After the whisper, "God shield Gwendolaine,"
The slow breath ceased.

With shrill and piercing cry
Gwendolaine broke the strange, benumbing trance
That had withheld her; rushing from the dames
And falling prone upon the silent form
That gave her heart no answering throb, she cried,
With voice grief-pierced and sorrow-broken, "Wait
For Gwendolaine, O Sanpeur! Wait for Gwendolaine,
And take her with you unto death!"

She lay
In silent desolation on his breast,
So still, awhile, they thought her spirit gone;
Then rose majestic in the dignity
Of her incomparable grief.

"Sir Torm,"
She said in tense, surcharged tones, "Sanpeur
Has told but half the story; he forgot
To tell, as noble souls are wont to do,
The measure of his own nobility.
I came to stay, my lord, to be his wife,
His serving-maid, his mistress,--what he would;
I told him that I loved him beyond men;
I pleaded and entreated him, in vain,
To keep and hold me evermore. No word
Could move him, no allurement charm; he bade