of eglantine about her girdlestead, and left her feet naked after the pool
of the stream, and had turned the bezels of her finger-rings outward,
for joy of that meeting.

After a while he rose up with a most bitter cry, and ran down
the green slope and over the water, and hither and thither amongst
the bushes like one mad, till he became so weary that he might
scarce go or stand for weariness. Then he crept back again
to that Chamber of Love, and sat down beside his new-won mate,
calling to mind all the wasted words of the day gone by;
for the summer night was come now, most fair and fragrant.
But he withheld the sobbing passion of his heart and put
forth his hand, and touched her, and she was still,
and his hand felt her flesh that it was cold as marble.
And he cried out aloud in the night and the wilderness,
where there was none to hear him, and arose and went away
from her, passing by Silverfax who was standing nearby,
stretching out his head, and whinnying at whiles.
And he sat on the edge of the green table, and there came
into his mind despite himself thoughts of the pleasant fields
of Upmeads, and his sports and pleasures there, and the even-song
of the High House, and the folk of his fellowship and his love.
And therewith his breast arose and his face was wryed, and he wept
loud and long, and as if he should never make an end of it.
But so weary was he, that at last he lay back and fell asleep,
and woke not till the sun was high in the heavens.
And so it was, that his slumber had been so heavy, that he knew
not at first what had befallen; and one moment he felt glad,
and the next as if he should never be glad again, though why
he wotted not. Then he turned about and saw Silverfax cropping