tragedy was spread before -him like a legend, some mighty passion throe of the past. He listened -open-mouthed, with blue eyes that searched the man's face. Mark had -taken to himself of a sudden an air of mystery and peril. Jehan knew by -intuition that these matters were to be kept secret as the grave. Great -pride rose in him at being held worthy of such trust. He felt even -aggrieved when Mark spoke to him of discretion, with a finger on his -lip. Such a secret was like a hoard of gold to the lad. It pleased him -with a sense of responsibility and of faith, and Jehan loved honour, -for all his novitiate amid the morals of the guard-room. - -He had drunk deep of old songs, and of the heroics of the harp. Such -things were like moonlight to him, touching his soul with a lustre of -idyllic truth. He began to dream dreams, and to speculate extravagantly -as to the things that were yet hid from his knowledge. It was borne -in upon his mind that Mark was this Pelleas in disguise, come to save -Igraine from Gorlois and the towers of Tintagel. The notion took his -heart by storm, and his sympathies hovered over the woman like so many -scarlet-winged moths. He desired greatly to speak to Mark of that -which was in his heart, but feared to seem mischievous and lacking in -discretion. - -Some three days after Malmain had given Mark the Lady Igraine's ring, -Gorlois rode hunting with Morgan la Blanche and a train of knights -and damsels. Half the castle turned out to see them sally with their -ten couple of hounds in leash, and a goodly company of prickers and -beaters. Gareth the minstrel rode with the company on a white horse -and sang to the harp a hunting song, and then a chant d'amour. -Morgan's laugh was as clear as a bell pealing over water as she rode at -Gorlois's side in the sunlight, her silks and samites and gold-green -tissues fluttering in the wind. - -Jehan ran over the bridge to see them go down into the valley. The dogs -tugged at the thongs, the boar spears glittered, the dresses threaded -the maze of green as roses thread a briar. Jehan climbed a rock, -exulting in the life, the spirit, the colour of it all. Gareth's strong -voice came up from the valley as he sang of love and of the fairness of -women. Jehan envied him his harp and the honour that it won him. It was -his own hope to sing of the beauty of the world, the green ecstasy of -spring, of autumn forests flaming to the sky, the eternal sorrow of the -tortured sea. He came by this same desire in later years when he sang -to Arthur and Guinevere and Launcelot of the Lake in the gardens of -Caerleon. - -A hand plucked him by the heel as he lay curled on the rock watching, -the cavalcade flickering away into the green. Looking down, he saw the -strong face of Mark of the guard. There was a smile on the man's lips, -and to Jehan there seemed something prophetic in his eyes. He climbed -down and stood looking into the other's face, the mute, trusting look -of a dog. - -Mark took him by the shoulder. - -"The sea is blue and gold, and the 'Priest's Pool' like a violet well." - -"There is time for a swim." - -"We will watch for a sail from the cliffs." - -"And you will tell me more of Pelleas and Igraine." - -Mark was in a visionary mood; he used his spear as a staff and talked -little. A sleepy sea bubbled a line of foam along the shore. Bleak -slopes rolled greenly against an azure sky, and landwards crag and -woodland stood steeped in a mist of sunlight. Jehan, sedulous and -reverent, watched the passionless calm of thought upon the man's face. -His eyes were turned constantly towards the sea with the hope of one -waiting for a white sail from the underworld. - -When they had gone a mile or more along the cliffs, they came to a -path leading to a bay whose lunette of sand shone red gold above the -foam. It was a place of crags and headlands, poised sea billows, purple -waters pressing from the west. Jehan sat on a stone and waited. Mark -took his cloak and bound it to the staff of his spear. Jehan watched -him as he stood at his full height like a tall pine on the edge of the -cliff and lifted his spear at arm's length above his head. Seawards, -dim and distant like a pearl over the purple sea, Jehan saw a sail -strike out of the vague west. Mark still held the cloak upon his spear. -Jehan understood something of all this. His mind, packed with plots and -subtleties, shone with the silvery aureole of romance. - -The sail grew against the sky, and a ship loomed gradual out of the -west. Mark shook the cloak from his spear, and climbed down the path -that curled from the cliff with Jehan at his heels. Below, the waves -swirled in amid the rocks and ran ripple on ripple up the yellow sand. -The whole place seemed filled with the hoarse underchant of the sea. - -In a narrow part of the track Mark stopped suddenly, and stood leaning -on his spear. Jehan nearly blundered into him, but saved himself by the -help of a tuft of grass. The man's face was on a level with the lad's, -and his eyes seemed to look into Jehan's soul. - -He pointed to the distant headland, where the towers of Tintagel rose -against the sky. - -"Death waits yonder," he said. - -"For whom?" - -"Igraine,--Gorlois's wife." - -Jehan looked at him with all his soul. The man was no longer the -quaint, vapouring soldier, but a being of different mould, keen, -solemn, even magnificent. Jehan felt himself on the verge of romance; -the man's face seemed to stare down fear. - -"And Pelleas!" he said. - -"Pelleas?" - -"Art thou not Pelleas?" - -Mark smiled in his eyes. - -"Your dreams fly too fast," he said. - -"And yet--" - -"You would see some one play the hero. Who knows but that a bastard may -save a kingdom." - -Mark moved on down the path, stopping now and again to watch the ship -at sea; Jehan followed at his heels. They reached the beach, and saw -the waves rolling in on them from the west, with the white belly of -a sail showing over the water. Mark made no further tarrying in the -matter. Standing on a stretch of sand levelled smooth by the water, he -traced a cross thereon with the point of his spear. - -"Swear by the cross." - -Jehan's face was turned to the man's, eager and enquiring. - -"To whom shall I swear troth?" he said. - -"To Gorlois's wife." - -"Ah!" - -"And to the King." - -"The King!" - -Jehan crossed himself with great good-will. - -"By the blood of the Lord Jesu, I swear troth." - -They went down close to the waste of waters, and let the spume sweep -almost to their feet. A vast blue bank of clouds mountained the far -west; the sea seemed deep in colour as an amethyst. Gulls were winging -and wailing about the cliffs. Tintagel stood out in its strength -against the sky, and they could see the waves white upon its rocks. - -Mark took the ring Malmain had given him from a pouch at his belt, and -held the gold circle before the lad's eyes. - -"From the hand of Gorlois's wife," he said. - -Jehan nodded. - -"This ring was given her by that Pelleas." - -"Yes." - -"Who is Uther Pendragon, the King." - -Jehan's blue eyes seemed to dilate till they looked strangely large in -his thin white face. - -"The King!" he said, in a kind of whisper. - -Mark made all plain to him in a few words. - -"The Lady Igraine loved Pelleas, as well she might, not knowing him to -be Ambrosius's brother. It was this same great love that brought her in -peril of Gorlois's sword. It is this same love that draws her down to -her death--there in Tintagel. Uther Pendragon is at Caerleon; her hope -is with him. You, Jehan, shall carry word of this to the King." - -The lad's heart was beating like the heart of a giant. The world seemed -to expand about him, to grow luminous with the glory of great deeds; -he had the braying of a hundred trumpets in his ears. He heard swords -ring, saw banners blow, and towers topple like smitten trees. - -"I am the King's servant," he said. - -"You have sworn troth; so be it. You shall go to the King, to Uther -Pendragon, at Caerleon. Tell him you had this ring from a soldier, -bribed to deliver it by the Lady Igraine. Tell him the evil that is -done to her in the castle of Tintagel. Tell him all--withhold nothing." - -Jehan flushed to the temples; his lips moved, but no words came from -them. He stood stiff and erect, looking out to sea, following with his -eyes the sweep of Mark's spear. - -"I am the King's servant," he said. - -The ship had drawn in towards the shore. She was lying to with her -sails put aback, her black hull rising and falling morosely against -the tumultuous purple of the clouds. Nearer still a small galley came -heading for the shore with a gush of foam at her prow as the men in her -bent to the oars. The galley came swinging in on the broad backs of the -sluggish waves, and shooting the surf, grounded on the sands, the men -in her leaping out and dragging her beyond the reach of the sea. - -There was a more mellow light on Mark's face as he pointed Jehan to -the boat, and the ship swaying on the sun-gilded waves. - -"They will carry you to Caerleon," he said. - -"And you, sire?" - -"There is need of me at Tintagel." - -"I have sworn troth." - -Jehan stood and looked into the west at the clouds gold-ribbed, domed, -snow, and purple. His face might have been lit by the warm glow of a -lamp, so clear and radiant was it. He had thrust the King's ring into -his bosom. - -"The Lord Jesu speed me," he said; "through the Lady Igraine's face I -am no longer a coward. God speed me to save her!" - -Mark kissed him on the forehead. - -"You have a soul in