"I am faint," she said, "and the fresh wind comforts me." "Courage, madame; Duke Gorlois fights for Britain and the Cross; what better blessing on his shield?" Igraine was looking out toward the sea and the grey curtain of the sky cut in places by dark woods and the sweep of dull green hills. There was a wistful droop about her figure that made Brastias molten with intent to comfort, and dumb with words of sympathy that died inarticulate in his throat. He stood there, a man muzzled by his own sincerity, bankrupt of a syllable, though he commanded his wit to be nimble with stentorian cry of conscience. He felt hot in his skin and vastly stupid. By the time he had lumbered up some passable fancy, Igraine had turned from the window with a quick intelligence kindling in her eyes. "Brastias." "Madame." "Listen to me, I have come by a plan." A sudden flood of sunlight streamed through a rent in the grey canopy of clouds. The landscape took a warmer tinge, the purple of the woods deepened. Brastias saw the sudden gleam of light strike on Igraine's hair. Her head was thrown back upon her splendid neck, and her eyes seemed large with love. "I will show Gorlois how I love him," she said. Brastias's face was still hazed in conjecture. "I will wipe out the past." "Ah!" "We will follow Gorlois to the war, you and I, Brastias, together. What say you to that?" The man looked at her with clear grey eyes, and with a transient immobility of feature that changed swiftly to a glow of understanding. The words had gone home to him like a trumpet-cry; their courage warmed him, and he was carried with the wind. "A great hazard--and a noble," he said, with a flush of colour; "the peril is on my neck, and yet--I'll bear it." Igraine's face blazed. "Brastias, you will go with me?" "By my sword, to the death." "Come hither, man; I must kiss your forehead." Brastias knelt to her again with crossed hands. She looked into his grey eyes and touched his forehead with her lips. "Thus I salute honour," she said. "My lord's lady!" "You have trusted me." "Else had I been ashamed." The man went away to arm, warm at heart as any boy. Igraine stood a moment looking into the fire with an enigmatic calm upon her face. For Brastias she felt a throttled pity, an impossible admiration that only troubled her. Her lust for liberty bore her like a storm-wind, and her hate of Gorlois made her iron at heart. She could dare anything to fling off the moral bondage that cramped and bound her like a net. While Brastias was away arming and ordering horses, she went to a little armoury on the stairs and filched away a short hauberk and a sheathed poniard. She wore these under a gown of black velvet bound with a silver girdle, and a cloak of sables hooded and lined with sky-blue cloth. She had a strange joy of the knife at her girdle as she passed down the stairway to the court.