“Thou art my Lord,” said Griselda.  “My will and my freedom lie in my father’s cottage with the poor soiled clothes I left there on the day thou didst bring me hither.  Could I know thy will before thou didst tell it to me, it would be done, though it were death to do it.  Life cannot compare with thy love.”

Lord Walter looked down to the ground.  He could not look at his wife lest he should not have heart to do as he wished.

Again the rude soldier came to Griselda.  He was even harsher than before, and carried off the child without a kind word to the patient mother.

When the little boy was gone, the people said very bitter things about Lord Walter.  The love they had given him before was turned into hatred because he had treated his beautiful wife so unkindly, and because he had murdered his children.

Though Lord Walter saw this, he wished to try his wife once more.  He knew that he could send away his wife and marry another if he got a letter from the Pope to say that he might.  He sent a messenger to Rome, where the Pope lived.  This messenger was told to bring back a letter, not from the Pope, but as like one of his as possible.

The letter came.  It said that because of the anger of Lord Walter’s people at the lowly birth of his wife Griselda, the Marquis might send her away and marry another.

The news of the letter spread throughout the land.  Every one believed that it had really come from the Pope.

Griselda’s heart was very sore when she heard of this letter.  But she went on quietly with each day’s work.  She did not even speak of the letter to her husband.

At last Lord Walter spoke before all his court, and with no knightly gentleness.

“Griselda,” he said, “there is no freedom in the life of one who rules.  I may not act after my own wish as any laborer on my land may do.  As thou knowest, my people hate thy presence, and demand of me that I wed another.  The Pope’s letter thou hast heard.  Return then, swiftly and without complaint, to thy father’s cottage, for already my bride cometh hither.”

“My Lord, it is no new thought to me, that I am unworthy to be thy servant—­far more unworthy to be thy wife.  In this great house of which thou didst make me queen, I have not acted as mistress, but only as lowly handmaid to thee.  For these years of thy kindness, I thank thee.  Gladly do I go to my father’s house.  There he tended me when I was but a child.  Now I will stay with him till death enters the cottage door.  To thee and to thy bride be joy.  To her I willingly yield the place where I have been so happy.  Since thou, who once wert all my joy, wilt have me go, I go!”

Lord Walter turned away in sadness.  He could scarcely speak for pity, but he held to his purpose.

Then Griselda drew her wedding-ring from her finger, and laid it down.  Beside it she put the gems that Lord Walter had given her.  Her beautiful robes she laid aside.  In the simplest gown she could find, and with head and feet all bare, Griselda went down through the olive trees towards her father’s house.