 CHAPTER XIII. NOW IS THE HUNT UP. Last morning was he up betines, but he was cast down and heavy of heart, not looking for ought else to betide, than had betid those last four days. But otherwise it fell out, for when he came down into the hall, there was the lady sitting on the high seat all alone, clad butt in a coat of white linen, and she turned her head when she heard his footsteps, and looked on him, and greeted him, and said, some hither-guest. So he went and stood before her, and she said, Though as yet thou hast had no welcome here, and no honour, it hath not entered into thine heart to flee from us, and to say sooth, that is well for thee, for flee away from our hand thou mightest not, nor mightest thou depart without our furtherance. But for this we can thee thank, that thou hast abided here our bidding, and eaten thine heart through the heavy wearing of four days, and made no-plaint. Yet I cannot deem thee a dastard. Thou so well-knit, and shapely of body, so clear-eyed and bold of visage. Wherefore now I ask thee, art thou willing to do me service, thereby to earn thy guesting? Walter answered her, somewhat faltering at first, for he was astonished at the change which had come over her. For now she spoke to him in friendly wise, though indeed as a great lady would speak to a young man ready to serve her in all honour. Said he, Lady, I can thank thee humbly and heartily, in that thou bidest me do thee service. For these days past I have loathed the emptiness of the hours, and naught better could I ask for than to serve so glorious a mistress in all honour. She frowned somewhat, and said, Thou shalt not call me mistress. There is but one who so calleth me, that is my thrall, and thou art none such. Thou shalt call me lady, and I shall be well pleased that thou be my squire, and for this present thou shalt serve me in the hunting. So get thy gear, take thy bow and arrows, and gird thee to thy sword, for in this fair land may one find beasts more perilous than be buck or heart. I go now to array me. We will depart while the day is yet young, for so make we the summer day the fairest. He made a besence to her, and she arose and went to her chamber, and Walter diked himself, and then abode her in the porch, and in less than an hour she came out of the hall, and Walter's heart beat when he saw that the maid followed her hard at heel, and scarce might he school his eyes not to gaze over eagerly at his dear friend. She was clad, even as she was before, and was changed in no wise, save that love troubled her face when she first beheld him, and she had much adieu to master it, how be it the mistress he did not the trouble of her, or made no semblance of heeding it, till the maiden's face was all according to its want. But this, Walter found strange, that after all that disdain of the maid's thralldom which he had heard of the mistress, and after all the threats against her, now was the mistress become mild and debonair to her, as a good lady to her good maiden. When Walter bowed the knee to her, she turned unto the maid, and said, Look thou, my maid, at this fair new squire that I have gotten, will not he be valiant in the greenwood, and see whether he be well-shapen or not? Doth he not touch thine heart when thou thinkest of all the woe, and fear and trouble of the world beyond the wood, which he hath escaped, to dwell in his little land peaceably, and well-beloved both by the mistress and the maid? And thou, my squire, look a little at this fair slim maiden, and say if she pleaseth thee not, didst thou deem that we had any thing so fair in his lonely place? Frank and kind was the smile on her radiant visage, nor did she seem to note any wit the trouble on Walter's face, nor how he strove to keep his eyes from the maid. As for her, she had so wholly mastered her countenance, that belike she used her face guilefully, for she stood as one humble but happy, with a smile on her face, blushing, and with her head hung down, as if shame faced before our goodly young man, a stranger. But the lady looked upon her kindly, and said, Come hither, child, and fear not this frank and free young man, who belike feareth thee a little, and full certainly feareth me, and yet only after the manner of men. And therewith she took the maid by the hand, and drew her to her, and pressed her to her bosom, and kissed her cheeks and her lips, and undid the lacing of her gown and bared a shoulder of her, and swept away her skirt from her feet, and then turned to Walter, and said, Lo thou, squire, is not this a lovely thing to have grown up amongst our rough oak-balls? What, art thou looking at the iron ring there? It is nought, save a token that she is mine, and that I may not be without her. Then she took the maid by the shoulders, and turned her about as in sport, and said, Go thou now, and bring hither the good grey ones, for needs must we bring home some venison to-day, whereas this stout warrior may not feed on nought save manchets and honey. So the maid went her way, taking care, as Walter deemed, to give no side-glance to him. But he stood there shame-faced, so confused with all this open-hearted kindness of the great lady, and with the fresh sight of the darling beauty of the maid, that he went nigh to thinking, that all he had heard, since he had come to the porch of the house that first time, was but a dream of evil. But while he stood pondering these matters, and staring before him as one mazed, the lady laughed out in his face, and touched him on the arm, and said, Ah, our squire, is it so that now thou hast seen my maid, thou wouldst with a good will abide behind to talk with her? But call to mind thy word pledged me, Ian, now, and moreover I tell thee this for thy behoof, now she is out of earshot, that I will above all things take thee away to-day, for there be other eyes, and they nought uncomly, that look at wiles on my fair ankle-thrall, and who knows, but the swords might be out, if I take nought the better heed, and give thee nought every wit of thy will. As she spoke, and moved forward, he turned a little, so that now the edge of that hazel coppice was within his eye-shot, and he deemed that once more he saw the yellow-brown evil thing crawling forth from the thicket. Then, turning suddenly on the lady, he met her eyes, and seemed in one moment of time to find a far other look in them than that of frankness and kindness, though in a flash they changed back again, and she said merrily and sweetly, So, so, sir Squire, now art thou awake again, and mayest for a little while look on me. Now it came into his head, with that look of hers, all that might befall him and the maid, if he mastered not his passion, nor did what he might to dissemble. So he bent the knee to her, and spoke boldly to her in her own vein, and said, Nay, most gracious of ladies, never would I abide behind to-day, since thou farest afield. But if my speech be hampered, or mine eyes stray, is it not because my mind is confused by thy beauty, and the honey of kind words which floweth from thy mouth? She laughed outright at his word, but not disdainfully, and said, This is well spoken, Squire, and even what a Squire should say to his liege lady, when the sun is up on a fair morning, and she, and he, and all the world are glad. She stood quite near him as she spoke. Her hand was on his shoulder, and her eyes shone and sparkled. Soothe to say, that excusing of his confusion was like enough in seeming to the truth. For sure never creature was fashioned fairer than she, clad she was for the greenwood as the hunting goddess of the Gentiles, with her green gown gathered unto her girdle, and sandals on her feet, a bow in her hand, and a quiver at her back. She was taller and bigger of fashion than the dear maiden, whiter of flesh, and more glorious, and brighter of hair, as a flower of flowers for fairness and fragrance. She said, Thou art fairly a fair Squire before the hunt is up, and if thou be as