Under King Constantine | Page 7

In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls, He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk, And faced her in her simple russet gown, Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind, Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers, Save on the one a deep and crimson stain. "My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell.
She told the story of her bitter wrong In poignant words of passionate disdain. "And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,-- Having more faith in your true love for me Than any woman ever had before In love of man, or chivalry of knight,-- To tell you that I love you more than life. Long have I loved you, well I know it now, Although I knew it not, until this blow Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul. I rose this morn resolved to be more true To your high thought of womanhood, and wife, To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive To make my life more worthy of your love; And then,--God help me,--my resolve was crushed By Torm's fierce hand, and love for you set free. Yea, now my heart is sure,--beyond all doubt, Beyond all question and all fear of men,-- That I, for ever, love you utterly. Take me, beloved, I am yours, I want, I need, I pant, I tremble for your care. O meet me not so coldly! I shall die If you repulse me; I have come so far And fast, without a fear,--I loved you so,-- To seek the blessed shelter of your arms. My brain is dizzy, and my senses fail; For God's sake tell me you are glad I came To you--and only you--in my despair."
He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,-- His eyes alone embracing her the while,-- "Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above All women on the earth, loved with a love That words would but conceal, were they essayed, Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself, If I am cold, you know it is in truth A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so, And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm."
"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream. "O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! Save me and keep me from the bitter shame Of such humiliation to my soul."
"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine, Can bring humiliation to a soul. Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally--"
"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn.
"He knows his way, and in it loves you well; Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride; He would refuse you nothing you could ask To gratify your pleasure and desire. He brought you from a narrow, hidden lot, To share with you his honours at the court. You will not let all that be wiped away By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm Has bitterly repented and bewailed Full long ere this; of that you are right sure, Because you know his loving heart's rebound."
"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death."
"Naught can bring death to immortality But sin,--and life with me, my Gwendolaine, Would be the death of all we hold most high."
"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off; He does not love me! I have dreamed it all."
Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine, Unsay that; it is false! You know full well How far I love you above thought of self; If I half loved you, I would fold you close."
"It is unsaid, Sanpeur; but woe is me That I should fall so far from my estate To plead in vain with any man, howe'er He love; where is my pride, my boasted pride?"
"'Tis in my heart, if anywhere, my love."
"I can not go, Sanpeur. Torm forfeited His right to loyalty by cruelty."
"The debt of loyalty is due to self, And we must well fulfil it, Gwendolaine, No matter how another may have failed."
A sudden horror crossed her thought,--"Sanpeur; You do not love me less that I have come?"
"Ah! my beloved woman-child, I know Your many-sided nature far too well To judge you or condemn you by one act, Born of a frenzied moment of despair; When the true Gwendolaine has time to think, Naught I could urge would keep her, though she came."
"But Torm would kill me if I did return"--
"Leave that to me; but if he should, my love, Your soul would then be free,--what ask you more? Now you are weary, very weary, sweet; Go in the castle, let me call my dames To tend and serve you until morning light; And on the morrow you will choose to go With