She spoke and acted like one in a fever of impatience, who could brook neither argument nor delay. “Hold out your hands, fool! Don’t sit and stare! Shall I have to push you and your pride out of death’s way? I have lied and played the jade for your sake, and I tell you I am out of temper. I’ll cut you out of these thongs, and say good riddance.” Her anger was so headlong that he felt driven to breast it as a swimmer breasts a wave. “You have been putting Merlin off with lies?” “That’s right—ask every question you can think of! What can we do with such a stubborn fool but tell lies on his account? I said I had persuaded you to play the King. Hold your hands out.” He did not move. “Oh—well, I can begin elsewhere.” She bent forward and cut the thongs that bound his legs and ankles, severing the leather with vicious jerks of the knife. “Now—the hands. I want the burden of your pride off my conscience, to be rid of your heroics. They put one in a tangle.” He held out his hands, and she cut them free. “Done. The falcon will find his wings stiff. Fly ten miles before daybreak. As for me—I may be able to get some sleep.” She sat back on her heels and began to laugh with a casual inconsequence that had a touch of mockery. Fulk was stretching his arms, and moving his wrists and fingers, and all the while a slow and puzzled anger was gathering in him against Isoult. He could make nothing of her moods and passions, and this laughter of hers mocked the desire for her that seemed to have flashed out of nothingness but an hour ago. “You can set a man free, but you cannot make him walk.” She still laughed softly as though her whole nature mocked him. “Am I to drive you like a pig to market? Take up your bed and walk, my friend, and thank my mouth for deigning to tell a lie.” He turned on one hand and knee, and stared at her fixedly. “Have a care how you laugh at me.” “Threats! Oh, my good comrade, run away and leave me in peace. You know not what manner of trouble I have had to be rid of you and your pride, to get your neck out of Merlin’s grip. Be grateful for having made me laugh a little.” His hands flashed out and caught her wrists. “By God’s blood, is it all laughter? What will you say to Merlin to-morrow?” She did not try to free herself, but threw her head back and looked him in the eyes. “I shall tell him that you made a fool of me and ran away in the night.” “Isoult!” His grip tightened upon her wrists. “No, by God! I’ll not lend myself to that! Speak the truth. You laugh, that I may not think you too generous, and call me fool—to make it easier for me to go.” Her eyes glimmered at him. “Well—go. I can deal with Merlin.” “Merlin! What right has that rat to gnaw at your lute strings? Let him go to his own damnation. Merlin—a grey rat—to say you yea or nay!” She freed one hand and laid it over his mouth. “Ssst, you wild forester. Speak softly. Who knows what the wood holds?”