good in the hunting, all will be better than well, and the guest will be welcome. But lo! here cometh our maid with the good gray ones. Go meet her, and we will tarry no longer than for thy taking the leash in hand. So Walter looked, and saw the maid coming with two couple of great hounds in the leash, straining against her as she came along. He ran lightly to meet her, wondering if he should have a look or a half whisper from her. But she let him take the white thongs from her hand, with the same half-smile of shame-facedness still set on her face. And, going past him, came softly up to the lady, swaying like a willow branch in the wind, and stood before her, with her arms hanging down by her sides. Then the lady turned to her and said, Look to thyself, our maid, while we are away. This fair young man thou needest not to fear indeed, for he is good and leal. But what thou shalt do with the king's son, I what not? He is a hot lover forsooth, but a hard man, and while's evil is his mood, and perilous both to thee and me. And if thou do his will, it shall be ill for thee, and if thou do it not, take heed of him, and let me, and me only, come between his wrath and thee. I may do somewhat for thee. Even yesterday he was instant with me to have thee chastised after the manner of thralls, but I bade him keep silence of such words, and jeered him, and mocked him, till he went away from me peevish and in anger. So look to it that thou fall not into any trap of his contrivance. Then the maid cast herself at the mistress's feet, and kissed and embraced them, and as she rose up the lady laid her hand lightly on her head. And then, turning to Walter, cried out, Now, squire, let us leave all these troubles and wiles and desires behind us, and flip through the merry green wood like the Gentiles of old days. And therewith she drew up the laps of her gown till the whiteness of her knees was seen, and set off swiftly toward the wood that lay south of the house, and Walter followed, marvelling at her goodliness. Nor dirst he cast a look backward to the maiden, for he knew that she desired him, and it was her only that he looked to for his deliverance from this house of guile and lice. The hunting of the heart. As they went, they found a change in the land, which grew emptier of big and wide-spreading trees and more beset with thickets. From one of these they roused a heart, and Walter let slip his hounds thereafter, and he and the lady followed running. Exceeding swift was she, and well breathed with all, so that Walter wondered at her, and eager she was in the chase as the very hounds, heeding nothing, the scratching of briars, or the whipping of stiff twigs as she sped on. But for all their eager hunting the quarry outran both dogs and folk, and gapped him into a great thicket, amid most whereof was a wide plash of water. Into the thicket they followed him, but he took to the water under their eyes, and made land on the other side, and because of the tangle of underwood, he swam across much faster than they might have any hope to come round on him. And so were the hunters left undone for that time, so the lady cast herself down on the green grass and neither water, while Walter blew the hounds in and coupled them up. Then he turned round to her, and lo! she was weeping for despite that they had lost the quarry, and again did Walter wonder that so little a matter should raise a passion of tears in her. He doth not ask what ailed her, or proffer her solace, but was not ill-appaid by beholding her loveliness as she lay. Presently she raised up her head, and turned to Walter, and spake to him angrily, and said, Squire, why dost thou stand staring at me like a fool? Yea, lady, he said, but the sight of thee maketh me foolish to do ought else but to look on thee. She said, in a peevish voice, Tush, Squire, the day is too far spent for soft and courtly speeches. What was good there is not so good here. With all I know more of thine heart than thou demest. Walter hung down his head and reddened, and she looked on him, and her face changed, and she smiled and said, kindly this time. Look ye, Squire, I am hot and weary and ill-content, but presently it will be better with me, for my knees have been telling my shoulders that the cold water of this little lake will be sweet and pleasant this summer noonday, and that I shall forget my foil when I have taken my pleasure therein. Wherefore, go thou with thine hounds without the thicket, and there abide my coming, and I bid thee look not aback as thou goest, for therein were peril to thee. I shall not keep thee tarrying long alone. He bowed his head to her, and turned and went his ways. And now, when he was a little space away from her, he deemed her indeed a marvel of women, and well I forget all his doubts and fears concerning her, whether she were a fair image fashioned out of lies and guile, or it might be but an evil thing in the shape of a goodly woman. For Soothe, when he saw her caressing the dear and friendly maid, his heart all turned against her, despite what his eyes and his ears told his mind, and she seemed like, as it were, a serpent, enfolding the simplicity of the body which he loved. But now it was all changed, and he lay on the grass and longed for her coming, which was delayed for somewhat more than an hour. Then she came back to him, smiling and fresh and cheerful, her green gown let down to her heels. He sprang up to meet her, and she came close to him, and spake from a laughing face. Squire, hast thou no meat in thy wallet? For, me seameth, I fed thee when thou art hungry the other day, do thou now the same by me? He smiled, and lauded to her, and took his wallet, and brought out thence bread, and flesh, and wine, and spread them all out before her on the green grass, and then stood by humbly before her. But she said, Nay, my Squire, sit down by me, and eat with me, for today are we both hunters together. So he sat down by her trembling, but neither for awe of her greatness, nor for fear and horror of her guile and sorcery. A while they sat there together after they had done their meat, and the lady fell a-talking with Walter concerning the parts of the earth, and the manners of men, and of his journeyings too and fro. At last she said, Thou hast told me much, and answered all my questions wisely, and as my good Squire should, and that pleaseth me. But now, tell me of a city wherein thou art born and bred, a city whereof thou hast hitherto told me not. Lady, he said, it is a fair and a great city, and to many it seemeth lovely. But I have left it, and now it is nothing to me. Has thou not kindred there, said she? Yea, said he, and foaming with all, and a false woman way layeth my life there. And what was she, said the lady? Said Walter, she was but my wife. Was she fair, said the lady? Walter looked on her a while, and then said, I was going to say that she was well-nigh as fair as thou, but that may scarce be, yet was she very fair. But now, kind and gracious lady, I will say this word to thee. I marvel that thou askest so many things concerning the city of Langton on home, where I was born, and where are my kindred yet, for me seemeth that thou knowest it thyself. I know it, I, said the lady. What then? Thou knowest it not, said Walter. Spake the lady, and some of her old disdain was in her words. Thus thou deem that I wonder about the world, and its chipping-steads like one of the Chapman. Nay, I dwell in the wood beyond the world, and nowhere else. What hath put this word into thy mouth? He said, Pardon me, lady, if I have misdone, but thus it was, mine own eyes behel thee going down the keys of our city, and thence a shipboard, and the ship sailed out of the Haven. And first of all went a strange dwarf, whom I have seen here, and then thy maid, and then went thy gracious and lovely body. The lady's face changed as he spoke, and she turned red, and then pale, and set her teeth. But she refrained her, and