you," he said. - -The man stood on the strand under the black cliffs and watched the boat -climb the waves. He saw the galley hoisted up, the sails flapping in -the wind as the ship sheered out and ran for the open sea. Her sails -gleamed white against the tumultuous west, and the ridged waters hid -her hull. Overhead, the gulls screamed and circled. Mark, shouldering -his spear, turned back and climbed the cliff, with his face towards the -towers of Tintagel. - - - - -IV - - -A galley came up the Usk towards dawn, towards dawn when the woods were -hung with mist, and a vast quiet brooded over the world. The river made -a moist murmur through reeds and sedge, seeming to chant of golden -meads as it ran to wed the sea. All the eastern casements of Caerleon -glimmered gold as the dawn struck over wood and hill; the city's walls -smiled out of the night; her vanes and towers were noosed as with fire. -The galley drew to the great quay, and poled to the steps as the city -awoke. - -A lad, with his russet mantle turned up over his girdle, passed up -from the galley and the quay towards the southern gate of the city of -Caerleon. His step was sanguine, his face deep with dreams. He seemed -to personate "Youth" entering that city of woeful magic that poets and -painters name "Romance." - -Within the walls the stir of life had been sounded in by the clarions -of the dawn. Seafaring men went down to the river and their ships. At -the gate arms rang, tumbrils rumbled. Slim girls passed out into the -orchards and the fields, under the trees all heavily grained, russet -and green and gold. Women drew water at the wells. The merchant folk in -the market square spread their stalls for the day--fruit, flesh, fish, -cloth, and the fabrics of the East, armour and brazen jars, vases of -strange device. - -The city pleased the lad as he passed through its stirring streets, and -took the vigour of it, the human symbolism, into his soul. His idealism -shed a glamour over the place; how red and white were its maidens; -how fair its stately houses; how splendid the clashing armour of its -guards. In the market square he asked a wizened apple-seller concerning -the palace, and was pointed to the wooded hill where white walls rose -above the green. Jehan solaced himself with a couple of ruddy apples -from the stall. It was early yet for the palace, so the seller said, -and Jehan sat down by a fountain where doves flew, and thought of his -errand as he watched the folk go by. - -The sun was high before he came to the great gate leading to the -gardens of the King. It chanced to be a great day at Caerleon, a day -of public appeal, when Uther played patriarch to his people, and sat -to hear the prayers of the wronged or the oppressed. Hence it followed -that Jehan, pressing in at the gate, found himself one among many, -one of a herd, a boy among his elders. In the antechamber of the -palace he was edged into a corner, elbowed and kept there by stouter -clients who, as a mere matter of course, shouldered a boy to the wall. -Argument availed nothing. Men were used to plausible tales for winning -precedence, and each considered his especial matter the most pressing -in the eyes of justice. The crowd overawed him. The doorkeepers thrust -him back with their staves when he waxed importunate and attempted to -parley. Often he bethought him of the ring, but, being quick to suspect -theft in such a mob, he kept the talisman tight in his tunic, and -trusted to time and the powers of patience. - -What with giving way to women whose sex commended them, and men whose -strength and egotism seemed vested in their elbows, Jehan was fended -far from the door all day. A squabbling, querulous crowd filled the -place; women with grievances, merchants who had been plundered on the -road; peasants, priests, soldiers; beggars and adventurers; a Jew -banker whom some Christian had taken by the beard; a farmer whose -wife had taken a fancy to a gentleman's bed. It was a stew of envy, -discontent, and misfortune. Jehan, whose none too sumptuous clothing -did him little service, was shouldered casually into the background. -"Take second place to a brat of a boy! God forbid such an indignity!" -The vexed folk believed vigorously in the premiership of years. - -It was well towards evening when Jehan, who had gone fasting save for -a rye-cake, found himself the last to claim audience of the King. A -fat pensioner, yawning phenomenally and dreaming of supper, eyed him -with little favour from the top step of the stair. The day had been a -crowded one, and the savoury scent of roast flesh assailed the senses -of the gentleman of the "white wand." Jehan braved the occasion with -heart thumping, produced the ring, and held it as a charm under the -doorkeeper's nose. - -There was an abrupt revulsion in the methods of this domestic demigod. -Doors opened as by a magic word; servants went to and fro; bells -sounded. A grey-bearded Pharisee appeared, scanned the lad over with an -aristocratic contempt, beckoned him to follow. The man with the white -wand refrained for a moment from yawning over the paltriness of the -world at large. - -Jehan, taken by galleries and curtained doors, and disenchanted -somewhat with the palatial régime, found himself in a chapel casemented -towards the west. Lamps burnt upon the altar, and a priest knelt upon -the steps as in prayer. Sacramental vessels glimmered at the feet of -the frescoed saints. A fragrant scent of musk and lavender lay heavy on -the air. - -Jehan saw a man standing by a window, a man girded with a sword, and -garbed in no light and joyous fashion. The man's face possessed a kind -of sorrowful grandeur, a solemn kindliness that struck home into the -lad's heart. The eyes that met his were eyes such as women and children -trust. Jehan guessed speedily enough that this was the King. - -There was a certain intuition big in him, prophesying of the pain that -burdened his message. He faltered for the moment, knelt down, looked -into the man's eyes, and took courage. There was a questioning calm in -them that quieted him like the dew of prayer. He took the ring and gave -it into the King's hand. - -"From the Lady Igraine," was his plea. - -Now Jehan, though he looked no higher than Uther's knees, saw him rock -and sway like some great poplar in a storm. A strange lull seemed to -fall sudden upon the world. The lad listened to the beating of his own -heart, and wondered. He had soul enough to imagine the large utterance -of those few words of his. - -A deep voice startled him. - -"Your message." - -He knelt there and told his tale, simply, and without clamour. - -"It is the truth, sire," he said at the end thereof, "so may I drink -again of the Lord's blood, and eat his bread at the holy table." - -"My God, what truth!" - -The man's voice swept the chapel like a wind, deep, sonorous, and -terrible. The large face, the broad forehead, the deep-set eyes were -turned to the casement and the west. The face was like the face of one -who looks into hell. Jehan, on his knees, looked up and shivered. He -had told the truth, and the storm awed him like a miracle. It seemed -almost impious to be witness of a wrath that was as the righteous -passion of a god. - -"Gorlois tortures her?" - -"To her death, sire." - -"The whole--spare nothing." - -"She is starved and scourged, and harlots mock her." - -"God!" - -"They drag her soul in the mire." - -It was sunset, and all the sky burnt gold and crimson in the west. -Every lozenge of glass in the casement shone red as with fire. Beyond -Caerleon a mysterious gloom of trees rolled blackly against the chaos -of the decline. The whole world seemed glamoured and steeped in a -ghostly quiet. Usk, a band of shadowy gold, ran with vague glimmerings -to the sea. - -The King spread his arms to the west, and under his black brows his -eyes smouldered. - -"Am I Uther of Britain--and a King?" - -And again in a deep half-heard whisper-- - -"Igraine! Igraine! thou art true unto death." - -From the terrace below came sudden the sound of harping. It was -Rivalin, the Court minstrel, singing as the sun went down-- - - "Quenched be all the bitter pain, - When the roses bloom again - Eyes shall smile through glimmering tears." - -The face of the King was like the face of a man who sees a vision. -All the glow of the hills seemed in his eyes. His hands shook as he -stretched them to the west, the west that was a chasm of torrential -gold. - -"Igraine," he said, as in a dream. - -And again-- - -"Tintagel will I hurl into the sea." - -Jehan knelt and looked mutely at the King. The gloom of the roof seemed -to cover him like a canopy, and the frescoes glimmered through the -blue shadows. Uther wore a small crucifix about his neck. Jehan, full -of a sense of tragedy, saw him tear the crucifix from its chain, and -cast it at his feet. The priest at the altar, haloed by the glowing of -his lamps, looked at the King, white and wondering. It was an exultant -voice that made the chalice quiver. - -"Hitherto I have served a God," it said; "now I will serve my own soul!" - - - - -V - - -The woman's face, haloed by the gloom of the casement, still looked out -from Tintagel over the solitary grandeur of sea and cliff. Igraine saw -ships pass seldom athwart the west, but they brought no hope for her, -for she thought herself alone, and served of none. How should Uther the -King know that she was mewed in Tintagel at Gorlois's pleasure! Had he -not commended her to the calm orchards and cloisters of a nunnery? Even -the ring he had