He said nothing for a moment, but she felt his eyes upon her. “Isoult, I can teach you no subtlety in singing. You will make sure——?” Her patience carried her no farther. “Save your words, and let the night look after its own darkness.” “I’ll leave youth with youth.” She heard his beads rattling, and he turned to go. “Bonds stronger than thongs of leather,” he said. “Fasten them upon him, Isoult, and I will give you my blessing.” So strong for the moment was the revulsion of her pride that when Merlin had gone she walked to and fro under the trees, raging against the tangle in which she found herself. The fires in the valley were as so many red eyes watching her in the toils of her dilemma. To have to cheat such a man as Merlin, lie to him, make a jest of her own honour in order to blind his eyes! And why? Because that stiffnecked fool down yonder sat like a Simeon Stylites on the pillar of his pride, and would not slacken one fibre of his obstinacy in order to save his precious head. She saw the past, the present, and the future all tangled up in a strange medley—the ringlets of a river thrown wide across green fields and orchards, the chattering of aspen leaves, the roses in a garden, the grey tumbling sea, the singing woman who sang to men with her knife ready at her girdle, the fierce thrusting back of lustful fools, the mocking flush of the eyes, the wanderings, dreams, and adventures, the wrestling match with the man who now lay yonder most damnably determined to die. Well, let him throw his raw scorn in Merlin’s face, and suffer for his stiffneckedness. What was it to her? How did it concern her? Men knew that Isoult of the Rose was not to be handled or clutched at with greedy fingers, and that her anger was not a thing to be tempted. And was she to make herself look an outwitted and shameful fool, a soft-hearted ninny tricked by a man’s tongue! She walked to and fro under the trees, and the tangle made her furious. “By our Lady, let the fool pay for his pride. Why should I meddle?” The wind of her passion changed just as quickly, and blew her mood to the other side of the fire. She began to curse like a man, and to snap discords from the strings of her lute. “By the blood in hell, I’ll do it; I’ll do it!” She turned and went back towards the edge of the wood like a leaf caught up and blown along by a gust of wind. Fulk was watching the fires in the valley with the little black figures going to and fro about them. He heard Isoult coming back through the fir wood, and the sound of her footsteps made him harden his heart. He was wrath with himself because he saw everywhere the red mouth, the pale face, and the mysterious eyes. Isoult sailed down on him over the lip of the dell like a bird with the wind. “What had Merlin to say?” “Leave Merlin with the devil!” She dropped on her knees close to him, tossed the lute aside, and pulled out her girdle knife. “Hold out your hands.”