said, Squire, I see of thee that thou art no liar, nor light of wit. Therefore I suppose that thou hast verily seen some appearance of me, but never have I been in Langton, nor thought thereof, nor known that such a stead there was, until thou namedest it in now. Wherefore I deem that an enemy hath cast the shadow of me on the air of that land. Yea, my lady, said Walter, and what enemy mightest thou have to have done this? She was slow of answer, but spake at last from a quivering mouth of anger. Knowest thou not the sore, that a man's foes are they of his own house? If I find out for a truth who hath done this, the said enemy shall have an evil hour with me. Again she was silent, and she clenched her hands and strained her limbs in the heat of her anger, so that Walter was afraid of her, and all his misgivings came back to his heart again, and he repented that he had told her so much. But in a little while all that trouble and wrath seemed to flow off her, and again was she of good cheer and kind and sweet to him, and she said, But ensuth, however it may be, I thank thee, my squire and friend, for telling me hereof, and surely no white do I lay on thee, and moreover is it not this vision which hath brought thee hither? So it is, lady, said he. Then have we to thank it, said the lady, and thou art welcome to our land? And therewith she held out her hand to him, and he took it on his knees and kissed it. And then it was as if a red-hot iron had run through his heart, and he felt faint and bowed down his head. But he held her hand yet, and kissed it many times, and the wrist, and the arm, and knew not where he was. But she grew a little away from him, and arose, and said, Now is the day wearing, and if we are to bear back any venison we must buckle to the work. So arise, squire, and take the hounds and come with me, for not far off is a little thicket, which mostly harbours foison of deer, great and small. Let us come our ways. Chapter 15 The Slaying of the Quarry So they walked on quietly thence, some half a mile. And ever the lady would have Walter to walk by her side, and not follow a little behind her, as was meat for a servant to do. And she touched his hand at Wiles, as she showed him beast, and fowl, and tree. And the sweetness of her body overcame him, so that for a while he thought of nothing save her. Now, when they were come to the thicket side, she turned to him, and said, Squire, I am no ill woodman, said that thou mayest trust me, that we shall not be brought to shame the second time, and I shall do sagely. So knock an arrow to thy bow, and abide me here, and stir not hence. For I shall end this thicket without the hounds, and arouse the quarry for thee, and see that thou be brisk and clean shooting, and then shalt thou have reward of me. Therewith she drew up her skirts through her girdle again, took her bent bow in her hand, and drew an arrow out of the quiver, and stepped lightly into the thicket, leaving him longing for the sight of her, as he hearkened to the tread of her feet on the dry leaves, and the rustling of the break as she thrust through it. Thus he stood for a few minutes. And then he heard a kind of gibbering cry without words, yet as of a woman, coming from the thicket, and while his heart was yet gathering the thoughts that something had gone amiss, he glided swiftly, but with little stir into the break. He had gone but a little way, ere he saw the lady standing there in a narrow clearing, her face as pale as death, her knees cleaving together, her body swaying and tottering, her hands hanging down, and the bow and arrow fallen to the ground, and ten yards before her, a great-headed yellow creature, crouching flat to the earth, and slowly drawing nire. He stopped short. One arrow was already notched to the string, and another hung loose to the lesser fingers of his string-hand. He raised his right hand, and drew and loosed in a twinkling. The shaft flew close to the lady's side, and straight away all the wood rung with a huge roar, as the yellow lion turned about to bite at the shaft, which had sunk deep into him behind the shoulder, as if a bolt out of the heavens had smitten him. But straight away had Walter loosed again, and then, throwing down his bow, he ran forward, with his drawn sword gleaming in his hand, while the lion weltered and rolled, but had no might to move forward. Then Walter went up to him warily, and thrust him through to the heart, and leapt back, lest the beast might yet have life in him to smite. But he left his struggling, his huge voice died out, and he lay there moveless before the hunter. Walter abode a little, facing him, and then turned about to the lady, and she had fallen down in a heap whereas she stood, and lay there all huddled up and voiceless. So he knelt down by her, and lifted up her head, and bade her a rise, for the foe was slain. And after a little she stretched out her limbs, and turned about on the grass, and seemed to sleep, and the colour came into her face again, and it grew soft, and a little smiling. Thus she lay awhile, and Walter sat by her, watching her, till at last she opened her eyes, and sat up, and knew him, and smiling on him said, What hath befallen, squire, that I have slept and dreamed? He answered nothing, till her memory came back to her. And then she arose, trembling and pale, and said, Let us leave this wood, for the enemy is therein. And she hastened away before him till he came out at the thicket side, whereas the hounds had been left, and they were standing there uneasy and whining. So Walter coupled them, while the lady stayed not, but went away swiftly homeward, and Walter followed. At last she stayed her swift feet, and turned round on Walter, and said, Squire, come hither. So did he, and she said, I am weary again, let us sit under this quicken-tree and rest us. So they sat down, and she sat looking between her knees awhile. And at last she said, Why did thou not bring the lion's hide? He said, Lady, I will go back and flay the beast, and bring on the hide. And he arose therewith, but she caught him by the skirts, and drew him down, and said, Nay, thou shalt not go, abide with me, sit down again. He did so. And she said, Thou shalt not go for me, for I am afraid. I am not used to looking on the face of death. She grew pale as she spoke, and set her hand to her breast, and sat so awhile, without speaking. At last she turned to him smiling, and said, How was it with the aspect of me when I stood before the peril of the enemy? And she laid her hand upon his. O gracious one, quote he, Thou wert as ever full lovely, but I feared for thee. She moved not her hand from his, and she said, Good and true squire, I said ere I enter the thicket, in now that I would reward thee if thou slewest the quarry. He is dead, thou thou hast left the skin behind upon the carcass. Ask now thy reward, but take time to think what it shall be. He felt her hand warm upon his, and drew in the sweet odour of her, mingled with the woodland scents, under the hot sun of the afternoon, and his heart was clouded with manlike desire of her. And it was a near thing, but he had spoken, and craved of her, the reward of the freedom of her maid, and that he might depart with her into other lands. But as his mind wavered betwixt this and that, the lady, who had been eyeing him keenly, drew her hand away from him, and therewith doubt and fear flowed into his mind, and he refrained him of speech. Then she laughed merrily, and said, The good squire is shame-faced, he feareth the lady more than her lion. Will it be a reward to thee if I bid thee to kiss my cheek? Therewith she leaned her face toward him, and he kissed her well favouredly, and then sat gazing on her, wondering what she'd betide to him on the morrow. Then she arose and said, Come, squire, and let us home, be not abashed, there shall be other rewards hereafter. So they went their ways quietly, and it was nigh's sunset against they entered the