given her had been stolen by sheer force. Days came and -went, dawn flooded the eastern woods with gold, and evening tossed her -torches in the west. To Igraine they were as alike as the gulls that -wheeled and winged white over the blue waters. - -There are few men of such despicable fibre that they are wholly ruled -by the egotism of the flesh. Your complete villain is no frequent -prodigy, being more the denizen of the regions of romance than of the -common, trafficking, trivial world. There are bad men enough, but few -Neros. Give a human being passions, pride, and intense egotism, and -his potential energy for evil is unbounded. Virtue is often a mere -matter of habit or circumstance. Joseph might have ended otherwise if -Potiphar's wife had had more wit; and as for Judas, he was unfortunate -in being made banker to a God. - -Gorlois of Cornwall was beholden to his own strenuous, north-winded -nature for any trouble he might incur in his madness against Igraine. -However much he braved it out to his own conscience, he knew well -enough whether he was content or no. He was a strong man, and selfish, -resentful, and very human. He was no Oriental monster, no mere Herod. -What magnanimity he possessed towards his wife had been frozen into a -wolfish scorn by the things that had passed in Garlotte's valley in -Wales. Moreover, he had a bad woman at his elbow. Like many a vexed and -restless man, he had turned to ambition, and the darker features of his -character were being developed thereby. A king had wronged him; it was -easy for a great noble to lay plots against a king. War and the clamour -of war became like the prophetic sound of a storm from afar in his ears. - -Little comment had followed upon the disappearance of the lad Jehan on -the day when Gorlois and his knights had ridden hunting. No one cared -for the lad; no one missed him materially. Casual gossip arose thereon -in the guard-room. The lad had risked the halter or the branding-iron, -and sundry threats were launched after him at random. Mark of the guard -shrugged his shoulders and laughed. - -"There's pluck in the lad," he said, "for all your bullying. By my -faith, I guess he grew tired of kicks and leavings, and of being cursed -by so many sons of the pot. Bastard or no bastard, the lad's no fool." - -The guard-room scoffed complacently at the notion. Jehan do anything in -the world but snivel! Not he! These gentlemen judged of a man's worth -by the animal propensities of the creature. They weighed a man as they -would weigh an ox--for flesh, and the breed in him. Mark, making a -show of warming to his wine, enlightened his men further as to Jehan's -disappearance. - -"The lad and I went to bathe," he said; "there was a ship in the -offing, and sailors had come ashore to get water by St. Isidore's -spring. They wanted a lad for cabin service, so I took two gold pieces, -and told them to kidnap Jehan." - -A laugh hailed the confession, a laugh that changed to a cheer when -Mark won accomplices by casting largesse for a scramble on the -guard-room floor. - -"I wish them luck of him," said the captain, pocketing silver; "devil -of a spark could I ever knock out of the lad." - -"May be you hit too hard." - -"May be not. I'll lay my fist against a rope's-end for education." - -"Mark takes his wine like a gentleman," quoth one. - -"May he get drunk on pay day." - -"And sell another Joseph into Egypt." - -The woman Malmain came in to join them, corpulent and thirsty. -Superabundant and colossal, she impressed a strenuous and didactic mood -upon the company, grumbling like a volcano, emitting a smoke of mighty -unfeminine gossip. Her black eyes wandered continually towards Mark of -the guard. She watched him with a certain air of possession amid all -her sweat and jabber, laughing when he laughed, making herself a coarse -echo to his will. - -Some one spoke of Gorlois's wife. So personal a subject moved Malmain -to mystery on the instant. She tapped her forehead with her finger; -shook her head with a significance that was sufficient for the occasion. - -"Mad!" said the captain of the guard. - -Malmain sucked her lips and yawned with her great chasm of a mouth. - -"She was always that," she said with a hiccough. - -"Paradise, eh?" - -"And golden harps!" - -"And, damme, no beer!" - -There was a certain flavour in the last remark that made the men roar. - -"I wonder where they'll bury her," said the captain. - -"Throw her into the sea." - -"Gorlois's little wench won't weep her eyes out." - -Malmain smote a stupendous hip, and tumbled to the notion. The settle -shook and creaked under her as though in protest. - -"We'll all get married," she said; "Mark, my man, don't blush." - -Babylon was compassed round! The same evening a soldier on the walls -of Tintagel saw a dim throng of sails rise whitely out of the west. -The streaks of canvas stood above the sea touched by the light of -the setting sun. There was something ominous in these gleaming sails -sweeping in a wide half-circle out of the unknown. A motley throng of -castle folk gathered on the walls. Men spoke of the barbarians and of -Ireland as they watched the ships rising solemn and silent from the -west. Gorlois himself climbed up into a tower and gazed long at these -sails whose haven was as yet unknown. He learnt little by the scrutiny. -The ships had hardly risen above the purple twilight when night came -and shrouded the whole in vague and impenetrable gloom. - -Gorlois ordered the castle into a state of siege, and with the night an -atmosphere of suspense gathered about Tintagel. - -About midnight some dozen points of fire burst out redly on the hills. -Sudden and sinister they shone like beacon fires, but by whom lit -the castle folks could not tell. Men idled on the walls, shoulder to -shoulder, talking in undertones, with now and again a bluff oath to -invoke courage. The black infinite, above, around, seemed to hem the -place as eternity hems the soul. War and death lurked in the dark, and -on the rocks the sea kept up a perpetual moan. - -Gorlois walked the walls with several of his knights. He was restless, -and in no Christian temper, for the dark muzzled him. Not that he -feared the unknown, or the perils that might lurk on hill or sea. He -had the soul of a soldier, loved danger for its own sake, and took a -hazard as he would take wine. Yet there are certain thoughts that haunt -a man for all his hardihood, thoughts that may not weaken him though -they may chafe his temper. Such to Gorlois was the memory of a starved -face looking out at him scornfully from the gloom, the face of Igraine, -his wife. - -That night Gorlois's mind was prophetic in dual measure. Like a good -captain he scanned the human horizon for snares and enmities, old feuds -and the vengeances of men. The dark sky seemed to hold out two scrolls -to him tersely illumined as to the near future. To Gorlois they read-- - -THE BARBARIANS, - -OR - -THE KING! - -Forewarned thus in spirit, he kept to the walls till dawn. The sea sang -for him stern epics of tumult and despair. Large projects were moving -in his mind like waters that bubble up darkly in a well. He was in a -mood for great deeds, alarms and plottings, lusts, gnashings, and the -splendid agonies of war. - -When the grey veil rose from the world many faces looked out east and -west from Tintagel for sign of legions or of ships at sea. Strange -truth! not a sail showed upon the ocean, not a spear or shield -glimmered on the eastern hills. The threatenings of the night seemed to -have cleared like the leaden cloudscape of a stormy sky. - -Gorlois, scarred, brooding, sinister, appealed his knights as to the -event. - -"Not a ship, not a shield," he said, "yet I'll swear we saw watchfires -on the hills. Were we scared for nothing?" - -"Devil's beacons," quoth one. - -"I have heard sailors tell of the phantom fleet of the Phœnicians." - -"Have a care," said Sir Isumbras of the wrinkled face; "I remember me -of the taking of Genorium; given the chance of an ambuscado, the good -captain--" - -Gorlois cut in upon his prosings. - -"Scour the country, well and good," he said, "send out your riders; we -will see whether there is a Saxon betwixt Tintagel and Glastonbury." - -Gorlois had hardly delivered himself, and the company was passing from -the battlements, when a trumpet-cry thrilled the solitary morning -air. Gorlois and his knights halted at the head of the turret-stair, -and looked out from the walls towards the east. A single figure on -horseback was moving along the ridge leading to the headland. The rider -was clad in black, and his horse-trappings were of sable. He carried -neither spear nor shield, but only a herald's long trumpet balanced -upon his thigh. He rode very much at his leisure, as though the whole -world could abide his business. - -Gorlois eyed him blackly under his hand. - -"I was wrong, sirs," he said. - -Old Isumbras's wrinkles deepened. He tapped the walls with the scabbard -of his sword, and waxed oracular after an old man's fashion. Gorlois -turned his broad back on him. - -"There is trouble in yonder gentleman's wallet," he said. - -They passed with clashing arms down the black well of the stairway to -the court. Gates were rumbling on their hinges. The herald had ridden -over the bridge, and the guards had given him passage. He was brought -into the court where Gorlois stood in the centre of a half-circle of -knights. The herald wore a cap of crimson velvet and a mask over his -face. He walked with a certain stately swagger; it was