• • • • • When he awoke, all the sky was afire with the red of sunset. A shadow was betwixt him and the western light: the shape of one bending over him and saying in masterful wise, yet in accents wherein the echoes and memories of all sweet sounds seemed mingled and laid up at rest for ever, “Lie still, my lord, nor cry not a rescue. Behold, thine own sword; and I took it from thee sleeping.” And he was ware of a sharp sword pointed against his throat where the big veins lie beneath the tongue. He stirred not at all, neither spake aught, only looking up at her as at some vision of delight strayed from the fugitive flock of dreams. The lady said, “Where be thy company? And how many? Answer me swiftly.” He answered her like a dreamer, “How shall I answer thee? How shall I number them that be beyond all count? Or how name unto your grace their habitation which are even very now closer to me than hand or feet, yet o’ the next instant are able to transcend a main wider belike than even a starbeam hath journeyed o’er?” She said, “Riddle me no riddles. Answer me, thou wert best.” “Madam,” said Gro, “these that I told thee of be the company of mine own silent thoughts. And, but for mine horse, this is all the company that came hither with me.” “Alone?” said she. “And sleep so securely in thine enemies’ country? That showed a strange confidence.” “Not enemies, if I may,” said he. But she cried, “And thou Lord Gro of Witchland?” “That one sickened long since,” he answered, “of a mortal sickness; and ’tis now a day and a night since he is dead thereof.” “What art thou, then?” said she. He answered, “If your grace would so receive me, Lord Gro of Demonland.” “A very practised turncoat,” said she. “Belike they also are wearied of thee and thy ways. Alas,” she said in an altered voice, “thy gentle pardon! when doubtless it was for thy generous deeds to me-ward they fell out with thee, when thou didst so nobly befriend me.” “I will tell your highness,” answered he, “the pure truth. Never stood matters better ’twixt me and all of them than when yesternight I resolved to leave them.” The Lady Mevrian was silent, a cloud in her face. Then, “I am alone,” she said. “Therefore think it not little-hearted in me, nor forgetful of past benefits, if I will be further certified of thee ere I suffer thee to rise. Swear to me thou wilt not betray me.” But Gro said, “How should an oath from me avail thee, madam? Oaths bind not an ill man. Were I minded to do thee wrong, lightly should I swear thee all oaths thou mightest require, and lightly o’ the next instant be forsworn.” “That is not well said,” said Mevrian. “Nor helpeth not thy safety. You men do say that women’s hearts be faint and feeble, but I shall show thee the contrary is in me. Study to satisfy me. Else will I assuredly smite thee to death with thine own sword.”