house again. Walter looked round for the maid, but beheld her not, and the lady said to him, I go to my chamber, and now is thy service over for this day. Then she nodded to him friendly, and went her ways. CHAPTER XVI. OF THE KING'S SON AND THE MAID But as for Walter, he went out of the house again, and fared slowly over the wood-lawns, till he came to another close thicket or break. He entered from mere wantonness, or that he might be the more apart and hidden, so as to think over his case. There he lay down under the thick boughs, but could not so herd his thoughts, that they would dwell steady in looking into what might come to him within the next days. Rather visions of those two women and the monster did but float before him, and fear and desire and the hope of life ran to and fro in his mind. As he lay thus, he heard footsteps drawing near, and he looked between the boughs, and though the sun had just set, he could see close by him a man and a woman going slowly, and they hand in hand. At first he deemed it would be the king's son and the lady, but presently he saw that it was the king's son indeed, but that it was the maid whom he was holding by the hand. And now he saw of him that his eyes were bright with desire, and of her that she was very pale. Yet when he heard her begin to speak, it was in a steady voice that she said, King's son, thou hast threatened me oft and unkindly, and now thou threatenest me again and no less unkindly. But whatever were thy need herein before, now is there no more need, for my mistress, of whom thou wert weary, is now grown weary of thee, and Belike will not now reward me for drawing thy love to me as once she would have done, to wit before the coming of this stranger. Therefore I say, since I am but a thrall, poor and helpless, betwixt you two mighty ones, I have no choice but to do thy will. As she spoke, she looked all round about her, as one distraught by the anguish of fear. Walter, amidst of his wrath and grief, had well nigh drawn his sword, and rushed out of his lair upon the king's son. But he deemed it sure that, so doing, he should undo the maid altogether, and himself also Belike, so he refrained him, though it were a hard matter. The maid had stayed her feet now close to where Walter lay, some five yards from him only, and he doubted whether she saw him not from where she stood. As to the king's son, he was so intent upon the maid, and so greedy of her beauty, that it was not like that he saw anything. Now moreover Walter looked, and deemed that he beheld something through the grass and bracken on the other side of those two. An ugly, brown and yellow body, which, if it were not some beast of the fumart kind, must needs be the monstrous dwarf, or one of his kin, and the flesh crept upon Walter's bones with the horror of him. But the king's son spoke unto the maid. Sweetling, I shall take the gift thou givest me, neither shall I threaten thee any more, albeit thou givest it not very gladly or graciously. She smiled on him with her lips alone, for her eyes were wandering and haggard. My lord, she said, is not this the manner of women? Well, he said, I say that I will take thy love even so given. Yet let me hear again that thou lovest not that vile newcomer, and that thou hast not seen him save this morning along with my lady. Nay, thou, thou shalt swear it. What shall I swear by? she said. Quote he, thou shalt swear by my body. And therewith he thrust himself close up against her. But she drew her hand from his, and laid it on his breast, and said, I swear it by thy body. He smiled on her liquorously, and took her by the shoulders, and kissed her face many times, and then stood aloof from her, and said, Now have I had Hansel, but tell me, when shall I come to thee? She spoke out clearly, Within three days at furthest I will do thee to wit of the day and the hour tomorrow, or the day after. He kissed her once more, and said, Forget it not, or the threat holds good. And therewith he turned about, and went his ways toward the house, and Walter saw the yellow-brown thing creeping after him in a gathering dusk. As for the maid, she stood for a while without moving, and looking after the king's son, and the creature that followed him. Then she turned about to where Walter lay, and lightly put aside the boughs, and Walter leapt up, and they stood face to face. She said softly but eagerly, Friend, touch me not yet. He spake not, but looked on her sternly. She said, Thou art angry with me? Still he spake not, but she said, Friend, this at least I will pray thee, not to play with life and death, with happiness and misery. Dost thou not remember the oath which we swore each to each but a little while ago, and dost thou deem that I have changed in these few days? Is thy mind concerning thee and me the same as it was? If it be not so, now tell me. For now have I the mind to do, as if neither thou nor I are changed to each other. Whoever may have kissed mine unwilling lips, or whomesoever thy lips may have kissed. But if thou hast changed, and wilt no longer give me thy love, nor crave mine, then shall this steal. And she drew a sharp knife from her girdle. Be for the fool and the dastard who hath made thee wroth with me, my friend, and my friend that I deemed I had won. And then let come what will come. But if thou be not changed, and the oath yet holds, then, when a little while hath passed, may we thrust all evil and guile and grief behind us, and long joy shall lie before us, and long life, and all honour in death. If only thou wilt do as I bid thee, o my dear, and my friend, and my first friend. He looked on her, and his breast heaved up, as all the sweetness of her kind love took hold on him, and his face changed, and the tears filled his eyes, and ran over, and rained down before her, and he stretched out his hand toward her. Then she said, exceedingly sweetly, Now indeed I see that it is well with me, yea and with thee also. As sore pain it is to me, that not even now may I take thine hand, and cast mine arms about thee, and kiss the lips that love me. But so it has to be. My dear, even so I were famed to stand here long before thee, even if we spake no more words to each other. But abiding here is perilous, for there is ever an evil spy upon my doings, who has now, as I deem, followed the king's son to the house, but who will return when he has tracked him home thither, so we must sunder. But be like, there is yet time for a word or two. First, the reed which I had thought on for our deliverance is now afoot, though I durst not tell thee thereof, nor have time there to. But this much shall I tell thee, that whereas great is the craft of my mistress in wizardry, yet I also have some little craft therein, and this, which she hath not, to change the aspect of folk so utterly that they seem other than they verily are. Yea, so that one may have the aspect of another. Now the next thing is this. Whatsoever my mistress may bid thee, do her will therein, with no more nay-saying than thou deemest may please her. And the next thing. Wheresoever thou mayest meet me, speak not to me, make no sign to me, even when I seem to be all alone, till I stoop down and touch the ring on my ankle with my right hand. But if I do so, then stay thee without fail till I speak. The last thing I will say to thee, dear friend, ere we both go our ways, this it is. When we are free, and thou knowest all that I have done, I pray thee, deem me not evil and wicked, and be not wroth with me for my deed, whereas thou wottest well that I am not in like plight with other women. I have heard tell that when the night goeth to the war, and hath overcome his foes by the sharing of swords and guileful tricks, and hath come back home to his own folk, they praise him, and bless him, and crown him with flowers, and boast of him before God in the minster, for his deliverance of friend and folk and city. Why shouldst thou be worse to me than this? Now all is