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