And I will tell you,--should it chance you fail
To know from your own knowledge of your wife,
Without the need of confirmation sure,--
That when her passionate, poor, wounded heart
Had time and strength to reassert itself,
Her memory, and truth to you as wife,
Enwrapt her once again, and she withdrew
E'en from the love that, trusting, she had sought.
She lay within my castle with my dames,
Resting, and waiting for the dawn of day,
When she had bade me lead her back to you,
That she might ask forgiveness for her fault.
Now, by my knighthood and the sign I wear,
I speak the truth, Sir Torm!--With my last breath
I pray you grant her pardon, for my sake,
Who die, to save you, of wounds meant for you."

His breath came slower. None beholding him
Could doubt him, for within his steadfast eyes,
Though growing dim with coming death, was that
The Order on his bosom symbolised.
Torm bowed before him, silent, with a sense
Of hallowed presence from beyond this earth.
Convinced of Sanpeur's truth, there flashed on him
The revelation of a better life
Than self-indulgence and the pride of arms;
And here, at last, before the passing soul,
Strong in its purity and in its peace,
He felt a new-born and a deep desire
For truer life than he had ever known.