The words might have fallen like the strokes of a lash. Igraine stood and stared at the man, her open mouth a black circle, her eyes expressionless for the moment, like the eyes of one smitten blind. The full meaning of the words numbed her and hindered her understanding. A babel of shame sounded in her ears. The sinister intent of the man's accusation rose gradual before her reason like the distorted image of a dream. She felt cold to the core; a strange terror possessed her. "Pelleas, what have you said to me?" Her voice was a mere whisper. Pelleas hung his head and said never a word. His silence seemed to fling sudden fire into Igraine's eyes, and her face flamed like a sunset. It might have been Gorlois who stood and challenged the honour of her soul. "Man, tell me what is in your heart." Her voice was shrill--even imperious. Pelleas hung his head. "Gorlois keeps poison for his wife," were his words. Igraine's lips curled. "A sword for Brastias." "Generous man." Pelleas was watching her as a prisoner watches a judge. He had a great yearning to believe. Fear, anguish, anger, were in Igraine's heart, but she showed none of the three as she stood forward and looked into the man's eyes with a steadfastness no honour could gainsay. "Pelleas!" she said. "Girl!" "Look into my eyes." He did so without flinching. Igraine took his sword and gave it naked into his hand. "Listen! Gorlois told you a lie." "Igraine!" "Do you believe me, Pelleas? If not, strike with the sword, for I will live no longer." The man gave a sudden cry, like one who leaps over a precipice, threw the sword far away into the grass, and falling on his knees, buried his face in his hands. XII Igraine stood and watched Pelleas as he knelt in the grass at her feet with his face hidden from her by his hands. She saw the curve of his strong neck, the sweep of his great shoulders. She even counted the steel plates in his shoulder pieces, and marked the tinge of grey in his coronal of hair. Calm had come upon her with the trust won by the confessional of the sword. She felt sure of the man in her heart, and eased of a double burden since she had told him the truth and brought him to a declaration of his faith. She knew well from instinct that her honour stood sure in Pelleas's heart. Going to him, she bent and touched his head with her hand. "Pelleas," she said very softly. The man groaned and would not look at her. "Mea culpa, mea culpa!" was his cry. Igraine smiled like a young mother as she put his hands from his face with a gradual insistence. It was right that he should kneel to her, but it was also right that she should forgive and forget like a woman. Yet as she stood and held his hands in hers, Pelleas hung his head and would not so much as look into her face. He was convicted in his own heart, and contrite according to the deep measure of his manhood.