would tell it to the grass or even to a stick of cordwood or a ton
of coal.

Guido and Isolde, though they had never met, cherished each the
features of the other. Beneath his coat of mail Guido carried a
miniature of Isolde, carven on ivory. He had found it at the bottom
of the castle crag, between the castle and the old town of Ghent at
its foot.

How did he know that it was Isolde?

There was no need for him to ask.

His _heart_ had spoken.

The eye of love cannot be deceived.

And Isolde? She, too, cherished beneath her stomacher a miniature
of Guido the Gimlet. She had it of a travelling chapman in whose
pack she had discovered it, and had paid its price in pearls. How
had she known that he it was, that is, that it was he? Because of
the Coat of Arms emblazoned beneath the miniature. The same heraldic
design that had first shaken her to the heart. Sleeping or waking it
was ever before her eyes: A lion, proper, quartered in a field of
gules, and a dog, improper, three-quarters in a field of buckwheat.

And if the love of Isolde burned thus purely for Guido, the love of
Guido burned for Isolde with a flame no less pure.

No sooner had love entered Guido's heart than he had determined to do