“Go on,” he said—­“What were the words?”

“These”—­and Innocent spoke them in a hushed voice, with sweet reverence and feeling—­“’Tonight I pull down and put away for ever the golden banner of my life’s ideal.  It has been held aloft too long in the sunshine of a dream, and the lily broidered on its web is but a withered flower.  My life is no longer of use to myself, but as a man and faithful knight I will make it serve another’s pleasure and another’s good.  And because this good and simple girl doth truly love me, though her love was none of my seeking, I will give her her heart’s desire, though mine own heart’s desire shall never be accomplished,—­I will make her my wife, and will be to her a true and loyal husband, so that she may receive from me all she craves of happiness and peace.  For though I fain would die rather than wed, I know that life is not given to a man to live selfishly, nor is God satisfied to have it wasted by any one who hath sworn to be His knight and servant.  Therefore even so let it be!—­I give all my unvalued existence to her who doth consider it valuable, and with all my soul I pray that I may make so gentle and trustful a creature happy.  But to Love—­oh, to Love a long farewell!—­farewell my dreams!—­farewell ambition!—­farewell the glory of the vision unattainable!—­farewell bright splendour of an earthly Paradise!—­for now I enter that prison which shall hold me fast till death release me!  Close, doors!—­fasten, locks!—­be patient in thy silent solitude, my Soul!’”

Innocent’s voice faltered here—­then she said—­“That is the end.  He signed it ‘Amadis.’”

Robin was very quiet for a minute or two.

“It’s pretty—­very pretty and touching—­and all that sort of thing,” he said at last—­“but it’s like some old sonnet or mediaeval bit of romance.  No one would go on like that nowadays.”

Innocent lifted her eyebrows, quizzically.

“Go on like what?”

He moved impatiently.

“Oh, about being patient in solitude with one’s soul, and saying farewell to love.”  He gave a short laugh.  “Innocent dear, I wish you would see the world as it really is!—­not through the old-style spectacles of the Sieur Amadis!  In his day people were altogether different from what they are now.”

“I’m sure they were!” she answered, quietly—­“But love is the same to-day as it was then.”

He considered a moment, then smiled.

“No, dear, I’m not sure that it is,” he said.  “Those knights and poets and curious people of that kind lived in a sort of imaginary ecstasy—­they exaggerated their emotions and lived at the top-height of their fancies.  We in our time are much more sane and level-headed.  And it’s much better for us in the long run.”

She made no reply.  Only very gently she withdrew her hand from his.