“O Christalan! you would not love a maid
That lost her maiden pride and dignity,
Giving her love unasked?” said Greane, in scorn.

“Alas, Greane! have you, hidden from the world,
Learned the world’s jargon and false estimates? 
Do you not know that love is more than pride,
And beating heart more than cold dignity? 
Men die for glory, and you all applaud. 
Elaine’s love was her glory; honour her
That she did die for it.  That she could tell
Her story fearlessly to all the court
But proves her high, unconscious purity.”

“Well,” said fair Greane, with laughter in her eyes,
“I straight will die for the next noble knight
Who comes to Noel-garde to rest awhile,
And you shall put me on a gilded barge,—­
I will not have a solemn bed of black!—­
And our old servitor shall deck—­”

“Peace, Greane!”
Said Christalan, in tones that frightened her,
Who knew no sound from him but tenderness. 
“Dare not to jest about that holy maid,
Too pure to fear, too true to hide her heart.”

Then there were tales to tell of the great King
Who passed in such a wondrous mystery
From out the realm; and of King Constantine,
“Who may not be like great King Arthur, Greane,
But who deservedly has right to wear
The crown he wore; for he is brave and strong,
Mighty in battle, bountiful in peace,
To each brave knight a friend, and to the weak
As I, who never knew a father, think
A father might be.

“When I saw him first,
He asked, ’Are you Sir Noel’s son—­the knight
Who, with the mighty King (peace to his soul!),
Landed at Dover, and there fought so well?’
Abashed I answered, ‘Yea, my liege’; but he
Laid his great hand, that has a jagged scar
Half-way across it, on my arm and said,
’Be not afraid; I was your father’s friend,
And will be yours, if you are worthy him.’

“Often thereafter would he speak to me
So graciously, I for a time forgot
He was a king, and answered him as free
From fear or shyness as I answer you,
Told him my thirst for knighthood and for fame,
To which he listened with that strange grim smile,
So like a sunbeam in a rocky place
Then, straightway, as I watched him, in his eyes
There came the look that made me want to kneel,
Remembering he was a king indeed. 
I love him, Greane, I—­”

Christalan turned quick
His face away, and strove to hide the pain
That held him in its sharp and sudden grasp,
Pain of the flesh, that was but less than pain
Of heart, that it should keep him from his King,
And knightly service worthy of his name
Greane spoke not, but she understood, and crept
Close to his side, finding his cold white hand,—­
The laughter turned to tears within her eyes.