Chapter II: Part 2

"It is given to us," she said, "who are kindred with the gods, to say in our speech the thoughts of all men, and to understand with our ears the thoughts of all men. When you speak I hear your meaning in the words of the woodland, and when I speak to you my meaning takes possession of you and you shape it for yourself into the usage of your familiar speech, and so it will be for me always, wherever I go."

Simon nodded. If this were so he could understand that something in her utterance which seemed alien and quaint to him. Here truly was a gift scarcely less enviable than the grace of perdurable life. Argathona interrupted his meditations.

"You have asked me many questions," she said, looking straightly at him from under level brows; "now answer some for me. Is it the manner of mortal man to make love in your fashion?"

Simon looked awkward and fumbled with his beard.

"There are many ways of making love," he confessed. "Some are more formal," he admitted, after a moment's pause.

The nymph looked thoughtful.

"Such would please me better," she said. She eyed Simon circumspectly, then questioned, suddenly, "Why do you carry that lantern?"

Simon unhooked it from his girdle and held it at arm's-length, a formidable piece of furniture for a traveller.

"There was some fellow of old time did the like for my reason--looking for an honest man or an honest woman."

The dryad smiled at memories.

"I have heard of that; it was a mad Athenian called Diogenes."

"I care not what his name was," said Simon, "but I like his humor and I follow his quest. Not that the lantern is of much use to me in the daytime, but it shows my good faith."

"Have you found no honest folk?" Argathona asked, sympathetically. Simon shook his red head.

"Never since I came to these regions of Greece," Simon protested. "There were honest folk in Rouen, or, at least, I used to think so. Alain, the armorer, he was an honest man. He made this blade," and Simon patted the stout sword at his side. "I never met with a better. But since I came to Corinth to serve the duke I have found no honest soul or body."

Argathona gave a little shiver.

"I am glad that I dwell here in the greenwood, and not with your clan."

Simon rambled on with his narrative.

"When I came to these parts I still had the bulk of a pretty little patrimony. Where is it now? Every light o' love in Corinth has filched her bit of it; every cozener with the dice has picked his share. While I was rich my friends fawned on me; when I fell poor they turned their backs, lads and lassies. I have written some rhymes on my misfortune."

He paused, hoping that the maid might ask to hear them, but as she did no such thing he resumed, plaintively:

"So now I trample this planet seeking an honest human."

"Do you hope to find such in Athens?" Argathona asked.

She was quite interested in this queer, russet-colored man, with his wild words and his wild wits--as interested as she would be if she came upon some new kind of fawn or unfamiliar moth in the forest. Simon grunted uncertainly.

"I have my doubts," he said, "though every great lord and every little lord in Attica will be there. But I do not go to Athens solely to that end. I hope to find service with the Duke of Athens, who loves, so they tell me, such stout fellows as I be."

He stretched his great arms apart as he spoke, in pride at their mighty muscles. Then, remembering how little their strength had availed him against the witchery of the nymph, he grinned a thought sheepishly. But Argathona was honestly admiring his force, and only pitying him for not being comely. They sat for a moment looking at each other, thinking their own thoughts. About them all was very still in the moonlight, silence only troubled by the wheeling of bats and the droning of insects. Suddenly from the distance came loud shouts, furious cries, and then the angry clash of steel on steel and the clattering of a horse's hoofs in furious flight.

IV

THE MYSTIC ROSE

The young prince lay in the shadow while his horse cropped at the fresh grass, and he read the _Romance of the Rose_, and as he read it seemed as if he, too, lay there dreaming with the dreamer, and that all the amazing pageant of the tale moved before him as the figures on the woven arras of a great room move, stirred by the wind. For he, like the teller of the tale, seemed to wake from sleep on a May morning and to stray into the meadows to hearken to the matins of the birds. Like the dreamer, he wandered over flower-starred fields beside a river broader and shallower than the Seine till he came to the garden and the castle whose walls were adorned in gold and colors with the hideous images of Hate, Felony, Villany, Covetousness, Avarice, Envy, Sorrow, Eld, Hypocrisy, and Poverty; and it seemed to him that after he had sated his awed fancy with the study of those strange devices, he, too, sought if by any means he might get into the garden. Then in this waking sleep he found at last a small wicket, and he smote thereon, and the gate was opened to him by a damsel who told him that her name was Idleness, and that she was the friend of the master of the castle and garden, whose name was Mirth, and she gleefully bade him enter, and he obeyed and found himself straightway in so fair a garden that he deemed himself to have arrived at the earthly paradise. His dream spirit, following fast on the dainty heels of Idleness, came to where apple-faced Mirth and his jolly company, fair men and fair women, entertained themselves with song and dance.