palpable that he -was no common fellow. - -There was no parley on either part. Those who watched saw that this -emissary carried a case of scarlet cloth and a naked poniard. He gave -the case into Gorlois's hands, but threw the poniard on the stones at -his feet. A fine insolence burnt in his stride and gesturing. Gorlois's -scar seemed to show up duskily upon his cheek, and he looked as though -tempted to tear the mask from the stranger's face. An incomprehensible -dignity waved him back, and while he dallied with his wrath, the man -turned his back on him and marched unconcernedly for the gate. The -court bristled with steel, but none hindered or molested him. They -heard the gate roll to, and the rattle of hoofs on the bridge. The -sound died rapidly away, leaving Tintagel silent as a ruin. - -Gorlois picked up the poniard, for none of his men stirred, and cut -the woven band that held the lappets of the case. The white corner of -a waxen tablet came to light. Gorlois drew the tablet out, held it at -arm's length, and read the inscription thereon. His face grew hard and -vigilant as he read, and he seemed to spell the thing over to himself -several times before satisfied to the letter. He stood awhile in -thought, and then leaving his knights to their conjectures, walked away -to that quarter of the castle where Morgan la Blanche had her lodging. - -He found the woman couched by the window that looked out towards the -sea. Though dawn had but lately come, she was awake, and sat combing -her hair, while a kitten slept on the blue coverlet covering her lap. -Wine and fruit stood on the table near the bed, with scented water, a -rouge-pot, and a bowl of flowers. Morgan was smothered in fine white -linen, banded at neck and wrists with sky-blue silk. A kerchief of gold -gossamer work covered her shoulders. - -Gorlois touched her lips, and let her hair run through his fingers like -water. - -"Minion, you are awake early." - -Morgan's face shone white, and her eyes looked tired and faded. -She had heard rumours and had watched the night through, being -tender-conscienced as to her own skin. Adversity, even in its meaner -forms, was a thing insufferably insolent, a cloud in the absolute gold -of a sensuous existence. Being quick to mark any shadowing of the -horizon, she was undeceived by Gorlois's mere smile. She caught his -hand and stared up at him. - -"Well!" - -"What troubles you?" - -"Is it to be a siege?" - -Gorlois stretched his strong neck, laughed, and eschewed subtlety. It -interested him to see this worldling ruffled, Morgan, whose chief care -was how the world might serve her. - -"Read," he said, putting the tablet into her hands. - -Morgan sat up in bed with her fair hair streaming over her shoulders. -She traced out the words hurriedly with a white finger-tip. Her eyes -seemed to grow large as she read; her hands trembled a very little. -At the end thereof she dropped the tablet into her lap and looked at -Gorlois with a certain petulant dread. - -"How did the man hear of all this?" - -"God knows!" - -"Treachery!" - -Gorlois jerked his belt and said nothing. - -The woman Morgan sat and hugged her knees. She looked out to sea with a -frown on her face, and the blue coverlet dragged in tight folds about -her waist. The kitten woke up and began to play with Morgan's hair as -it trailed down upon the bed. She cuffed the little beast aside, and -looked at Gorlois. Her eyes now were steely and clear, and very blue -under her white forehead. - -"Obviously, he has learnt all," she said. - -Gorlois nodded morosely. - -"And this matter is to be between you alone?" - -"I have his word." - -"And he is a fool for truth." - -Silence held them both awhile, and Morgan seemed to dally with her -thoughts. Her lips worked loosely as though moving with her mind. The -kitten clawed its way up the coverlet and rubbed its glossy flank -against the woman's arm. - -"What of an ambush?" she suggested mildly. - -Gorlois darted a look at her and shook his head. - -"No; it shall be fair between us." - -"Honour!"--with a sneer. - -"I am a soldier." - -"By the prophet, that is the strange part of it all. You go out to kill -a man, and yet trouble about the method." - -"There honour enters." - -"You kill him, all the same." - -Morgan tossed the quilt aside, thrust a pair of glimmering feet out of -the bed, and stood at Gorlois's elbow. She took the tablet of wax and -held it over a lamp that was burning till the wax softened and suffered -the lettering to be effaced. Gorlois's great sword hung from the carved -bed-post. Morgan took it and buckled it to the man with her plump, -worldly little hands. - -"Let it not fail," she said. - -Gorlois kissed her lips. - -"There will be no King; and the heir--well, you are a great soldier, -and men fear your name." - -She kept him with her awhile and then bade him farewell. The sun was -high in the heavens when Gorlois, in glittering harness, rode out alone -from Tintagel, and passed away into the wilds. - - - - -VI - - -There was a preternatural brightness over sea and cliff that day. -Headland and height stood limned with a luminous grandeur; the sea was -a vast opal; mountainous clouds sailed solemn and stupendous over the -world. Towards evening it grew still and sultry, and storms threatened. -A vapoury leviathan lowered black out of the east, devouring the blue, -with scudding mists spray-like about his belly. The sky changed to a -sable cavern. In the west the sun still blazed through mighty crevices, -candescent gold; the world seemed a chaos of glory and shadow. -Sea-birds came screaming to the cliffs. The walls of Tintagel burnt -athwart the west. - -Presently out of the blue bosom of an unearthly twilight a vague wind -rose. Gusts came, clamoured, and died into nothingness. The world -seemed to shudder. The dry bracken and grass on the hillsides hissed -as the wind came seldom and tumultuous. The roadway smoked. In the -valleys the trees moaned, shivered, and stood still. - -Mark of the guard stood in the garden leaning on his spear, watching -the storm gathering above. It was his guard that night over the -stairway leading to Igraine's room, and he stood under the shadow of -the tower. - -A red sword flashed sudden out of the east, and smote the hills. -Thunder followed, growling over the world. Then rain came, and a -whirlwind seemed to fly from the face of the storm. In the west a -burning crater still poured gold upon a restless and afflicted sea. - -It grew dark very rapidly, and a thundering canopy soon overarched -Tintagel. Now and again flaming cracks of fire ran athwart the dome -of the night, lighting battlements and sky with a weird momentary -splendour. Rain rattled on the stones and drifted whirling against door -and casement. Small torrents formed along the walks; every spout and -gully gushed and gurgled. Like an underchant came the hoarse cry of the -sea. - -Mark had withdrawn under the arch of the tower's entry. A cresset -flamed and spluttered higher up the stairway, throwing down an -ineffectual gleam upon the man's armour as he stood and looked into the -night. The storm fires lit his face, making it start out of the dark -white and spiritual, with largely luminous eyes. He held motionless at -his post like a Roman soldier watching the downfall of Pompeii. - -Solitude possessed garden, court, and battlement, for no one stirred -on such a night. The knights of the garrison were making merry in the -great hall, and the men of the guard, unpestered by their superiors, -had gathered a great company in the guard-room to emulate their -officers. The scullion knaves and wenches had fled the kitchen; the -sentinels had sneaked from the walls. There was no fear now of a -leaguer. Had not Duke Gorlois declared as much before his sally? - -Mark alone stood to his post, listening to the laughter that reached -him between the stanzas of the storm. His face was like the face of -a statue, yet alert and eager for all its calm. More than once he -went out through the storm of rain to the great gate and stood there -listening while the wind howled overhead. About midnight the noise of -gaming and revelling seemed suddenly to cease, as when folk hear the -tolling of a bell for prayer. Only the wind kept up its hooting over -the walls. - -Mark stood a long while by the guard-room door with his ear to the -planking. Seldom a quavering cry came out to him, and the place grew -empty of human sound. All Tintagel seemed asleep, though many casements -still shone out yellow against the gloom. Mark slipped to the main -gate. There was a postern in it for service after dark. He drew back -the bolts and loosed the chain from the staple, and leaving the small -door ajar, passed back to the tower's entry. - -Thunder went rolling over the sea. Mark left his spear by the porch and -went up the first few steps of the stairway. He took the cresset from -its bracket, carried it down, and tossed it into the court, where the -flames spluttered out in the rain. Darkness accomplished, he went up -the stairway to the short gallery leading to Igraine's room. At the top -he stood and listened. He heard the sound of breathing, and knew that -it came from the woman Malmain who slept in the alcove before the door. - -Mark smote the wall a ringing blow with the handle of his poniard. A -bench creaked; some one yawned and began to grumble. It was so dark -that the very walls were part of the prevailing gloom. - -"Who's there?" - -Mark stood aside. - -"The cresset's out on the stairs." - -Two arms came