But I turned my eyes and wet face to her, and said:  “Do not curse me there — do not look like Swanhilda:  for see now, you said at first that you have been waiting long for me, give me your hand now, for I love you so.”

Then she came and knelt by where I sat, and I caught her in my arms and she prayed to be forgiven.

“0, Florian!  I have indeed waited long for you, and when I saw you my heart was filled with joy, but you would neither touch me nor speak to me, so that I became almost mad, forgive me, we will be so happy now. 0! do you know this is what I have been waiting for all these years; it made me glad, I know, when I was a little baby in my mother’s arms to think I was born for this; and afterwards, as I grew up, I used to watch every breath of wind through the beech-boughs, every turn of the silver poplar leaves, thinking it might be you or some news of you.”

Then I rose and drew her up with me; but she knelt again by my brother’s side, and kissed him, and said: 

“0 brother!  The Hollow Land is only second best of the places God has made, for Heaven also is the work of His hand.”

Afterwards we dug a deep grave among the beechroots and there we buried Amald de Liliis.

And I have never seen him since, scarcely even in dreams; surely God has had mercy on him, for he was very leal and true and brave; he loved many men, and was kind and gentle to his friends, neither did he hate any but Swanhilda.

But as for us two, Margaret and me, I cannot tell you concerning our happiness, such things cannot be told; only this I know, that we abode continually in the Hollow Land until I lost it.

Moreover this I can tell you.  Margaret was walking with me, as she often walked near the place where I had first seen her; presently we came upon a woman sitting, dressed in scarlet and gold raiment, with her head laid down on her knees; likewise we heard her sobbing.

“Margaret, who is she?” I said:  “I knew not that any dwelt in the Hollow Land but us two only.”

She said, “I know not who she is, only sometimes; these many years, I have seen her scarlet robe flaming from far away, amid the quiet green grass:  but I was never so near her as this.

Florian, I am afraid:  let us come away.”

FYTTE THE SECOND

Such a horrible grey November day it was, the fog-smell all about, the fog creeping into our very bones.

And I sat there, trying to recollect, at any rate something, under those fir-trees that I ought to have known so well.

Just think now; I had lost my best years some- where; for I was past the prime of life, my hair and beard were scattered with white, my body was growing weaker, my memory of all things was very faint

My raiment, purple and scarlet and blue once, was so stained that you could scarce call it any colour, was so tattered that it scarce covered my body, though it seemed once to have fallen in heavy folds to my feet, and still, when I rose to walk, though the miserable November mist lay in great drops upon my bare breast, yet was I obliged to wind my raiment over my arm, it dragged so (wretched, slimy, textureless thing! ) in the brown mud.