"Take me to bed, Roy," said he, looking at her strangely.

Isoult led the way; he followed her close.

She went into the dark room with her torch while Prosper stood in the

doorway. She lighted the candles: he could see how deliberately she

did it, without waver or tremor. His own heart thumping at such a

rate, it was astounding to him to watch. Then she beat out the torch

on the hearth, and waited. Three strides brought him into the middle

of the room, but the look of her stopped him there. She was rather

pale, very grave, looked taller than her height; her eyes seemed like

twin lakes of dark water, unruffled and unwinking. Neither of them

spoke, though there was fine disorder in two hearts, and one was

crying inwardly to Love and the Virgin. Isoult spoke first in a very

low voice.

"Lord, now let me go," she said.

The next minute he had her in his arms.

She had been prepared for this, and now suffered what she must,

lifeless and pleasureless, with a dull pain in her heart. This was the

stabbing pain (as with a muffled knife) with which true love maims

itself in its own defence. His aim for her lips was parried; as well

he might have embraced a dead woman. Soon his passion burned itself

out for lack of fuel; he set her down and looked moodily at her,

panting.

"Are you my wife? By the saints, are you not my wife? Why are you

here?"

"To serve my lord."

"Serve! serve! And is this the service you do me? Are you not my

wife?"

"I am she, lord. I am what you made me. I serve as you taught."

"Does a wife not owe obedience? Hath a lord--hath a husband no right

to that?"

"Love is a great lord--"

"By Heaven, do I not love you?"

He could have sworn he did; but Isoult knew better.

"Yesterday my lord loved me not; to-morrow he will not love me. I am

his servant--his page."

"Isoult, you know that you are my wife."

"I am your servant, lord," said Isoult. "Listen."

As he stood hiding his face in his hand, this tall and lordly youth,

Isoult took up her parable, but so low you could hardly hear it.

"Lord," she said, "when you wed me in the cottage it was for honour

and to save my body from hanging. And when you had saved my body you

showed me soul's salvation, and taught me how to pray, saying, Deal

justly, live cleanly, breathe sweet breath. And when you went away

from Gracedieu saying you would come again, I waited for you there,

doing all that you had taught me. So I did when I was made a prisoner

in the dark tower, and so I would do now that I am blest with sight of

you and service. But when I cried for you at Gracedieu you came not,

and when I came to warn you of your peril you hoped for Roy, and

seeing me your looks fell. And I knew this must be so, and would have

gone back to Gracedieu had you told me. For then I should still have

been rich with what you had given me once. Now even I will go, asking

but one thing of you for a mercy, that you do not send me away

beggared of what you gave me before."




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