said, my dear and my friend, farewell, farewell! Therewith she turned, and went her ways toward the house in all speed, but making somewhat of a compass. And when she was gone, Walter knelt down, and kissed the place where her feet had been, and arose thereafter, and made his way toward the house, he also, but slowly, and staying oft on his way. Chapter 17 Of the House and the Pleasants in the Wood On the morrow morning Walter loitered a while about the house till the morn was grown old, and then about noon he took his bow and arrows, and went into the woods to the north wood, to get him some venison. He went somewhat far ere he shot him a fawn, and then he sat him down to rest under the shade of a great chestnut tree, for it was not far past the hottest of the day. He looked round thence, and saw below him a little dale with a pleasant stream running through it, and he bethought him of bathing therein. So he went down, and had his pleasure of the water and the willowy banks, for he lay naked a while on the grass, by the lip of the water, for joy of the flickering shade and the little breeze that ran over the down-long ripples of the stream. Then he did on his raiment, and began to come his ways up the bent, but had scarce gone three steps ere he saw a woman coming towards him from downstream. His heart came into his mouth when he saw her, for she stooped and reached down her arm, as if she would lay her hand on her ankle, so that at first he deemed it had been the maid, but at the second eye-shot he saw that it was the mistress. She stood still and looked on him, so that he deemed she would have him come to her. She stood still and looked on him, so that he deemed she would have him come to her. So he went to meet her, and grew somewhat shame-faced as he drew Nya, and wandered at her. For now was she clad, but in one garment of some dark grey, silky stuff, embroidered with, as it were, a garland of flowers about the middle, but which was so thin that, as the wind drifted it from side and limb, it hid her no more, but for the said garland, than if water were running over her. Her face was full of smiling joy and content, as she spake to him in a kind caressing voice, and said, I give thee good day, good squire, and well art thou met. And she held out her hand to him. He knelt down before her, and kissed it, and abode still upon his knees, and hanging down his head. But she laughed outright, and stooped down to him, and put her hand to his arms, and raised him up, and said to him, What is this, my squire, that thou knee-list to me as to an idol? He said, faltering, I what not, but perchance thou art an idol, and I fear thee. What? she said, more than yesterday, when as thou sawest me afraid, said he, yea, for that now I see thee unhidden, and me seemeth there hath been none such, since the old days of the Gentiles. She said, hast thou not yet bethought thee of a gift to crave of me, a reward for the slaying of mine enemy, and the saving of me from death? Oh, my lady, he said, even so much would I have done for any other lady, or for sooth for any poor man, for so my manhood would have bidden me. Speak not of gifts to me, then. Moreover, and he reddened therewith, and his voice faltered, Didst thou not give me my sweet reward yesterday? What more, durst I ask? She held her peace awhile, and looked on him keenly, and he reddened under her gaze. Then Roth came into her face, and she reddened, and knit her brows, and spake to him in a voice of anger, and said, Nay, what is this? It is growing in my mind that thou demist the gift of me unworthy. Thou, an alien, an outcast, one endowed with the little wisdom of the world without the wood. And here I stand before thee, all glorious in my nakedness, and so fulfilled of wisdom, that I can make this wilderness to any whom I love, more full of joy than the kingdoms and cities of the world. And thou, ah! But it is the enemy that hath done this, and made the guileless guileful. Yet will I have the upper hand at least, though thou suffer for it, and I suffer for thee? Walter stood before her with hanging head, and he put forth his hands, as if preying off her anger, and pondered what answer he should make, for now he feared for himself and the maid. So at last he looked up to her, and said boldly, Nay, lady, I know what thy words mean, whereas I remember thy first welcome of me. I want, forsooth, that thou wouldst call me base-born, and of no account, and unworthy to touch the hem of thy raiment, and that I have been overbold, and guilty towards thee. And doubtless this is sooth, and I have deserved thine anger, but I will not ask thee to pardon me, for I have done but what I must need. She looked on him calmly now, and without any wrath, but rather as if she would read what was written in his inmost heart. Then her face changed into joyousness again, and she smote her palms together, and cried out, This is but foolish talk, for yesterday did I see thy valiancy, and today I have seen thy goodliness, and I say, that though thou mightest not be good enough for a full woman of the earthly baronage, yet art thou good enough for me, the wise and the mighty and the lovely, and whereas thou sayest that I gave thee but disdain when first thou cameest to us, grudge not against me, therefore, because it was done but to prove thee, and now thou art proven. Then again he knelt down before her, and embraced her knees, and again she raised him up, and let her arm hang down over his shoulder, and her cheek brush his cheek, and she kissed his mouth, and said, Hereby is all forgiven both thine offence, and mine, and now cometh joy, and merry days. Therewith her smiling face grew grave, and she stood before him, looking stately, and gracious, and kind at once, and she took his hand, and said, Thou might esteem my chamber in the golden house of the wood overqueenly, since thou art no masterful man. So now hast thou chosen well the place wherein to meet me to-day, for hard by on the other side of the stream is a bower of pleasantce, which, forsooth, not every one who cometh to this land may find. There shall I be to thee, as one of the up-country damsels of thine own land, and thou shalt not be abashed. She sidled up to him as she spoke, and would he, would he not? Her sweet voice tickled his very soul with pleasure, and she looked aside on him, happy and well content. So they crossed the stream by the shallow below the pool wherein Walter had bathed, and within a little they came upon a tall fence of flake hurdles, and a simple gate therein. The lady opened the same, and they entered thereby into a close, all planted as a most fair garden, with hedges of rose and woodbine, and with linden trees a blossom, and long ways of green grass betwixt borders of lilies and clove ghillie-flowers, and other sweet garland-flowers. And a branch of the stream, which they had crossed air-while, wandered through that garden, and in the midst was a little house built of post and pan, and thatched with yellow straw, as if it were new-done. Then Walter looked this way and that, and wandered at first, and tried to think in his mind what should come next, and how matters would go with him. But his thought would not dwell steady on any other matter than the beauty of the lady amidst the beauty of the garden. And with all, she was now grown so sweet and kind, and even somewhat timid and shy with him, that scarce did he know whose hand he held, or whose fragrant bosom and sleek side went so close to him. So they wandered here and there through the waning of the day, and when they entered at last into the cool dusk house, then they loved and played together, as if they were a pair of lovers guileless, with no fear for the morrow, and no seeds of enmity and death sewn betwixt them. Chapter 18 The Maid Gives Walter Trist Now on the morrow, when Walter was awake, he found there was no one lying beside him, and the day was no longer very young, so he arose, and went