But about noontide I entered a wood close by the stream, a beech-wood, intending to rest myself; the herbage was thin and scattered there, sprouting up from amid the leaf-sheaths and nuts of the beeches, which had fallen year after year on that same spot; the outside boughs swept low down, the air itself seemed green when you entered within the shadow of the branches, they over-roofed the place so with tender green, only here and there showing spots of blue.

But what lay at the foot of a great beech tree but some dead knight in armour, only the helmet off?  A wolf was prowling round about it, who ran away snarling when he saw me coming.

So I went up to that dead knight, and fell on my knees before him, laying my head on his breast, for it was Arnald.  He was quite cold, but had not been dead for very long; I would not believe him dead, but went down to the stream and brought him water, tried to make him drink-what would you?  He was as dead as Swanhilda:  neither came there any answer to my cries that afternoon but the moaning of the wood doves in the beeches.  So then I sat down and took his head on my knees, and closed the eyes, and wept quietly while the sun sank lower.

But a little after sunset I heard a rustle through the leaves, that was not the wind, and looking up my eyes met the pitying eyes of that maiden.

Something stirred rebelliously within me; I ceased weeping, and said:  “It is unjust, unfair:  What right had Swanhilda to live?  Did not God give her up to us?  How much better was he than ten Swanhildas?

And look you —­ See!  He is dead.”

Now this I shrieked out, being mad; and though I trembled when I saw some stormy wrath that vexed her very heart and loving lips, gathering on her face, I yet sat there looking at her and screaming, screaming, till all the place rang.

But when growing hoarse and breathless I ceased; she said, with straitened brow and scornful mouth:  “So!  Bravely done!  Must I then, though I am a woman, call you a liar, for saying God is unjust?  You to punish her, had not God then punished her already?  How many times when she woke in the dead night do you suppose she missed seeing King Urrayne’s pale face and hacked head lying on the pillow by her side?  Whether by night or day, what things but screams did she hear when the wind blew loud round about the Palace corners?  And did not that face too, often come before her, pale and bleeding as it was long ago, and gaze at her from unhappy eyes!  Poor eyesi With changed purpose in them- no more hope of converting the world when that blow was once struck, truly it was very wicked-no more dreams, but only fierce struggles with the Devil for very life, no more dreams but failure at last, and death, happier so in the Hollow Land.”

She grew so pitying as she gazed at his dead face that I began to weep again unreasonably, while she saw not that I was weeping, but looked only on Arnald’s face, but after turned on me frowning.  “Unjust!  Yes, truly unjust enough to take away life and all hope from her; you have done a base cowardly act, you and your brother here, disguise it as you may; you deserve all God’s judgment — you”