"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn,
"Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm,
Who never was unhorsed by knight before?"

The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face;
His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath.

"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry
Has won his way to your most wifely heart
By boasting of his prowess! By my sword!
That is a knightly virtue in all truth."

"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell
The story that was waiting for your bride
In every prattling mouth about the court.
Had it been so, she never would have heard;
It lies with petty souls alone to boast,
Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur."

"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord!
Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur."

"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow
With exultation of defense of him,
"It well might be my glory; for there lives
No knight so stainless and so pure as he."

"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!"

And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand,