Me wait the dawn and then return to you,
To beg you with humility for grace,
And pardon for my utter want of truth,
Complete forgetfulness of womanhood,
And wifely loyalty. My lord, Sir Torm,
I promised him! and by his silent corse,--
And with a broken heart,--I pray that you
Will grant me pardon, though you cast me off."

"My Gwendolaine," Torm answered quickly, moved
By an uplifting impulse in his soul,--
"For you are mine, whomever you may love,--
I know that Sir Sanpeur did speak the truth;
You have not sinned in deed; and though you sinned
In purpose, it was more my fault than yours;
I drove you to it, and would fain atone.
Return with me, and help me overcome,
And with my temper I will tilt, until
I die or kill it. By the Blood of Christ,
I swear to you that you shall love me yet;
For I will be,--God help me,--worthier."

Back to their home she went with Torm, and strove
With gracious sweetness to make him forget;
To banish his keen memory of her love
For Sir Sanpeur, not by disproving it,
But by new proving of new love for him.
The greater made her rich to give the less;
She, being more, had still the more to give.
The apocalyptic vision granted her