groping along the wall. - -"You've been asleep, cherub." - -"Mark!" - -"You were forgetting our tryst." - -A thick sensual laugh sounded from the stairhead. Something opaque -moved in the dark; a pair of arms felt along the passage; a hand -touched Mark's face. Malmain's arms wrapped the man's body; she lifted -him to her with her great strength, and kissed his lips. - -"Rogue!" - -Once, twice, a streaking shadow rose and fell with the faintest -glinting of steel. There was a staggering sound, a wet cough, a -sharp-drawn breath, and then silence. Malmain fell against the wall -with her hands to her side, held rigid a moment, and then slid into a -heap. Mark bent over the woman and gripped her wrist. - -In a short while he left the body lying there and moved to the door. -Sliding his long fingers over the panels, he found the spring that -marked the catch. Light streamed through into the gallery and fell upon -Malmain as she lay huddled against the wall, her hair trailing along -the floor like rills of blood. - -A lamp burnt in the room, showering a thin silvery lustre from its -pedestal, leaving the angles in dull brown shadow. The room was bare -and bleak as a beggar's attic. The one window had been shuttered up -against the rain, and the crazy lattice shook in the wind. The whole -tower seemed to quake, pressed upon by the broad shoulders of the storm. - -Gorlois's wife lay asleep on a rough bed in the centre of the room. -Mark went forward and stood over her. The light fell upon Igraine's -face and haloed it with a quiet radiance. Her hands were folded over -her breast, and the man looking upon her face saw it drawn and haggard -even in sleep. It had a kind of tragic fairness, a stained beauty like -the wistful strangeness of an autumnal garden. It was pale, piteous, -thin, and spiritual. The flesh shone like white wax; the short hair -glimmered like a net of gold. - -So changed, so ethereal, was the face of the sleeper, that the man -stood and looked at her with gradual awe. Passed indeed was the -blood-red rose of life, green summer with its ecstasy of song. -Autumn's rich tapestries of bronze and gold were falling before the -wind of winter and the shrill sword of death. The woman on the bed -looked like some pale princess slumbering out her doom in some baleful -tower. - -Igraine's sleep was shallow and ineffectual, a restless stupor -impressed upon a troubled mind. The storm seemed to figure in her -dreams. A kind of splendid misery played upon her face, such misery as -floods forth from some old legend, strange and sad. Her hands tossed to -and fro over the coverlet like fallen flowers stirred by a wind. Her -lids drooped over half-opened eyes. - -A sudden gust broke the catch of the casement, and swung the frame into -the room. All the boisterous laughter of the storm seemed to sweep in -with the wind. With the racket Igraine woke and started up in bed upon -her elbow. The lamp flame, draught-slanted over the rim, gave but a -feeble light; the room was filled with wavering darkness. - -Mark stood back from the bed. There was blood upon his tunic. For a -moment he was speechless like a man caught in a theft. - -In the dim light and to the half-awakened senses of the sleeper, -the intruder stood for Gorlois, beard, face, and figure. A moment's -hesitancy lost Mark the lead. The door stood wide. What ensued came -crowded into the compass of a few seconds. - -Igraine, quick to conceive, jerked the coverlet from the bed. Before -Mark could prevent her, she had thrown it over the lamp and smothered -the flame. The room sank into instant darkness and confusion. Mark's -voice sounded above the storm. Then came the slamming of a door, and -silence save for the blustering of the wind. - -Igraine stood on the threshold in the dark, and drew her breath fast. -She had shut the man in the room, and the door opened only from without -by a spring catch. Mark of the guard was trapped. - -And Malmain! - -Igraine remembered the woman, and heeding nothing of the voice that -called to her from the room, groped her way to the stairhead, expecting -at every step to hear the woman's challenge start out of the gloom. At -the end of the gallery she nearly tripped and fell over some inanimate -thing. Reaching down out of curiosity she drew her hand back with a -half cry, her fingers fouled with a thick warm ooze. An indefinite -terror seized her in the dark. She went reeling down the stairway, -clutching at the walls, grasping the air. A faint outcry still followed -her from the room above. - -In the garden rain still rattled, and scud blew from the pools. Igraine -stood motionless under the shadow of a cypress, with her face turned -to the sky. Her ragged gown blew about her bare ankles, and the wind -whirled rain into her face. She drew deep breaths and stretched out her -hands to the night, for there was the kiss of liberty in this cold, -shrill shower. - -Anon the old fear urged her on, companioned now by a reawakened -courage. She was weak and starved, but what of that! The storm seemed -to enter into her soul with its blustery vigour, crying to her with the -multitudinous echoes of the night. What was the mere peril of the flesh -to one who had faced spiritual torture more keen than death! - -Creeping round under the shadow of the wall with quick glances darted -into the dark she made her way round the court to the great gate. The -gate-house was dark as the sky, and there was no tramping of sentinels -from wall to wall. Igraine crept into the yawn of the archway, brushing -along the stones. With each step she listened for the rattle of a -spear, and looked for the armed figure that should clash out on her -from the gloom. She won the gate and leant against it, breathless from -mere suspense. Her fingers groped over the great beams, touched an -outstanding edge, and tugged at it. The edge moved; a door came open -and let in the wind. - -Igraine stood a moment and pondered this mystery in her heart. She had -chanced on nothing in the whole castle save one man and a corpse. Some -strange doom might have fallen upon the place like the doom that smote -the Assyrians in their sleep. - -Plain before her stood the open gate and liberty. The hint was -sufficient for the occasion. Igraine, leaving Tintagel to the unknown, -gathered her rags round her and passed out into the night. - - - - -VII - - -A rolling country spread with moor, wood, and crag. A storm creeping -black out of the east over the tops of a forest of pines. On the slope -of a hill covered with a mauve mist of nodding scabei and bronzed -tracts of bracken, two horsemen motionless in armour. Far away, the -glimmer of a distant sea. - -Uther the King wheeled his horse and pointed northwards towards the -pine woods with his sword. The challenge came plainly in the gesture. -There was no need for vapouring or for heroics; a quick stare--eye for -eye--said everything a soldier could desire. - -Uther, on his black horse, rode with loose bridle, looking straight -ahead into the darkness of the woods. He carried his naked sword -slanted over his shoulder. Frequent streams of sunlight flashed down -upon his harness and made it burn under the boughs, leaving his face -calm and solemn under the shadow of his helm. Gorlois held some -paces away, stiff and arrogant, watching the man on his flank with -restless, smouldering eyes. It was a silent pilgrimage for them both, -a pilgrimage to a shrine whence, for one of them, there might be no -return. - -A shimmering curtain of sunlight spread itself suddenly before them -among the pines. The two men rode out into an oval glade palisaded by -the innumerable pillars of the wood, bowered in by rolling heights of -dusky green. On all sides the spires made a jagged circle of the sky. -A pool, black as obsidian, slept in the sun. Heather bloomed there, -girdling the confines of wood and water with a blaze of purple. - -Uther dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. His deliberation in no -way pandered to Gorlois's self-esteem; there was to be no flurry or -bombast in the event. No one was to witness this judgment of the sword; -chivalry and malice alike were to be locked up in the heart of the -forest. A smooth circle of grass lay on the northern side of the pool, -promising well to the two who moved thither with nothing more eloquent -than an exchange of gestures. - -The heather swept away, a purple dirge to the black sounding of the -pines, and a whorl of storm-laden clouds swam towards the sun. Uther, -with a face strong as a god's, swung his sword from his shoulder and -grounded the point in the sod. His destiny waxed great in him in that -hour. There was something inevitable in the quiet of his eyes. - -"You are ready," he said very simply. - -Gorlois jerked a quick glance at him, and licked his lips. He, too, was -in no mood for words or matters ethical. Temporal lusts ran strong in -his blood. - -"For a woman's honour!" - -"As you will, sire," with a shrug. - -"We have no need of courtesies." - -"Over a harlot!" - -"Guard, and God pardon you." - -Both swords flickered up hotly in the sunlight. Gorlois, sinewy and -full of fettle, gave a half-shout and sprang to engage. He had vast -faith in himself, having come scatheless out of many such tussles; nor -had he ever been humbled by man or beast. Vigorous as a March morning -he launched the first blow, a grim cut laid in with both hands, a cut -that rattled home half-parried on the other's shoulder. Uther, quick -for all his calmness, gave the point in retort, a lunge