She told the story of her bitter wrong
In poignant words of passionate disdain. 
“And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,—­
Having more faith in your true love for me
Than any woman ever had before
In love of man, or chivalry of knight,—­
To tell you that I love you more than life. 
Long have I loved you, well I know it now,
Although I knew it not, until this blow
Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul. 
I rose this morn resolved to be more true
To your high thought of womanhood, and wife,
To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive
To make my life more worthy of your love;
And then,—­God help me,—­my resolve was crushed
By Torm’s fierce hand, and love for you set free. 
Yea, now my heart is sure,—­beyond all doubt,
Beyond all question and all fear of men,—­
That I, for ever, love you utterly. 
Take me, beloved, I am yours, I want,
I need, I pant, I tremble for your care. 
O meet me not so coldly!  I shall die
If you repulse me; I have come so far
And fast, without a fear,—­I loved you so,—­
To seek the blessed shelter of your arms. 
My brain is dizzy, and my senses fail;
For God’s sake tell me you are glad I came
To you—­and only you—­in my despair.”

He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,—­
His eyes alone embracing her the while,—­
“Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above
All women on the earth, loved with a love
That words would but conceal, were they essayed,
Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself,
If I am cold, you know it is in truth
A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. 
Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so,
And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say
You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm.”

“Back to Sir Torm!” she said, in a half dream. 
“O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! 
Save me and keep me from the bitter shame
Of such humiliation to my soul.”

“No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine,
Can bring humiliation to a soul. 
Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally—­”

“He knows not how to love,” she said in scorn.

“He knows his way, and in it loves you well;
Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride;
He would refuse you nothing you could ask
To gratify your pleasure and desire. 
He brought you from a narrow, hidden lot,
To share with you his honours at the court. 
You will not let all that be wiped away
By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm
Has bitterly repented and bewailed
Full long ere this; of that you are right sure,
Because you know his loving heart’s rebound.”

“To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death.”

“Naught can bring death to immortality
But sin,—­and life with me, my Gwendolaine,
Would be the death of all we hold most high.”

“Jesu have mercy!  Sanpeur casts me off;
He does not love me!  I have dreamed it all.”