Of Aphrodite, I have given her these
My faltering melodies,
That are Love's lean and ragged messengers."_

When he had ended, Adhelmar cast aside the lute, and caught up both of
Melite's hands, and strained them to his lips. There needed no wizard to
read the message in his eyes.

Melite sat silent for a moment. Presently, "Ah, cousin, cousin!" she
sighed, "I cannot love you as you would have me love. God alone knows
why, true heart, for I revere you as a strong man and a proven knight and
a faithful lover; but I do not love you. There are many women who would
love you, Adhelmar, for the world praises you, and you have done brave
deeds and made good songs and have served your King potently; and
yet"--she drew her hands away and laughed a little wearily--"yet I, poor
maid, must needs love Hugues, who has done nothing. This love is a
strange, unreasoning thing, my cousin."

"But do you in truth love Hugues?" asked Adhelmar, in a harsh voice.

"Yes," said Melite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered
dimly if she had spoken the truth. Then, somehow, her arms clasped about
Adhelmar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told
herself; for Melite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the
anguish in his face.

This was all very well. But Hugues d'Arques, coming suddenly out of a
pleached walk, at this juncture, stumbled upon them and found their
postures distasteful. He bent black brows upon the two.