But while he was with that genial congress and sharing in their sports, the God of Love came over the grass with Sweet-Looking by his side, and Sweet-Looking carried two bows, one crooked and knotty, the other even and comely, and two quivers, each holding five arrows, and the arrows in the quiver in the right hand were Beauty, Simplesse, Franchise, Company, and Fair-Semblance, and those in the left hand were the arrows of Pride, Villany, Shame, Wanhope, and New-Thought. Then the dreamer fled away from these presences, and as he went the God of Love dogged his footsteps with the fair bow and the fair arrow in his hand, and the dreamer came to that clear fountain where Narcissus drowned himself for self-love. In the waters of this fountain the dreamer beheld the reflection of a rose-bush all on fire with roses, and the desire of that rose-bush filled his heart so hotly that he would not have parted with one bud thereof, might he hope to gain so much, for the city of Paris or the city of Pavia. And while he hungered for the rose, the God of Love came up with him and pierced him with the five arrows of Beauty and Simplesse and Franchise and Company and Fair-Semblance, and with each wound he became more and more Love's servant and vassal, and then Love locked his heart with a golden key and left him with but one desire in that shut heart, the desire to obtain the noble rose.

And so in his dream the youth pursued his adventure till he came to where the rose-bush flourished and found it guarded by all manner of evil passions, who grinned defiance at him and knotted their gnarled hands to make a barrier to hold him from the lovely, lonely rose. And even as he despaired of success Queen Venus came to his aid--Venus with roses in her hair and roses at her feet, a beautiful, alluring presence, and cheered him with sweet smiles and urged him with sweet words to complete the achievement of the rose. Line by line and page by page the story of the wonderful book seemed to tell itself over in living pictures to his dreaming eyes, and the gracious women with the gracious names courtesied to him and kissed their pink finger-tips, and the evil faces mowed at him, and behind and beyond the fair faces and the foul he could see the glorious flower that he longed for. And he thought that Venus led him by the hand till he was close to the flower, and gave him leave to kiss it, and he stooped and kissed the rose, and his blood ran fire and his spirit was sanctified.

Then, with a shiver, Rainouart woke, and realized that he was lying alone by the highway to Athens, and that the day had darkened and the shadows were falling, and that his horse was fretting impatiently at his tether, and that the book had fallen from his relaxed fingers, and that he was very much alone on the earth. And he wished with all his unblemished soul that he could slip from the world he lived in, from the world where he loved no woman, into that kingdom of dreams, and achieve through all impediments and obstacles the love of his unknown lady. Wishing thus with a deep sigh, and realizing the vanity of the wish with a deeper, he thrust the book back into his bosom, and unfastened his horse and mounted him and turned his head towards Athens, letting him go at his own gait. Muffled in his melancholy musings, he suffered the bridle to drop on his horse's neck and rode with folded arms, meditating upon the power of poesy, and wondering if it were truly well for him that it had pleased Heaven to make his spirit so unhappily different from the spirits of the light-hearted knights of his father's court, who loved and were content, or who loved and were discontent, but who were always blithe of spirit and seemed to ask nothing better of fortune.

As he thus jogged and mused, trusting to his horse to find its way to the city, suddenly from the shadow of the trees that bordered the white highway came leaping from either side menacing figures, and the dusk was troubled with the gleam of naked steel. And then, before the prince could realize what had happened, his horse gave a great scream of pain, for one of the skulkers had wounded the animal in the side, aiming to hamstring it, and missing his mark in the dusk and flurry. The horse reared, and the prince, taken unawares, lost his stirrups. But Rainouart was too skilful a rider to be thrown, for instinctively he gripped the sides of his horse with his thighs and caught at the crupper, and if he had chosen could have escaped from his assailants easily enough astride of the galloping steed. But it was not in him to avoid danger thus or to fly from any odds; so, leaning forward, he caught on the bridle and brought the frightened animal to a moment's stand-still, and then deftly swinging himself from the saddle alighted on his feet on the highway. In another moment his sword was out to meet the swords of his antagonists, who rushed on him, a hurly-burly of shouts and swords, and the quiet of the night was broken by the fierce clash of steel on steel and the thundering of the frightened horse's hoofs as he sped along the highway towards Athens.

