guerdonless!"

"To love you is a guerdon of itself,
You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine."

He passed with knightly bow, and joined the court,
And left her with a glory in her eyes.
Never was Gwendolaine so radiant
As on that evening; courtiers one by one
Drew near, and marvelled at her loveliness.
When the great feast was ended, she was well
Content to leave the court for Tormalot;
For, in the quiet of her chamber, when
Sir Torm had slept, she lived in thought again
The sure triumphant moment when she knew,
Beyond all peradventure, of a love
That her heart told her was above all love
Of other men in strength and purity.
And on the morrow, when she woke, her joy
Woke with her, and encompassed her soul.

In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament.
The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day,
For it will be a savage tournament,
"Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her,
"Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say.

"Come, Gwendolaine, my beauty, ere I go,
I wait to have you buckle on my sword."

Smiling, she does his bidding.

                               "Ah! my Torm,
How heavy, and how mighty is your sword;
I revel in the glory of your strength,
And in your prowess. Well I mind me, dear,
When first I saw you, on your charger black,
Riding in knightly state to my old home.
'By our King Arthur's soul,' my father said,
'There is a knight of valour and of strength!'
And then you wooed me to become your bride,
Me, scarce a maiden, naught but wilful child
So prone, alas to mischief and mistake,
Of humble fortune, with but whims for dower
You were so kind, so generous, you flashed
My low estate with splendour. I recall
How my heart laughed with girlish pride and glee
At the surpassing bounty of your gifts."

"Ha! Gwendolaine, by the great Holy Grail
I caught an eagle when I caught that dove,
For now you are the queen of all the dames,
Even King Constantine, who seldom marks
A lady of the court, comes to your side
And flatters you with royal courtesies,
Which you receive with far too proud a grace;
For, wit ye well, I would not let it slip,
This honour of his preference for you."

"My lord, save that I reverence him as man,
I do not care for favour of the King."

"I care, that is enough for you," said Torm.
"No knight has charger like my Roanault,
No knight has castle like my Tormalot,
And none has mistress like my Gwendolaine—
I choose that none approach her but the King."

He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned
And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss.

"I think the King is safe for you, and well
For me in my advancement. Other knights
May serve you at a distance, but had best
Not seek your side too often."

                               Her sweet head
Lay like a lily on his mailed breast,
While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf
That floated from his helmet.

                              "Goes Sanpeur
To the great tournament to-day?" he asked.

"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont
To tilt in tourneys like to-day's."

                                    "Think not!
I want an honest answer. Do you know?"

"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm;
It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight
In these new tourneys of such savage guise."

"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks
You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?"

"I long have told you that I thought your strength
Was worthy finer service. You well know
I like not tournaments that waste the land
By useless bloodshed; but, my Torm, you are
Your own adviser, so I say no more.
Bend down and kiss me, Torm, before you go;
Pray be not wroth with Gwendolaine, my lord."

"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true
You will not see that coward knight to-day."

Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn,
"I know not whom you mean, my lord Sir Torm."

"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur."

"Sanpeur, the fearless knight, a coward!—he?
What, think you, would your great King Constantine
Say to your daring slander? Sir Sanpeur
Is the unquestioned Launcelot at court;
The King rests on him with unfailing trust
In every valiant deed and feat of arms."
She drew her beauty to its fullest height,
And swept him with her eyes. "Fear not for me,
Sir Torm. Sanpeur, alas! is too engrossed
With duties for his Master, Jesu Christ,
And for his lord, the King, to loiter here
With any woman, howe'er fair she be."

Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made
The heart of Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce
Against its sound in spirit of revolt.

"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused
In open court to joust with Dinadan?"

"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave."

"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day,
And prayers, and fasting, and such foolery."

"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn,
"Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm,
Who never was unhorsed by knight before?"

The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face;
His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath.

"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry
Has won his way to your most wifely heart
By boasting of his prowess! By my sword!
That is a knightly virtue in all truth."

"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell
The story that was waiting for your bride
In every prattling mouth about the court.
Had it been so, she never would have heard;
It lies with petty souls alone to boast,
Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur."

"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord!
Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur."

"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow
With exultation of defense of him,
"It well might be my glory; for there lives
No knight so stainless and so pure as he."

"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!"

And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand,
He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine,
And went out cursing.

                      Motionless she leaned
Against the window mullion, where she reeled,
White as the pearls she wore; and love for Torm—
The thing that she had nourished and called love—
Fell dead within her, murdered by his blow.
And in her heart true love arose at last
for Sir Sanpeur, proclaiming need of him;—
A love, for many days hushed and suppressed
By wifely loyalty, now well awake,
With conscious sense of immortality.

Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went,
Stopped not to wipe the blood from her pale cheek;
Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and donned
A russet gown she kept for merry plays,
And, wrapping o'er her head a