Under King Constantine | Page 5

call?"
"You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine."
"By your kind grace, I cannot guess," she said, Repenting as she said it, instantly.
"Because I love you only, evermore; You long have felt it, known it; and I thought Cared not to hear me say it with my voice; But, as you wish it, I have said it now, My Lady Gwendolaine."
They stood among The knights and ladies, therefore he spoke low, In quiet dignity, as he might say "How well the colour of your robe beseems Your beauty";--not a trace of passionate Intensity, save in his lucent eyes. No passion nor embrace could so have moved her, As this calm telling her in quiet words The secret of all secrets in God's world, As though it were a part of daily life; This power to hold a passion in his hand,-- Which his true eyes declared was measureless,-- As though he were its master, utterly. True women are like Nature, their great mother, Stirred on the surface by each passing wind, But ruled by silent forces at the heart. She caught her breath a moment in surprise,-- For naught has to the mind more of surprise Than the sweet long-expected, if it come When one expects it not,--and paused a space, With downcast eyes; and then her woman-soul Went out in sudden impulse, graciously, In boundless thought for him who gave her all. "O Sanpeur, love one worthier than I, And where your love will not be guerdonless!"
"To love you is a guerdon of itself, You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine."
He passed with knightly bow, and joined the court, And left her with a glory in her eyes. Never was Gwendolaine so radiant As on that evening; courtiers one by one Drew near, and marvelled at her loveliness. When the great feast was ended, she was well Content to leave the court for Tormalot; For, in the quiet of her chamber, when Sir Torm had slept, she lived in thought again The sure triumphant moment when she knew, Beyond all peradventure, of a love That her heart told her was above all love Of other men in strength and purity. And on the morrow, when she woke, her joy Woke with her, and encompassed her soul.
In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament. The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day, For it will be a savage tournament, "Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her, "Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say.
"Come, Gwendolaine, my beauty, ere I go, I wait to have you buckle on my sword."
Smiling, she does his bidding.
"Ah! my Torm, How heavy, and how mighty is your sword; I revel in the glory of your strength, And in your prowess. Well I mind me, dear, When first I saw you, on your charger black, Riding in knightly state to my old home. 'By our King Arthur's soul,' my father said, 'There is a knight of valour and of strength!' And then you wooed me to become your bride, Me, scarce a maiden, naught but wilful child So prone, alas to mischief and mistake, Of humble fortune, with but whims for dower You were so kind, so generous, you flashed My low estate with splendour. I recall How my heart laughed with girlish pride and glee At the surpassing bounty of your gifts."
"Ha! Gwendolaine, by the great Holy Grail I caught an eagle when I caught that dove, For now you are the queen of all the dames, Even King Constantine, who seldom marks A lady of the court, comes to your side And flatters you with royal courtesies, Which you receive with far too proud a grace; For, wit ye well, I would not let it slip, This honour of his preference for you."
"My lord, save that I reverence him as man, I do not care for favour of the King."
"I care, that is enough for you," said Torm. "No knight has charger like my Roanault, No knight has castle like my Tormalot, And none has mistress like my Gwendolaine-- I choose that none approach her but the King."
He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss.
"I think the King is safe for you, and well For me in my advancement. Other knights May serve you at a distance, but had best Not seek your side too often."
Her sweet head Lay like a lily on his mailed breast, While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf That floated from his helmet.
"Goes Sanpeur To the great tournament to-day?" he asked.
"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont To tilt in tourneys like to-day's."
"Think not! I want an honest answer. Do you know?"
"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight In these new