strong to whom Death is a thought of scorn.

He signed to his bard, who, during the conference between wife and
lord, had retired to a distance, and said, with a writhing attempt to
smile:

"Was there truth, thinkest thou, in the legend, that Guenever was
false to King Arthur?"

"No," answered the bard, divining his lord's thought, for Guenever
survived not the King, and they were buried side by side in the Vale
of Avallon."

"Thou art wise in the lore of the heart, and love hath been thy study
from youth to grey hairs. Is it love, is it hate, that prefers death
for the loved one, to the thought of her life as another's?" A look
of the tenderest compassion passed over the bard's wan face, but
vanished in reverence, as he bowed his head and answered:

"O King, who shall say what note the wind calls from the harp, what
impulse love wakes in the soul--now soft and now stern? But," he
added, raising his form, and, with a dread calm on his brow, "but the
love of a king brooks no thought of dishonour; and she who hath laid
her head on his breast should sleep in his grave."

"Thou wilt outlive me," said Gryffyth, abruptly. "This carn be my
tomb!"

"And if so," said the bard, "thou shalt sleep not alone. In this carn
what thou lovest best shall be buried by thy side; the bard shall