“Do you remember one evening in the castle garden—first upon the watch-tower, and then in the garden, and you were weary of war and all its thoughts, and bade me take Pierol’s lute and sing? I sang, and you said, ‘Sing of the Fair Goal.’ I sang—and there and then came that sense of doubleness and yet one.... It came—it made for me confusion and marvel, pain, delight. It plunged me into a mist, where for a time I wandered. After that it strengthened—strengthened—strengthened!... At first, I fought it in my mind, for I thought it disloyalty. I fought, but before this day I had ceased to fight, or to think it disloyalty. Before we came to Angoulême—and afterwards.... I knew not how it might be—God knoweth I knew not how it might be—but my lady whom I worshipped afar, and my princess and my liege were one! I knew that, though still I thought I saw impossibilities—They did not matter, there was something higher that dissolved impossibilities.... I saw again the Fair Goal, and my heart sang louder, and all my heart was hers as it had been, only more deeply so—more deeply so! And still it is so—still it is the same—only with the power, I think, of growing forever!” He rose, came close to her, kneeled again and put the edge of her mantle to his lips. “And now, Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, I take my leave and go to Castel-Noir. I am knight of yours. If ever I may serve you, do you but call my name! Adieu—adieu—adieu!” She regarded him with a great depth and beauty of look. “Adieu, now, Sir Garin of the Black Castle—Sir Garin of the Golden Island! Do you know how much there is to do in Roche-de-Frêne—and how, for a long time, perhaps, one must think only of the people and the land that stood this war, and of all that must be builded again?... Adieu now—adieu now! Do not go from lands of Roche-de-Frêne without my leave.” The dark was come, the bright stars burned above the trees. There was a movement from the knights’ fire—Beauvoisin coming to the princess’s pavilions to enquire if all was well before the camp lay down to sleep. Garin felt her clasped hands against his brow, felt her cheek close, close to his. “Go now,” she breathed. “Go now, my truest friend! What comes after winter?—Why, spring comes after winter!” CHAPTER XXVII SPRING TIME IN the winter dawn Garin rose, saddled his horse, and, mounting, rode from that place. He travelled through burned and wasted country, and he saw many a piteous sight. But folk that were left were building anew, and the sky was bright and the sunshine good. He went by the ruins of Raimbaut’s keep, and at last he came to Castel-Noir.