He looked and saw pain and grief in her face, as it had been the shadow of that past time, and the fierceness of love in him so changed his face, that she arose and drew a little way from him, and stood there gazing at him.  But he also rose and knelt before her, and reached up for her hands and took them in his and said:  “Tell me truly, and beguile me not; for I am a young man, and without guile, and I love thee, and would have thee for my speech-friend, what woman soever may be in the world.  Whatever thou hast been, what art thou now?  Art thou good or evil?  Wilt thou bless me or ban me?  For it is the truth that I have heard tales and tales of thee:  many were good, though it maybe strange; but some, they seemed to warn me of evil in thee.  O look at me, and see if I love thee or not! and I may not help it.  Say once for all, shall that be for my ruin or my bliss?  If thou hast been evil, then be good this one time and tell me.”

She neither reddened now, nor paled at his words, but her eyes filled with tears, and ran over, and she looked down on him as a woman looks on a man that she loves from the heart’s root, and she said:  “O my lord and love, may it be that thou shalt find me no worse to thee than the best of all those tales.  Forsooth how shall I tell thee of myself, when, whatever I say, thou shalt believe every word I tell thee?  But O my heart, how shouldest thou, so sweet and fair and good, be taken with the love of an evil thing?  At the least I will say this, that whatsoever I have been, I am good to thee—­I am good to thee, and will be true to thee.”

He drew her down to him as he knelt there, and took his arms about her, and though she yet shrank from him a little and the eager flame of his love, he might not be gainsayed, and she gave herself to him and let her body glide into his arms, and loved him no less than he loved her.  And there between them in the wilderness was all the joy of love that might be.

CHAPTER 2

They Break Their Fast in the Wildwood

Now when it was hard on noon, and they had lain long in that grassy place, Ralph rose up and stood upon his feet, and made as one listening.  But the Lady looked on him and said:  “It is naught save a hart and his hind running in the wood; yet mayhappen we were best on the road, for it is yet long.”  “Yea,” said Ralph, “and it may be that my master will gather folk and pursue us.”  “Nay, nay,” she said, “that were to wrong him, to deem that he would gather folk to follow one man; if he come, he will be by himself alone.  When he found us gone he doubtless cast himself on Silverfax, my horse, in trust of the beast following after my feet.”

“Well,” said Ralph, “and if he come alone, there is yet a sword betwixt him and thee.”