"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine,
But it is not the same, by your fair grace;
Our armour is our armour, nothing more;
Your shield of scorn is lasting lance of harm,
For every word a noble woman says,
And every act and influence from her,
Live on forever, to the end of time;
Your true soul is too true to be belied."

"Who told you, Sir Sanpeur?"

"My heart," he said.
She raised her eyes in a triumphant thrill
Of sudden rapture, and of gratitude,
And saw herself enwrapped by a long look
That came from deeper depths than she had known,
And reached a depth in her as yet unstirred.
She stood enspelled by his long silent gaze
Of subtle power. His unswerving eyes
Quelled her by steadfast calm, yet kindled her
By lavish love and light.

Although no word
Was said between them, as they moved apart,
She knew he loved her, and he wist she knew.

And with the revelation there was born
A wider knowledge of life's mystery.
Sir Torm had never satisfied her soul;
But though in outward seeming she was proud,