The Forest Lovers

He turned his face towards the north and rode on. If he had followed

the two-out of sight by now--he would have got nearer his heart's

desire; but he could not do that. He had formed a judgment calmly. If

he wanted Isoult he must find Galors. Galors had Hauterive but had not

Goltres. Therefore Galors was at Goltres. Prosper always accredited

his enemies with his own quality. So he rode away from Isoult as proud

as a pope.

We will follow the Golden Knight while our breath endures. We can

track him to Hauterive. He never stayed rein till he reached it, and

there at the gates dropped his chestnut dead of a broken heart. In the

hall of the citadel it was no Golden Knight but a grey-faced old woman

who knelt before Galors in his chair. Her voice was dry as bare

branches.

"If ever you owe me thanks for what I have done and will yet do for

you, Galors, my lover, you shall pay them now. Prosper is at Goltres.

He and Spiridion will be there alone. I give you back Spiridion. Give

me the life of Prosper, give me his head and his tongue, give me his

heart, and I will be your slave who was once your world. Will you do

it, Galors? Will you do it this night?"

"By God I will," said Galors.

"There is one other thing"--the woman was gasping for breath--"one

little thing. Give me back the arms you bear. You must never wear them

again. I always hated them; no good can ensue them. Give them to me,

Galors, and wear them no more."

"By God again," said Galors, "that is impossible! I will never do it.

What! when the whole forest rings with Entra per me, and

wicket-gates dazzle every eye on this side Wan? My friend, where are

your wits? That droll of a Montguichet did me a turn there before you

had him, mistress."

"Ah, Galors," was all she could say, "he has found me again. I am sick

of the work, Galors; let me go home."

"Speed me first, my delight," cried Galors, jumping up. He shouted

through the door, "Ho, there! My horse and arms! Turn the guard out!

In three minutes we are off."

The woman crept away. She had worked her hardest for him, but he

wanted nothing of her.

"Dirty weather, by the Rood," said Galors, looking out at the rain.

"Dirty weather and a smell of worse. Hearken to the wind in the

turrets. Gentlemen, we are for Goltres. Spare no horseflesh. Forward!"

and he was gone through the dripping streets at the falling in of a

wild day. It was the day Falve had brought in his bride-expectant to

Litany Row.