"I have learnt little, Igraine," she said, "and am disappointed. I will tell you how it was. The old wretch who oversees the women found me talking with the girl Gwenith, read me a sermon on interfering with household work, scolded me for a young gossip, and had me packed off like a beggar." "What a harridan!" "I have learnt a little." "Quick!--I thirst." Lilith hurried on for sympathy. "The girl has never heard of a knight named Pelleas," she said, "and there are so many dark men about Court that your description was little guide. As for Uther, no one knows where he is at present. Folk are not disquieted, for he seems to be ever riding away into the woods on adventure. So much gossip could read me." Igraine's face clouded. "Did you ask of Bedivere?" she said. "Oh, yes; a silly, vain fellow, with a red beard and sandy hair." "And John of Glastonbury?" "Gwenith could tell me nothing of that man. Dame Martha caught us talking, and it was then she scolded--the ugly, red-faced old hen. She said"--and Lilith blushed--"that I was an idle, silly hussy to gad and gossip after Court gentlemen. Now that wasn't fair, was it, Igraine?" "No, dear. I should like to have a talk with Dame Martha." Lilith rose to the notion. "She would never scold you, Igraine. You look far too stately." "Simpleton! a scold would spatter Gabriel." "Well, if I were Gabriel I know what I should do to Dame Martha." "You quiet-faced thing--why, you are quite a vixen after all!" "Ah, Igraine, was there ever a woman without a temper?" "No, dear, and I wouldn't give a button for her either." Suddenly, as they sat and talked, the beggar woman lifted up her head to listen, and the children turned from feeding the fish in querulous, childish wonder. There was something strange on the wind. Igraine and Lilith heard a gradual sound rising afar off over the city--a noise as of men shouting, a noise that waxed and waned like the roar of surges on a beach. It grew--rushed nearer like a storm through trees,--deep, sonorous, triumphant. The girls sat mute a moment, and looked at each other in conjecture. "What can it be?" "God knows!" "The heathen?" "Not that shout." "Then--Uther." Igraine caught a deep breath. "Listen! it comes nearer. Come away, I must see."