that slid -under the Cornishman's sword and made the muscles gape in Gorlois's -neck. There was blood to both. - -The swords began to leap and sing in the sunlight, and the forest -echoed to the clangour of arms. Both men fought without shields, and -for a season well within themselves, and there was much craft on either -part. Cut and counter-cut rang through the pine alleys like the cry of -axes whirled by woodmen's hands. As yet there was no bustle, no wild -smiting. Every stroke came clean and true, lashed home with the weight -of arms and body. - -Hate overset mere swordsmanship anon, and reason grew less and less -as the men waxed warm. Gorlois, running in with a swinging buffet, -stumbled over a heather tuft and caught a counter full in the face. -The smart of it and a split lip quickened him immeasurably. The -blades began to whirl with more malice, less precision. Matters grew -tumultuous as leaves in a whirlwind. For some minutes there seemed -nothing but a tangle of swords in the sun, a staggering chaos of red -and gold. - -Such fighting burnt itself to a standstill in less than three minutes. -Uther drew back like a boar pressed by hounds. There was no whit of -weakening in his mood, only a reassertive reason that would trust -nothing to the fortune of a moment. The muscles stood out in his strong -throat, blood ran from his slashed tunic, and he was breathing hard; -but his manhood burnt strong and true. Gorlois, with mouth awry, eyed -him with sword half up, and drew back in turn. His face streamed. He -spat blood upon the heather. - -"God! what work." - -It was Gorlois's testimony, wrung from him by the stress of sheer -hard fighting. The storm-cloud crept across the sun and overcharged -the world with gloom. The pool grew more black in its purple bed; the -forest began to weave the twilight into its columned halls. - -"You lack breath, sire." - -"I wait for you," Uther said. - -But the man of Tintagel was in a sinister mood for the moment. Genius -moved his sweating brain. He dropped into philosophic brevities as he -spat blood from his bruised lips. - -"All for a woman," he said thickly. - -"True." - -"Are you much in love, sire?" - -Uther answered him nothing, but waited with his sword over his shoulder. - -"She made fuss enough." - -Still silence. - -"I never knew a woman so obstinate in making an end. And we buried her -in the sand, where the waves roll at flood. Now, you and I lose our -brains over a corpse." - -Uther's sword shone again. - -"Guard," he said quietly. - -A sudden gust came clamouring through the wood. The darkening boughs -tossed and jerked against the sky, breathing out a multitudinous moan, -a hoarse cry as of a smitten host. The east piled thunder over the -world. It was the same storm that swept the battlements of Tintagel. - -By the pool swords rang; red and gold strove and staggered over the -heather. It was the death tussle and a sharp one at that. Destiny or -not, matters were going all against Gorlois; his blows were out of -luck; he was rent time on end and gave little in return. Rabid, dazed, -he began making blind rushes that boded ill for him. More than once he -stumbled, and was mired to the knees in the pool. - -The end came suddenly enough as the light failed. Both men smote -together; both swords met with a sound that seemed to shake the woods, -Gorlois's blade snapped at the hilt. - -He stood still a moment, then plucked out his poniard and made a -spring. A merciless down-cut beat him back. The fine courage, the -strenuous self-trust, seemed to ebb from him on a sudden as though the -blow had broken his soul. He fell on his knees and held his hands up -with a thick, choking cry. - -"Mercy! God's mercy!" - -"Curse you! Had you pity on the woman?" - -"Sire, sire!" - -Thunder rolled overhead, and the girdles of the sky were loosed. A -torrent of rain beat upon the man's streaming face; he tottered on his -knees, and still held his hands to the heavens. - -"I lied," he said. "God witness, I lied." - -"Ah--!" - -"The woman lives--is at Tintagel." - -"Man--" - -"Give me life, sire, give me life; you shall have her." - -Uther looked at him and heaved up his sword. Gorlois saw the King's -face, gave a great cry, and cowered behind his hands. It was all ended -in a moment. The rain washed his gilded harness as he lay with his -blood soaking into the heather. - - - - -VIII - - -As the world grew grey with waking light Uther the King came from the -woods, and heard the noise of the sea in the hush that breathed in the -dawn. The storm had passed over the ocean, and a vast quiet hung upon -the lips of the day. In the east a green streak shone above the hills. -The sky was still aglitter with sparse stars, and an immensity of gloom -brooded over the sea. - -Gaunt, wounded, triumphant, he rode up beneath the banners of the dawn, -eager yet fearful, inspired and strong of purpose. Wood and hill slept -in a haze of mist; the birds were only beginning in the thickets, like -the souls of children yet unborn calling to eternity. Beyond, on the -cliffs, Tintagel, wrapped round with night, stood silent and sombre -athwart the west. - -Uther climbed from the valley as the day came with splendour, a glow -as of molten gold streaming from the east. Wood and hillside glimmered -in a smoking mist, dew-brilliant, wonderful. As the sun rose the sea -stretched sudden into the arch of the west--a great pavement of gold. -A mysterious lustre hovered over the cliffs; waves of light beat like -saffron spray upon Tintagel. - -The dawn-light found an echo on Uther's face. He came that morning the -ransomer, the champion, a King indeed; Spring bursting the thongs of -Winter; Day thrusting back the Night. His manhood smote in him like the -deep-throated cry of a great bell, voluminous and solemn. The towers on -the cliff were haloed with magic hues. Life, glory, joy, lay locked in -the grey stone walls. His heart sang in him, and his eyes were afire. - -As he walked his horse with a hollow thunder of hoofs over the bridge, -he took his horn and blew a blast thereon. There was a quiet, a -lifelessness, about the place that smote his senses, bodying forth -mystery. The walls were void against the sky. At the sound of the -horn there came no stirring of armed men, no answering fanfare, no -glimmering of faces at the casements. Only the gulls circled from the -cliffs, and the sea made its moan along the strand. - -Uther sat in the saddle and looked from tower to battlement, from -battlement to gate. There was something tragic about the place, the -silence of a sacked town, the ghostliness of a ship sailing the seas -with a dead crew upon her deck. Uther's glance rested on the open -postern, an empty streak in the great gate. His face darkened somewhat; -his eyes lost their sanguine glow. There was something betwixt death -and treachery in all this quiet. - -He dismounted and left his horse on the bridge. The postern beckoned -him. He went in like a man nerved for peril, with sword drawn and -shield above his head, ready for blows in dark corners. Again he blew -his horn. The blast rang and resounded under the arch of the gate. No -man came to answer or avenge it. - -The guard-room door stood ajar; Uther thrust it open with the point -of his sword and looked in. A grey light filtered through the narrow -windows. The place was like the cave of the Seven Sleepers. Men, women, -guards, servants, were huddled on the benches and on the floor. Some -lay fallen across the settles; others sat with their heads fallen -forwards upon the table; a few had crawled towards the door. They were -cast in every posture, every attitude, bleak, stiff, and motionless. -Some had froth upon their lips, glistening eyes, clenched fingers. The -shadow of death was over the whole. - -The King's face was as grey as the faces of the dead. He had looked for -human throes, perils, strong hands, and the vehemence of man. There -was something here, a calm horror, a mystery that hurled back the warm -courage of the heart. Prophecy lurked open-mouthed in the shadows. -Uther shouldered his sword, passed out, and drew to the door. - -In the great court he looked round him like a traveller who has -stumbled upon a city wrapped in a magic sleep. Urged on by manifold -forebodings, and knowing the place of old, he went first to the State -quarters and hunted the rooms through and through. The same silence met -him everywhere. In the great hall he came upon a ring of corpses round -a table, a ring of men in armour, stiff and rigid as stone, with wine -and fruit mocking their staring eyes. In the lodging of the women he -found a lady laid on a couch by an open window. Her fair hair swept the -pillow; her eyes were wide and glazed; an open casket lay on the bed, -and strings of jewels were scattered on the coverlet. The woman's face -was white as apple blossom; she had a half-eaten pomegranate in her -hand. - -Uther passed from the death-chamber of Morgan la Blanche to the garden. -The shadows of the place, the staring faces, the stiff hands clawing -at things inanimate, were like phantasms of the night. He took the sea -air into his nostrils, and looked into the blue realism of the sky. -All about him the garden glistened in the dawn, the cypresses shimmered -with dew, the pool was like a steel buckler on cloth of green. Here was -the placid life of flowers making very death the more apparent to his -soul. - -As he stood in deep thought, half dreading what he still half knew, -a voice called to him, breaking suddenly the ponderous silence