She turned her horse suddenly and began to ride towards the black maw of the forest. Her lips were tightly closed, and she looked neither to the right nor the left. Flavian, a tower of steel, was at her side. Armed men ranged in a circle about them. They opened ranks at a sign from their lord, and gave the woman passage. "Madame----" "Messire----" "Am I to be forgiven?" She was mute a moment, as in thought. Then she spoke quietly enough. "Yes, for a vow." "Tell it me." "If you will never see my face again." He looked at her with a great smile, drew his sword, and held the point towards her. "Then give me hate." "Messire!" "Hate, not forgiveness, hate, utter and divine, that I may fight and travail, labour and despair." "Messire!" "Hate me, hate me, with all the unreason of your heart. Hate me a hundred times, that I may but leap a hundred times into your life. Bar me out that I may storm your battlements again and again." "Are you a fool?" "A glorious, mad, inspired fool." They were quite near the trees. Their black masses threw a great shadow over the pair. Higher still the sky burnt. "Madame, whither do you go?" "Where you may not venture, messire." "God, I know no such region." She flashed round on him with sudden bitterness. "Go back to your wife. Go back to your wife, messire; remember her honour." It was a home-thrust, but it did not shame or weaken him. He sheathed his sword, and looked at her sadly out of his grey eyes. "What a world is this," he said, "when heaven comes at last, hell yawns across the path. When summer burns, winter lifts its head. Even as a man would grow strong and pure, his own cursed shackles cumber him. To-night I say no more to you. Go, madame, pray for me. You shall see my face again." He let life vanish under the pines, and rode back with the sunset on his armour, his face staring into the rising night. His men came round him, silent statues of steel. He rode slowly, and met his wife. Her eyes were turbulent, her lips red streaks of scorn. "Ha, sire, I have found you." "Madame, I trust you are well?" They looked at each other askance like angry dogs, as they rode side by side, and the night came down. The men left them to themselves, and went on ahead. A wind grew gusty over the moor. [Illustration: "THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS."] "Messire, I have borne enough from you." "Madame, is it fault of mine?" His whole soul revolted from her with an immensity of hate. She cumbered, clogged, crushed him. Mad brutality leapt in his heart towards her. He could have smitten the woman through with his sword. "Five years ago----" she said. "You did the wooing. Damnation, we have been marvellously happy." She bit her lip and was white as the moon. "Have a care, messire, have a care." "Threats, threats." "Have a care----" "Look at my shield. Have I quartered your arms with mine? God’s blood, there is nothing to erase." "Ha!"