"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."