"Must he then put the woman from him?" asked the angels.

"It was not said," answered the voice speaking from the Glory.
And all that wild vision vanished.

Then a space of oblivion, and Godwin awoke to hear other voices
around him, voices human, well-beloved, remembered; and to see a
face bending over him--a face most human, most well-beloved, most
remembered--that of his cousin Rosamund. He babbled some
questions, but they brought him food, and told him to sleep, so
he slept. Thus it went on, waking and sleep, sleep and waking,
till at length one morning he woke up truly in the little room
that opened out of the solar or sitting place of the Hall of
Steeple, where he and Wulf had slept since their uncle took them
to his home as infants. More, on the trestle bed opposite to him,
his leg and arm bandaged, and a crutch by his side, sat Wulf
himself, somewhat paler and thinner than of yore, but the same
jovial, careless, yet at times fierce-faced Wulf.

"Do I still dream, my brother, or is it you indeed?"

A happy smile spread upon the face of Wulf, for now he knew that
Godwin was himself again.

"Me sure enough," he answered. "Dream-folk don't have lame legs;
they are the gifts of swords and men."

"And Rosamund? What of Rosamund? Did the grey horse swim the
creek, and how came we here? Tell me quick--I faint for news!"