"When I had heard the tale of the old man I was moved to my
inmost heart, and I scarce knew what to say. But now this long
while fear was dead in me, so I thought I would tell the very sooth:
but I said first: 'Sir, what I will tell, I will tell without
beseeching, so I pray thee stand up.' So did he, and I said:
'Geoffrey, what became of the white hind after the banners
had left the wildwood'? He stared wild at me, and I deemed
that tears began to come into his eyes; but I said again:
'What betid to dame Joyce's youngest born, the fair little
maiden that we left sick of a fever when we rode to Up-castle?'
Still he said naught but looked at me wondering: and said:
'Hast thou ever again seen that great old oak nigh the clearing
by the water, the half of which fell away in the summer-storm
of that last July?'

"Then verily the tears gushed out of his eyes, and he wept, for as old
as he was; and when he could master himself he said: 'Who art thou?
Who art thou? Art thou the daughter of my Lady, even as these are my sons?'
But I said: 'Now will I answer thy first question, and tell thee that
the Lady thou seekest is verily alive; and she has thriven, for she has drunk
of the Well at the World's End, and has put from her the burden of the years.
O Geoffrey, and dost thou not know me?' And I held out my hand to him,
and I also was weeping, because of my thought of the years gone by;
for this old man had been that swain who had nigh died for me when I fled
with my husband from the old king; and he became one of the Dry Tree,
and had followed me with kind service about the woods in the days when I
was at my happiest.

"But now he fell on his knees before me not like a vassal but like
a lover, and kissed my feet, and was beside himself for joy.