The horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop through a sea of sun-bronzed fern. He was a young knight on a black horse, caparisoned in green and gold. A halo of glistening curls aureoled his boyish face; his eyes were full of a restless radiance, the eyes of a man whose heart was troubled. He sprang from the saddle, and leading his horse by the bridle, kissed the scabbard of Uther's sword. "Tidings, sire." "Tristan, I listen." The knight looked for a moment into the King's face, but dared not abide the trial. There was such a stare of desperate calm in the dark eyes, that the lad's courage whimpered, and quailed from the truth. He hung his head, and stood mute. "Tristan, I listen." "Sire--" "My God, man, speak out!" "Sire--" "The truth." "She lives, sire!" A great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an ecstasy of silence such as comes after the wail of a storm. Merlin stroked his lip, and smiled, the smile of one who dreams. The King's face was as the face of one who thrusts back hope out of his soul. He sat rigid on his horse, a scarlet image fronting Fate, grim-eyed and steadfast. There were tears in the eyes of Tristan the knight. "What more?" Tristan leant against his horse, his arm hooked over the brute's neck. "In the valley, sire, is a sanctuary; you can see it yonder by the ford. Two holy women dwell therein. To them, sire, I commend you." "You know more!" "Sire, spare me. The words are for women's lips, not for mine." "So be it." The three rode on in silence; Merlin and Tristan together, looking mutely in each other's faces. Uther's chin was bowed on his breast. The reins lay loose on his horse's neck. A grey cell of unfaced stone showed amid the green boughs beyond the water. At its door stood a woman in a black mantle. A cross hung from her neck, and a white kerchief bound her hair. She stood motionless, half in the shadow, watching the horsemen as they rode down to the rippling ford. Autumn had touched the sanctuary garden, and the King's eyes beheld ruin as he climbed the slope. The woman had come from the cell, and now stood at the wicket-gate, with her hands folded as in prayer. Tristan took Uther's bridle. The King went on foot alone to speak with the anchoress. "Sire," she said, kneeling at his feet, "God save and comfort you." The man's brow was twisted into furrows. His right hand clasped his left wrist. He looked over the woman's head into the woods, and breathed fast through clenched teeth. "Speak," he said. "Sire, the woman lives." "I can bear the truth." The anchoress made the sign of the cross.