of -the place. A face showed overhead at the upper window in the tower; -a hand beckoned and pointed towards the tower's entry. Here at last -was something quick and tangible in the flesh, something that could -speak of the handicraft of death. Uther climbed the stairs and found -Malmain's body by the well. When he had looked at the woman's face and -seen blood he paid no more heed to her. She was only one among many. - -Guided by a voice, Uther unlatched the door and passed in with sword -drawn. A man met him on the threshold, a man with the face of a Dante, -and shaven lip and chin. It was the face of Merlin. - - - - -IX - - -Without the gate of Tintagel stood Uther the King looking out towards -the eastern hills clear against the calm of the sky. He stood -bare-headed, like one in prayer; his face was strong, yet wistful and -patient as a sick child's. At his elbow waited Merlin, silent and -inscrutable. Much had passed between them in that upper room, that room -more hallowed to Uther than the rock tomb of the Christ. - -"Ever, ever night," he said, stretching out his hands as to an eternal -void. - -Merlin's eyes seemed to look leagues away over moor, hill, and valley. -A strange tenderness played upon his lips, and there was a radiance -upon his face impossible to describe. It was like the face of a lover, -a dreamer of dreams. - -"A man is a mystery to himself," he said. - -"But to God?" - -"I know no God, save the god my own soul. Let me live and die, nothing -more. Why curse one's life with a 'to be'?" - -Uther sighed heavily. - -"It is a kind of fate to me," he said, "inevitable as the setting of -the sun, natural as sleep. Not for myself do I fear it." - -"Let Jehovah follow Jupiter into the chaos of fable. Sire, look yonder." - -Merlin's eyes had caught life on the distant hillsides, life surging -from the valleys, life, and the glory of it. Harness, helm, and shield -shone in the sun. Gold, azure, silver, scarlet, were creeping from the -bronzed green of the wilds. Silent and solemn the host rolled gradual -into the full splendour of the day. - -Uther's eyes beheld them through a mist of tears. - -"King Nentres, King Urience, and the host," he said. - -"Even so, sire." - -"They were bidden to follow." - -"Loyal to their king." - -Uther watched them with a great pride stealing into his eyes; he smiled -and held his head high. - -"All these are mine," he said. - -Merlin's face had kindled. - -"Grapple the days to come," he said; "let Scripture and old ethics rot. -You have a thousand knights; let them ride by stream and forest, moor -and mere. Let them ride out and sunder like the wind." - -"The quest of a King's heart!" - -"Sire, like a golden dawn shall she rise out of the past. Blow thy -horn. Let us not tarry." - - - - -X - - -Six days had passed. Once more the sun had tossed night from the sky, -and kindled hope in the hymning east. The bleak wilderness barriered by -sea and crag had mellowed into the golden silence of autumnal woods. -The very trees seemed tongued with prophetic flame. The world like a -young lover leapt radiant out of the dawn. - -Through the reddened woods rode Uther the King with Merlin silent at -his side. Gloom still reigned on the gaunt, strong face, and there was -no lustre in the eyes that challenged ever the lurking shade of death. -Six nights and six days had the quest been baffled. Near and far armour -glimmered in the reddened sanctuaries of the woods. Not a trumpet -brayed, though the host had scattered in search of a woman's face. - -At the seventh dawn the trees drew back before the King, where the -shimmering waters of a river streaked the meads. Peace dwelt there, and -a calm eternal, as of the Spirit that heals the throes of men. Rare and -golden lay the dawn-light on the valley. The song of birds came glad -and multitudinous as in the burgeoning dawn of a glorious May. - -Uther had halted under a great oak. His head was bare in the -sun-steeped shadows; his face was as the face of one weary with long -watching under the voiceless stars. Hope, like a dewless rose, drooped -shaken and thirsty with desire. Great dread possessed him. He dared not -question his own soul. - -A horn sounded in the woods, wild, clamorous and exultant. It was as -the voice of a prophet cleaving the despair of a godless world. Even -the trees stood listening. Far below in the green shadows of the valley -a horseman moved brilliant as a star that portents the conception of a -king. - -Uther's eyes were on the horseman in the valley. - -"I am even as a child," he said. - -Merlin's lips quivered. - -"The dawn breaks, sire, the night is past. Tidings come to us. Let us -ride on." - -Uther seemed sunk in thought; he bowed his head, and looked long into -the valley. - -"Am I he who slew Gorlois?" - -"Courage, sire." - -"My blood is as water, my heart as wax. Death and destiny are over my -head." - -"Speak not of destiny, sire, and look not to the skies. In himself is -man's power. Thou hast broken the crucifix. Now trust thine own soul. -So long as thou didst serve a superstition, thou didst lose thy true -heaven." - -"And yet--" - -"Thou hast played the god, sire, and the Father in heaven must love -thee for thy strength. God loves the strong. He will let thee rule -destiny, and so prosper." - -"Strange words!" - -"But true. Were I God, should I love the priest puling prayers in a -den? Nay, that man should be mine who moved godlike in the world, and -strangled fate with the grip of truth. Great deeds are better than -prayers. See! it is young Tristan who comes." - -The horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop through a sea of -sun-bronzed fern. He was a young knight on a black horse, caparisoned -in green and gold. A halo of glistening curls aureoled his boyish face; -his eyes were full of a restless radiance, the eyes of a man whose -heart was troubled. He sprang from the saddle, and leading his horse by -the bridle, kissed the scabbard of Uther's sword. - -"Tidings, sire." - -"Tristan, I listen." - -The knight looked for a moment into the King's face, but dared not -abide the trial. There was such a stare of desperate calm in the dark -eyes, that the lad's courage whimpered, and quailed from the truth. He -hung his head, and stood mute. - -"Tristan, I listen." - -"Sire--" - -"My God, man, speak out!" - -"Sire--" - -"The truth." - -"She lives, sire!" - -A great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an ecstasy of -silence such as comes after the wail of a storm. Merlin stroked his -lip, and smiled, the smile of one who dreams. The King's face was as -the face of one who thrusts back hope out of his soul. He sat rigid -on his horse, a scarlet image fronting Fate, grim-eyed and steadfast. -There were tears in the eyes of Tristan the knight. - -"What more?" - -Tristan leant against his horse, his arm hooked over the brute's neck. - -"In the valley, sire, is a sanctuary; you can see it yonder by the -ford. Two holy women dwell therein. To them, sire, I commend you." - -"You know more!" - -"Sire, spare me. The words are for women's lips, not for mine." - -"So be it." - -The three rode on in silence; Merlin and Tristan together, looking -mutely in each other's faces. Uther's chin was bowed on his breast. The -reins lay loose on his horse's neck. - -A grey cell of unfaced stone showed amid the green boughs beyond the -water. At its door stood a woman in a black mantle. A cross hung from -her neck, and a white kerchief bound her hair. She stood motionless, -half in the shadow, watching the horsemen as they rode down to the -rippling ford. - -Autumn had touched the sanctuary garden, and the King's eyes beheld -ruin as he climbed the slope. The woman had come from the cell, and -now stood at the wicket-gate, with her hands folded as in prayer. -Tristan took Uther's bridle. The King went on foot alone to speak with -the anchoress. - -"Sire," she said, kneeling at his feet, "God save and comfort you." - -The man's brow was twisted into furrows. His right hand clasped his -left wrist. He looked over the woman's head into the woods, and -breathed fast through clenched teeth. - -"Speak," he said. - -"Sire, the woman lives." - -"I can bear the truth." - -The anchoress made the sign of the cross. - -"She came to us, sire, here in this valley, a tall lady, with golden -hair loose upon her neck. Her feet were bare and bleeding, her robe -rent with thorns. And as she came, she sang wild snatches, such as -tell of love. We took her, sire, and gave her meat and drink, bathed -her torn feet, and gave her raiment. So, she abode with us, gentle and -lovely, yet speaking like one who had suffered, even to death. And yet, -even as we slept, she stole away from us last night, and now is gone." - -The woman had never so much as lifted her eyes to the man's face. Her -hands held her crucifix, and she was pale as new-hewn stone. - -"And is this all?" - -The man's voice trembled in his throat; his face shone in the sun. - -"Not all, sire." - -"Say on." - -The anchoress had buried her face in her black mantle; her voice was -husky as with tears. - -"Sire, you seek one bereft of reason." - -"Mad!" - -"Alas!" - -"My God, this then is the end!" - - - - -XI - - -An indefinite melancholy overshadowed the world. Autumn breathed in the -wind; the year was rushing red-bosomed to its doom. - -On the summit of a wood-crowned hill, rising like a pyramid above moor -and forest, two men stood silent under the shadow of an oak. In the -distance the sea glimmered; and by a rock upon the hillside, armed -knights, a knot of spears, shone like spirit sentinels athwart the -west. Mists were creeping up the valleys as the sun went down into the -sea. A few stars, dim and comfortless, gleamed out like souls still -tortured by the platitudes of Time. An inevitable pessimism seemed to -challenge the universe, taking for its parable the weird afterglow in -the west. - -Deep in the woods a voice was singing, wild and solitary in the -gathering gloom. Like the cry of a ghost, it seemed to set the silence -quivering, the leaves quaking with a windless awe. The men who looked -towards the sea heard it, a song that echoed in the heart like woe. - -"Sire, there is yet hope." - -"Life grows dim, and dreams elapse in fire." - -Merlin pointed into the darkening woods. His eyes shone crystal bright, -and there was a great radiance upon his face. - -"Sire, trust thine own heart, and the god in thee. Through superstition -thou hast been brought nigh unto death and to despair. Trust not in -priestcraft, grapple God unto thy soul. The laws of men are carven upon -stone, the laws of heaven upon the heart. Be strong. From henceforth -scorn mere words. Trample custom in the dust. Trust thyself, and the -god in thy heart." - -The distant voice had sunk into silence. Uther listened for it with -hand aloft. - -"Yonder--heaven calls," he said. - -"Go, sire." - -"I must be near her--through the night." - -"And lo!