through the garden from end to end, and all about, and there was none there, and albeit that he dreaded to meet the lady there, yet was he sad at heart, and fearful of what might be tied. Howsoever, he found the gate whereby they had entered yesterday, and he went out into the little dale, but when he had gone a step or two, he turned about, and could see neither garden, nor fence, nor any sign of what he had seen thereof but lately. He knit his brow, and stood still to think of it, and his heart grew the heavier thereby, but presently he went his ways and crossed the stream, but had scarce come up onto the grass on the further side ere he saw a woman coming to meet him, and at first, full as he was of the tide of yesterday, and the wondrous garden, deemed that it would be the lady. But the woman stayed her feet, and stooping laid a hand on her right ankle, and he saw that it was the maid. He drew an eye to her, and saw that she was not so sad of countenance as the last time she had met him, but flushed of cheek, and bright-eyed. As he came up to her, she made a step or two to meet him, holding out her two hands, then refrained her, and said, smiling, Our friend, but like this shall be the last time that I shall say to thee, touch me not, nay, not so much as my hand, or if it were but the hem of my raiment. The joy grew up in his heart, and he gazed on her fondly, and said, Why? What hath befallen of late? Oh, friend, she began, this hath befallen. But as he looked on her, the smile died from her face, and she became deadly pale to the very lips. She looked a sconce to her left side, whereas ran the stream, and Walter followed her eyes, and deemed for one instant that he saw the misshapen yellow visage of the dwarf, peering round from a gray rock. But the next there was nothing. Then the maid, though she was as pale as death, went on in a clear, steady, hard voice, wherein was no joy or kindness, keeping her face to Walter, and her back to the stream. This hath befallen, friend, that there is no longer any need to refrain thy love, nor mine. Therefore I say to thee, come to my chamber, and it is the red chamber over against thine, though thou newest it not, an hour before this next midnight, and then thy sorrow and mine shall be at an end. And now I must needs depart, follow me not, but remember. And therewith she turned about, and fled like the wind down the stream. But Walter stood wondering, and knew not what to make of it, whether it were for good or ill, for he knew now that she had paled, and been seized with terror, because of the upheaving of the ugly head. And yet she had seemed to speak out the very thing she had to say. How so ever it were, he spake aloud to himself, whatever comes, I will keep trist with her. Then he drew his sword, and turned this way and that, looking all about, if he might see any sign of the evil thing, but naught might his eyes behold save the grass, and the stream, and the bushes of the dale. So then, still holding his naked sword in his hand, he combed the bent out of the dale, for that was the only way he knew to the golden house. And when he came to the top, and the summer breeze blew in his face, and he looked down a fair green slope beset with goodly oaks and chestnuts, he was refreshed with the life of the earth, and he felt the good sword in his fist, and knew that there was might and longing in him, and the world seemed open unto him. So he smiled, if it were somewhat grimly, and sheathed his sword, and went on toward the house. End of Section 6. Section 7 of The Wood Beyond the World This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Corrie Samuel. The Wood Beyond the World by William Morris Chapter 19 Walter goes to fetch home the lion's hide. He entered the cool dusk through the porch, and, looking down the pillard hall, saw, beyond the fountain, a gleam of gold. And when he came past the said fountain, he looked up to the high seat, and low, the lady sitting there, clad in her queenly raiment. She called to him, and he came, and she hailed him, and spake graciously and calmly, yet as if she knew not of him, save as the leal servant of her, a high lady. Squire, she said, We have deemed it meat to have the hide of the servant of the enemy, the lion to wit, whom thou slewest yesterday. For a carpet to our feet. Wherefore, go now, take thy wood-knife, and flay the beast, and bring me home his skin. This shall be all thy service for this day. So mist thou do it at thine own leisure, and not weary thyself. May good go with thee. He bent the knee before her, and she smiled on him graciously, but reached out no hand for him to kiss, and heeded him but little. Wherefore, in spite of himself, and though he knew somewhat of her guile, he could not help marveling that this should be she who had lain in his arms night long but of late. How so that might be, he took his way toward the thicket where he had slain the lion, and came thither by then it was afternoon at the hottest of the day. So he entered therein, and came to the very place, whereas the lady had lain, when she fell down before the terror of the lion, and there was the mark of her body on the grass, where she had lain that while, like as it were the form of a hare. But when Walter went on to where he had slain that great beast, low, he was gone, and there was no sign of him, but there were Walter's own footprints, and the two shafts which he had shot, one feathered red, and one blue. He said at first, be like, someone hath been here, and hath had the carcass away. Then he laughed in very despite, and said, how may that be, since there are no signs of dragging away of so huge a body, and no blood or fur on the grass if they had cut him up, and moreover no trampling of feet, as if there had been many men at the deed. Then was he all abashed, and again laughed in scorn of himself, and said, forsooth I deemed I had done manly, but now forsooth I shot nought, and nought there was before the sword of my father's son. And what may I deem now, but that this is a land of mere lies, and that there is nought real and alive therein save me? Yea, be like even these trees, and the green grass, will presently depart from me, and leave me falling down through the clouds. Therewith he turned away, and got him to the road that led to the golden house, wondering what next should befall him, and going slowly as he pondered his case. So came he to that first thicket, where they had lost their quarry by water. So he entered the same musing, and bathed him in the pool that was therein, after he had wandered about it a while, and found nothing new. So again he set him to the homeward road, when the day was now waning, and it was near sunset that he was come nigh under the house, though it was hidden from him as then by a low bent that rose before him, and there he abode, and looked about him. Now as he looked over the said bent came the figure of a woman, who stayed on the brow thereof, and looked all about her, and then ran swiftly down to meet Walter, who saw at once that it was the maid. She made no stay, then, till she was but three paces from him, and then she stooped down, and made the sign to him, and then spake to him breathlessly, and said, Harken, but speak not till I have done, I bade thee to night's meeting, because I saw that there was one and I whom I must need beguile. But by thine oath, and thy love, and all that thou art, I adjure thee, come not unto me this night as I bade thee, but be hidden in the hazel-cops outside the house, as it draws toward midnight, and abide me there. Dost thou Harken, and wilt thou? Say yes or no in haste, for I may not tarry a moment of time, who knoweth what is behind me? Yes, said Walter hastily, but friend and love. No more, she said, hope the best. And turning from him, she ran away swiftly, not by the way she had come, but sideways, as though to reach the house by fetching a compass. But Walter went slowly on his way, thinking