desired marriage. We are not of the same condition; we have not--I
speak for myself and by implication for her also--we have not those
desires which draw men and women towards each other. Love, no doubt,
is a strange and terrible thing: it may lead a man to the writing of
verses and a most fatiguing search for words, but it will not allow
him to be happy in anything except its own satisfaction; and in that
it seems absurd to be happy. Marriage is in the same plight: it may be
a good or a bad thing; without love it is a ridiculous thing.
Nevertheless my wife and I are of agreement in this, that we think
marriage better than being hanged. I do not understand the
alternatives, but I accept them, and am married. My wife will not be
hanged. For the rest, I shall take her to Gracedieu. The devout ladies
there will no doubt make a nun of her; she will be out of harm's way,
and all will be well."

He said another prayer, and rose up much comforted. And then as he got
up Isoult came out of the cottage.

She ran towards him quickly, knelt down before he could prevent her,
took his hand and kissed it. She was very shy of him, and when he
raised her up and kissed her forehead, suffered the caress with
lowered eyes and a face all rosy. Prosper found her very different
from the tattered bride of over-night. She had changed her rags for a
cotton gown of dark blue, her clouds of hair were now drawn back over
her ears into a knot and covered with a silk hood of Indian work. On
her feet, then bare, he now saw sandals, round her waist a leather
belt with a thin dagger attached to it in a silver sheath. She looked
very timidly, even humbly up at him whenever he spoke to her--with the
long faithfulness of a dog shining in her big eyes: but she looked
like a girl who was to be respected, and even Prosper could not but