Igraine beckoned Pelleas to a seat on the grass bank at her feet when he had finished. There was a light on her face that the man had not seen before, a kind of quiet rapture, a veil of exultation, as though her maidenhood were flowering gold under a net of pinkest satin. She had loosened her hair in straight streams upon her shoulders, and her habit lay open to the very base of her shapely throat. She sat there and looked at him, with hands clasped in her lap, and her grey gown rising and falling markedly as she breathed. It seemed to Pelleas that there was nothing in the whole universe save twilight, two eyes, a stirring bosom, and two wistful lips. They had been speaking of their ride, and of the many strange things that had befallen them during their adventures together. Igraine had waxed strangely tender in her talk, and had spoken subtle bodeful words that meant much at such a season. She was flinging bonds about Pelleas that made him exult and suffer. His heart seemed great within him and ready to break, for the blood that bubbled and yearned in it in glorious anguish. "To-morrow," said the girl, "we enter Winchester, and I have known you, Pelleas, two weeks and some few hours more. You seem to have been in my life many years." Words flooded into Pelleas's heart, and stifled all struggle for a moment. He was breathing like a hunted thing. "Igraine," he said. "Pelleas." "I never lived till our lives were joined." Igraine gave a little gasp, and bent over him suddenly, her eyes aglow, her hair falling down into his face. "Kiss me, Pelleas," she said; "in the name of God, kiss me." Pelleas gave a great groan. "Girl, I dare not." "You dare." "Igraine?" She bent herself till her lips were over his, and both their heads were clouded in her hair. Her eyes glimmered, her breath beat on his, he saw the whiteness of her teeth between her half-closed lips. "Igraine," he said again, half in a groan. She did not answer him, but simply took his face between her hands and looked into his eyes. "Coward, Pelleas." Power seemed to go from the man in a moment. He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked at her as in a splendid dream. Her face was beautifully peevish, and there lurked an infinite hunger on her lips. Then with a great woe in his heart he drew her face down to his and kissed her. There was such sweet pain in the grand despair of it all that he felt faint for strength of loving. Before he had gathered breath, Igraine had slipped away from him and was in the bower. "Till dawn, Pelleas, till dawn," she said. "Ah, Igraine!" "Go and sleep, Pelleas; I will talk to you on the morrow." X