within himself, that now, at that present moment, there was not for it but to refrain him from doing, and to let others do. Yet deemed he that it was little manly to be as the pawn upon the board, pushed about by the will of others. Then, as he went, he bethought him of the maiden's face and aspect, as she came running to him, and stood before him for that minute. And all eagerness he saw in her, and saw love of him, and distress of soul, all blent together. So came he to the brow of the bent, whence he could see lying before him, scarce more than a bow-shot away, the golden house, now gilded again, and reddened by the setting sun. And even therewith came a gay image toward him, flashing back the level rays from gold and steel and silver, and lo, there was come the king's son. They met presently, and the king's son turned to go beside him, and said merrily, I give thee good even, my lady's squire. I owe thee something of courtesy, whereas it is by thy means that I shall be made happy, both to-night and to-morrow, and many to-morrow's, and sooth it is, that but little courtesy have I done thee hitherto. His face was full of joy, and the eyes of him shone with gladness. He was a goodly man, but to Walter he seemed an ill one, and he hated him so much, that he found it no easy matter to answer him. But he refrained himself, and said, I can thee thank king's son, and good it is that someone is happy in this strange land. But thou not happy then, squire of my lady, said the other. Walter had no mind to show this man his heart, nay, nor even a corner thereof, for he deemed him an enemy. So he smiled sweetly, and somewhat foolishly, as a man luckily in love, and said, oh yay, yay, why should I not be so? How might I be otherwise? Yay then, said the king's son. Why didst thou say that thou art glad someone is happy? Who is unhappy, deemest thou? And he looked on him keenly. Walter answered slowly. Said I so? I suppose, then, that I was thinking of thee, for when I first saw thee, yay, and afterwards, thou didst seem heavy-hearted and ill-content. The face of the king's son cleared at this word, and he said, Yay, so it was, for look you, both ways it was, I was unfree, and I had sown the true desire of my heart, whereas it waxed not. But now I am on the brink and verge of freedom, and presently shall my desire be blossomed. Nay, now, squire, I deem thee a good fellow, though it may be somewhat of a fool, so I will no more speak riddles to thee. Thus it is, the maid hath promised me all my nasking, and is mine, and in two or three days, by her helping also, I shall see the world gain, quote Walter, smiling a skence on him. And the lady, what shall she say to this matter? The king's son reddened, but smiled falsely enough, and said, Sir Squire, thou knowest enough not to need to ask this. Why should I tell thee that she accounteth more of thy little finger than of my whole body? Now I tell thee hereof freely, first, because this my fruition of love, and my freeing from thralldom, is, in a way, of thy doing. For thou art become my supplanta, and hast taken thy place with yonder lovely tyrant. Fear not for me, she will let me go. As for thyself, see thou to it. But again I tell thee hereof, because my heart is light and full of joy, and telling thee will pleasure me, and cannot do me any harm. For if thou say, how if I carry the tale to my lady, I answer, thou wilt not. For I know that thine heart hath been somewhat set on the jewel that my hand holdeth, and thou knowest well on whose head the lady's wrath would fall, and that would be neither thine nor mine. Thou sayest sooth, said Walter, neither is treason my want. So they walked on silently awhile, and then Walter said, But how if the maiden had nay said thee, what had thou done then? By the heavens, said the king's son fiercely, she should have paid for her nay say, then would I But he broke off, and said quietly, yet somewhat doggedly. Why talk of what might have been, she gave me her yay say pleasantly and sweetly. Now Walter knew that the man lied, so he held his peace thereon, but presently he said, When thou art free wilt thou go to thine own land again. Yay, said the king's son, she will lead me thither. And wilt thou make her thy lady and queen, when thou comest to thy father's land? said Walter. The king's son knit his brow, and said, When I am in mine own land, I may do with her what I will, but I look for it that I shall do no otherwise with her, than that she shall be well content. Then a talk between them dropped, and the king's son turned off toward the wood, singing and joyous. But Walter went soberly toward the house. For sooth he was not greatly cast down, for besides that he knew that the king's son was false, he deemed that under this double-trist lay something which was a-doing in his own behalf. Yet was he eager and troubled, if not down-hearted, and his soul was cast about, betwixt hope and fear. Chapter 20 Walter is bidden to another trist. So came he into the pillard hall, and there he found the lady walking to and fro by the high seat. And when he drew nigh, she turned on him, and said in a voice rather eager than angry, What hast thou done, squire? Why out thou come before me? He was abashed, and bowed before her, and said, O gracious lady, thou bedest me service, and I have been about it. She said, Tell me then, tell me what hath betided. Lady, said he, When I enter the thicket of thy swooning, I found there no carcass of the lion, nor any sign of the dragging away of him. She looked full in his face for a little, and then went to her chair, and sat down therein, and in a little while spake to him in a softer voice, and said, Did I not tell thee that some enemy had done that unto me? And lo! now thou seest that so it is. Then was she silent again, and knit her brows, and set her teeth, and thereafter she spake harshly and fiercely. But I will overcome her, and make her days evil, but keep death away from her, that she may die many times over, and know all the sicknesses of the heart when foes be nigh, and friends are far, and there is none to deliver. Her eyes flashed, and her face was dark with anger. But she turned, and caught Walter's eyes, and the sternness of his face, and she softened at once, and said, But thou, this hath little to do with thee, and now to thee I speak. Now cometh even and night. Go thou to thy chamber, and there shall thou find raiment worthy of thee. What thou now art, and what thou shalt be. Do on the same, and make thyself most goodly. And then come thou hither, and eat, and drink with me. And afterwards depart witheth thou wilt, till the night has worn to its midmost. And then come thou to my chamber, to wit, through the ivory door in the gallery above. And then and there shall I tell thee a thing, and it shall be for the wheel both of thee and of me, but for the grief and woe of the enemy. Therewith she reached her hand to him, and he kissed it, and departed, and came to his chamber, and found raiment there before rich beyond measure. And he wandered if any new snare lay therein. Yet if there were he saw no way whereby he might escape it. So he did it on, and became as the most glorious of kings, and yet lovelier than any king of the world. So thence he went his way into the pillard hall, when it was now night, and without the moon was up, and the trees of the wood as still as images. But within the hall shone bright with many candles, and the fountain glittered in the light of them as it ran tinkling sweetly into the little stream, and the silvan bridges gleamed, and the pillars shone all round about. And there, on the dais, was a table-dite most royally, and the lady sitting thereat clad in her most glorious array, and behind her, the maid, standing humbly, yet clad in precious web of shimmering gold, but with feet unshod, and the iron ring upon her ankle. So Walter came his ways to the high seat, and the lady rose and greeted him, and took him by the