But Iseult, hearing them, could not answer them a word.  She went up to the palace, following the way, and her cloak was random and wild.  The Bretons marvelled as she went; nor had they ever seen woman of such a beauty, and they said: 

“Who is she, or whence does she come?”

Near Tristan, Iseult of the White Hands crouched, maddened at the evil she had done, and calling and lamenting over the dead man.  The other Iseult came in and said to her: 

“Lady, rise and let me come by him; I have more right to mourn him than have you—­believe me.  I loved him more.”

And when she had turned to the east and prayed God, she moved the body a little and lay down by the dead man, beside her friend.  She kissed his mouth and his face, and clasped him closely; and so gave up her soul, and died beside him of grief for her lover.

When King Mark heard of the death of these lovers, he crossed the sea and came into Brittany; and he had two coffins hewn, for Tristan and Iseult, one of chalcedony for Iseult, and one of beryl for Tristan.  And he took their beloved bodies away with him upon his ship to Tintagel, and by a chantry to the left and right of the apse he had their tombs built round.  But in one night there sprang from the tomb of Tristan a green and leafy briar, strong in its branches and in the scent of its flowers.  It climbed the chantry and fell to root again by Iseult’s tomb.  Thrice did the peasants cut it down, but thrice it grew again as flowered and as strong.  They told the marvel to King Mark, and he forbade them to cut the briar any more.

The good singers of old time, Beroul and Thomas of Built, Gilbert and Gottfried told this tale for lovers and none other, and, by my pen, they beg you for your prayers.  They greet those who are cast down, and those in heart, those troubled and those filled with desire.  May all herein find strength against inconstancy and despite and loss and pain and all the bitterness of loving.

THE END

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. at Paul’s Work, Edinburgh