--the moon stands full upon the hills. You shall bless me yet." - -Dim were the woods that autumn evening, dim and deep with an ecstasy of -gloom. Stars flickered in the heavens; the moon came, and broidered the -trees with silver flame. A primæval calm lay heavy upon the bosom of -the night. The spectral branches of the trees were rigid and prayerful -towards the sky. - -Uther had left Merlin gazing out upon the shimmering sea. The voice -called him from the woods with plaintive peals of song. The man -followed, holding to a grass-grown track that curled purposeless into -the gloom. Moonlight and shadow were alternate upon his armour. Hope -and despair were mimicked upon his face. His soul leapt voiceless and -inarticulate into the darkened shrine of prayer. - -The voice came to him clearer in the forest calm. The gulf had -narrowed; the words flew as over the waters of death. They were pure, -yet reasonless, passionate, yet void, words barbed with an utter pathos -that wounded desire. - -For an hour the King followed in the woods, drawing ever nearer, waxing -great with prayer. Anon the voice failed him by a little stream that -quivered dimly through the grass. A stillness that was ghostly held -the woods. The moonlight seemed to shudder on the trees. A stupendous -stupor weighed upon the world. - -A hollow glade opened sudden in the woods, a white gulf in the forest's -gloom. Water shone there, a mere, rush-ringed, and full of mysterious -shadows, girded by the bronzed foliage of stately beeches. Moss grew -thick about the roots; dead leaves covered the grass. - -The man knelt in a patch of bracken, and looked out over the glade. -A figure went to and fro by the water's brim, a figure pale in the -moonlight, with a glimmering flash of unloosed hair. The man kneeling -in the bracken pressed his hands over his breast; his face seemed to -start out of the gloom like the face of one who struggles in the sea, -submerged, yet desperate. - -Uther saw the woman halt beside the mere. He saw her bend, take water -in her palms, and dash it in her face. Standing in the moonlight she -smoothed her hair between her fingers, her hands shining white against -the dark bosom of her dress. She seemed to murmur to herself the while, -words wistful and full of woe. Once she thrust her hands to the sky and -cried, "Pelleas! Pelleas!" The man kneeling in the shadow quivered like -a wind-shaken reed. - -The moon climbed higher, and the woman by the mere spread her cloak -upon a patch of heather, and laid herself thereon. Not a sound -ravaged the silence; the woods were mute, the air rippleless as the -steel-surfaced water. An hour passed. The figure on the heather lay -still as an effigy upon a tomb. The man in the bracken cast one look at -the stars, crossed himself, and crept out into the moonlight. - -Holding the scabbard of his sword, he skirted the mere with shimmering -armour, went down upon his knees, and crawled slowly over the grass. -Hours seemed to elapse before the black patch of heather spread crisp -and dry beneath his hands. Breathing through dilating nostrils, he -trembled like a craven who creeps to stab a sleeping friend. The -moonlight showered vivid as with a supernatural glory. Tense anguish -crowded the night with sound. - -Two more paces, and he was close at the woman's side. The heather -crackled beneath his knees. He held his breath, crept nearer, and -knelt so near that he could have kissed the woman's face. Her head lay -pillowed on her arm, her hair spread in a golden sheet beneath it. Her -bosom moved with the rhythmic calm of dreamless sleep. Her lips were -parted in a smile. One hand was hid in the dark folds of her robe. - -Uther knelt with upturned face, his eyes shut to the sky. He seemed -like one faint with pain; his lips moved as in prayer. A hundred -inarticulate pleadings surged heavenwards from his heart. - -[Illustration: "SHALL I NOT BE YOUR WIFE"] - -Again he bowed himself and watched the woman as she slept. A strange -calm fell for a season upon his face; his eyes never wavered from the -white arm and the glimmering hair. Vast awe possessed him. He was like -a child who broods tearless and amazed over the calm face of a dead -mother. - -Hours passed, and the man found no sustenance save in prayer. The -unuttered yearnings of a world seemed molten in his soul. The moon -waned; the stars grew dim. Sounds oracular were moving in the forest, -the mysterious breathing of a thousand trees. Life ebbed and flowed -with the sigh of a moon-stupored sea. Visions blazed in the night sky. -The portals of heaven were open; the sound of harping fell like silver -rain out of the clouds; the faces of saints shone radiant through -purple gloom. - -Hours passed, and neither sleeper nor watcher stirred. The night grew -faint, the water flickered in the mere. The very stars seemed to gaze -upon the destinies of two wearied souls. Death hid his countenance. -Christ walked the earth. - -A sudden sound of light, and the stirring of a wind. Far and faint came -the quaver of a bird's note. Grey and mysterious stood the forest's -spires. Light! Spears of amber darting in the east. A shudder seemed to -shake the universe. The vault kindled. The sky grew great with gold. - -It was the dawn. - -Even as the light increased the man knelt and lifted up his face unto -the heavens. Hope, glorious, seemed to fall sudden out of the east, a -radiant faith begotten of spirit power. Banners of gold were streaming -in the sky. The gloom elapsed. A vast expectancy hung solemn upon the -red lips of the day. - -Igraine sighed in her sleep. Her mouth quivered, her hair stirred -sudden in the heather, tendrils of gold that shivered in the sun. -Uther, kneeling, lifted up his hands with one long look to heaven. -Prayer burnt upon his face. He strove, Jacob-like, with God. - -A second sigh, and the long lashes quivered. The lips moved, the eyes -opened. - -"Igraine! Igraine!" - -Sudden silence followed, a vast hush as of hope. The woman's eyes were -searching silently the man's face. He bent and cowered over her like -one who weeps. His hands touched her body, yet she did not stir. - -"Igraine! Igraine!" - -It was a hoarse, passionate cry that broke the golden stupor of the -dawn. Sudden light leapt lustrous in the woman's eyes; her face shone -radiant amid her hair. - -"Pelleas!" - -The man's arms circled her. She half crouched in his bosom, her face -peering into his. - -"Pelleas!" - -"At last!" - -A great shudder passed through her; her eyes grew big with fear. - -"Speak!" - -"Igraine." - -"Gorlois?" - -"Gorlois is dead." - -Great silence held for a moment. The woman's head sank down upon the -man's shoulder; madness had passed; her eyes were fixed on his with a -wonderful earnestness, a splendid calm. - -"Is this a dream?" - -"It is the truth." - -Presently she gave a great sigh, and looked strangely at the sun. Her -voice came soft as music over water. - -"I have dreamed a dream," she said, "and all was dark and fearful. -Death seemed near, and shadows, and things from hell. I knew not what -I did, nor where I wandered, nor what strange stupor held my soul. All -was dark about me, horrible midnight peopled with foul forms. It has -passed; now, I behold the dawn." - -The man lifted up his voice and wept. - -"My God! my God! out of hell hast thou brought my soul. Never again -shall my vile lips blaspheme." - -And Igraine comforted him. - -"Shall I not be your wife?" she said. - - -THE END - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes: - -Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - -Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired. - -Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as -possible, including obsolete and variant spellings, inconsistent -hyphenation, and other inconsistencies. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UTHER AND IGRAINE *** - -***** This file should be named 52139-0.txt or 52139-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52139/ - -Produced by Christopher Wright and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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