hands, and kissed him on either cheek, and sat him down beside her. So they fell to their meat, and the maid served them. But the lady took no more heed of her than if she were one of the pillars of the hall. But Walter she caressed oft with sweet words, and the touch of her hand, making him drink out of her cup, and eat out of her dish. As to him he was bashful by seeming, but verily fearful, he took the lady's caresses with what grace he might, and durced not so much as glance at her maid. Long indeed seemed that banquet to him, and longer yet endured the weariness of his abiding there, kind to his foe, and unkind to his friend. For after the banquet they still sat a while, and the lady talked much to Walter about many things of the ways of the world, and he answered what he might, distraught as he was with the thought of those two trists which he had to deal with. At last spake the lady, and said, Now must I leave thee for a little, and thou wottest where and how we shall meet next, and meanwhile desport thee as thou wilt, so that thou weary not thyself, for I love to see thee joyous. Then she arose stately and grand, but she kissed Walter on the mouth ere she turned to go out of the hall. The maid followed her. But or ever she was quite gone she stooped and made that sign, and looked over her shoulder at Walter, as if in entreaty to him, and there was fear and anguish in her face. But he nodded his head to her in yay say of the trist in the hazel-cops, and in a trice she was gone. Walter went down the hall, and forth into the early night. But in the jaws of the porch he came up against the king's son, who, gazing at his attire, glittering with all its gems in the moonlight, laughed out, and said, Now may it be seen how thou art risen in degree above me, whereas I am but a king's son, and that a king of a far country. Whereas thou art a king of kings, or shalt be this night, yay, and of this very country wherein we both are. Now Walter saw the mock, which lay under his words, but he kept back his wroth, and answered, Fare sir, art thou as well contented with thy lot as when the sun went down? Has thou no doubt or fear? Will the maid verily keep trist with thee, or hath she given the yay say but to escape thee this time? Or again, may she not turn to the lady and appeal to her against thee? Now when he had spoken these words, he repented thereof, and feared for himself and the maid, lest he had stirred some misgiving in that young man's foolish heart. But the king's son did but laugh, and answered naught but to Walter's last words, and said, Yay, yay, this word of thine showeth how little thou wattest of that which Lyoth betwixt my darling and thine. Doth the lamb appeal from the shepherd to the wolf? Even so shall the maid appeal from me to thy lady. What? Ask thy lady at thy leisure what her want hath been with her through all, she shall think it a fair tale to tell thee thereof. But thereof is my maid all whole now by reason of her wisdom in leechcraft, or somewhat more, and now I tell thee again that the before said maid must need to do my will, for if I be the deep sea, and I deem not so ill of myself, that other one is the devil, as be like thou shalt find out for thyself later on. Yay, all is well with me, and more than well, and therewith he swung merrily into the litten hall. But Walter went out into the moonlit night, and wandered about for an hour or more, and stole warily into the hall, and thence into his own chamber. There he did off that royal array, and did his own raiment upon him. He girded him with sword and knife, took his bow and quiver, and stole down and out again, even as he had come in. Then he fetched a compass, and came down into the hazel coppice from the north, and lay hidden there, while the night wore, till he deemed it would lack but a little of midnight. Chapter 21 Walter and the maid flee from the golden house. There he abode amidst the hazels, harkening every littlest sound, and the sounds were nought but the night voices of the wood, till suddenly there burst forth from the house a great wailing cry. Walter's heart came up into his mouth, but he had no time to do aught, for following hard on the cry came the sound of light feet close to him, the boughs were thrust aside, and there was come the maid, and she butt in her white coat and barefoot. And then first he felt the sweetness of her flesh on his, for she caught him by the hand, and said breathlessly, Now, now, there may yet be time, or even too much it may be, for the saving of breath ask me no questions, but come. He dallyed not, but went as she led, and they were lightfoot, both of them. They went the same way, due south to it, whereby he had gone a hunting with the lady. And whilst they ran, and whilst they walked, but so fast they went, that by grey of the dawn they would come as far as that copis or thicket of the lion. And still they hastened onward, and but little had the maid spoken, save here and there a word to hearten up, Walter, and here and there a shy word of endearment. At last the dawn grew into early day, and as they came over the brow of a bent, they looked down over a plain land, whereas the trees grew scattermeal, and beyond the plain rose up the land into long green hills, and over those again were blue mountains, great and far away, then spake the maid. Over yonder lie the outlying mountains of the bears, and through them we needs must pass to our great peril. Nay, friend, she said, as he handled his sword-hilt, it must be patience and wisdom to bring us through, and not the fallow blade of one man, though he be a good one. But look, below there runs a stream through the first of the plain, and I see not for it, but we must now rest our bodies. Moreover, I have a tale to tell thee, which is burning my heart, for maybe there will be a pardon to ask of thee moreover, wherefore I fear thee. Quoth Walter, how may that be? She answered him not, but took his hand and led him down the bent. But he said, thou sayest, rest, but are we now out of all peril of the chase? She said, I cannot tell till I know what hath befallen her. If she be not to hand to set on her trackers, they will scarce happen upon us now. If it be not for that one. And she shuddered, and he felt her hand change as he held it. Then she said, but peril or no peril, needs must be rest, for I tell thee again what I have to say to thee burneth my bosom for fear of thee, so that I can go no further until I have told thee. Then he said, I want not of this queen and her mightiness and her servants, I will ask thereof later. But besides the others, is there not the king's son, he who loves thee so unworthily? She paled somewhat, and said, as for him there had been nought for thee to fear in him save his treason. But now shall he neither love nor hate any more. He died last midnight. Ye, and how? said Walter. Nay, she said, let me tell my tale altogether once for all lest thou blame me over much. But first we will wash us, and comfort us as best we may, and then amidst our resting shall the word be said. By then were they come down to the streamside, which ran fair in pools and stickles amidst rocks and sandy banks. She said, there behind the great grey rock is my bath-friend, and here is thine, and lo, the uprising of the sun. So she went her ways to the said rock. And he bathed him, and washed the night off him. And by then he was clad again, she came back fresh and sweet from the water, and with her lap full of cherries, from a wilding which overhung her bath. So they sat down together on the green grass above the sand, and ate the breakfast of the wilderness. And Walter was full of content as he watched her, and beheld her sweetness and her loveliness. Yet were they, either of them, somewhat shy and the shame faced each with the other. So that he did but kiss her hands once and again. And though she shrank not from him, yet had she no boldness to cast herself into his arms. End of Section 7