V

THE SONG OF THE FOREST

When the noise of the clash of steel and the clatter of flying hoofs echoed through the greenwood, Argathona leaped to her feet and the warm color fled from her face. Simon, flatling on the grass, indifferent to a noise the cause whereof was shrewdly guessed by him, thought the girl more than ever akin in her pallor to those old stone statues he had lightly noticed in that garden of pleasure in Byzantium. At that time he decided easily that the living women who served his squandering humor in that garden were much more fair than those ladies of old time whom the unknown sculptor had hoped to commemorate. Now rolling the problem over carefully through somewhat sluggish processes of thought, he began to hold it little less than reasonable to change his mind.

"What is the matter?" the dryad cried, pressing her hands against her breasts and widening her eyes, catlike, as she peered through the moony gloom of the wood. Her attitude in her companion's eyes was that of a wild creature troubled, and alert to pounce.

Simon rolled lazily on the grass and gave a self-satisfied snigger.

"I met a loon by the highway at the edge of the forest poring on a foolish book, and his folly vexed me. Then I 'countered a covey of thieves in the thick of the trees and told them of my blockhead coming. From what we hear I take it that he has fallen into their fingers. Belike they are cutting his throat at this present."

He chuckled at the ugly thought. Argathona turned upon him a pale, set face and blazing eyes of rage.

"You will not suffer this!" she cried, indignant; "you are a strong man."

Simon laughed again, a fat laugh, and aired his cynical philosophy.

"Marry, will I!" he answered. "Every man oaf that kills another man oaf rids me the world of one pestilent fellow, and gives an honest man more elbow-room."

Simon had angered the dryad much before, but now he angered her more. Probably he had never heard of Medusa or he might have believed that he beheld her. Argathona's adorable face was terrible to behold in its wrath, and her tresses in the moonlight gleamed like golden serpents. The scorn in her eyes might well have scared his bulk to stone.

"Oh, you are hateful, you humans," she protested, with hands uplifted to heaven; and then she shrilled in a voice there was no resisting, "Run to his help."

Very reluctantly, for his tumble still irked him, Simon found himself obediently scrambling to his feet. The moment he stood erect Argathona clutched hold of his right hand with her left, and in another instant she had started to run in the direction from which the clangor came. Simon would have liked to resist, but he might have liked equally well to be proclaimed emperor of the East for any self-satisfactory result his wishes were likely to have. His strong right hand was a helpless prisoner in the grip of the girl's white fingers, and his limbs seemed only to obey the volition communicated to them by her swift pulses. Whether he liked it or whether he did not--and indeed he knew very well that he did not--he was scampering at the top of his speed beside the smoothly running maiden. Oh, the appalling rapidity of that race through the forest! Simon, for all his bulk, had ever been counted swift of foot among his fellows, but he had never known till that moment what it truly meant to move swiftly. His hand captured in the irresistible grasp of Argathona, the big man bounded along through the alleys and over the glades of the forest trying to keep pace shoulder to shoulder with the flying maid. It was like being tied to the tail of a comet and careering through space; or, rather, it reminded Simon's homely fancy of a dog he had once seen tied to a farmer's wagon when the farmer's horse had bolted, covering ground in reluctant hurry with trailing paws and tail. It seemed to him as if his legs no longer touched the firm earth, but floated behind him foolishly, swimming in the air, while his companion swept quicker than the wind through the interminable avenues of the wood. That frenzied flight was like the worst part of an ill dream, but it was an ill reality, and Simon's bulk suffered wofully. His heart was strained like a swollen wine-skin, the sweat rained from his aching body, there was not so much breath left in his lungs as would blow a single hair from the beard of a seeding dandelion; it was death in life to travel at that pace. After what seemed to Simon an eternity of breakneck journeying, they swept into a clearing of the forest fringed at the foot by the white highway. In that clearing, as in a theatre, Simon saw a youth with his back to a tree engaged gallantly in steel-play against a group of dusky figures that came at him by rushes and fell off again before the steady sweep of his long sword. Simon's breath and senses came back to him like a trick. He saw that the man so vehemently attacked and so shamefully outnumbered was defending himself valiantly, and he thought better of bookworms from that instant. As he watched the craft of single man against many, the assailants gave ground, and one of their number fell to the earth like a log and lay there loggish. The man attacked had a breathing span, and waited watchful with his weapon poised.

"Go to his aid," the wood-nymph whispered in Simon's ear, pointing to the man who was fighting for his life.

Simon shook his head doggedly, thinking of the rules of his misanthropic game. He had made up his mind to dislike mankind and womankind, and it seemed a declination from principle to help any one in peril of a paltry life.

"He would not thank me," he grumbled; "he is holding his own well enough."

Even as he spoke, however, the conditions of the struggle were suddenly altered. Again the robbers had made to rush the youth, again they had retreated, and this time the youth, quitting the bastion of his tree-trunk, charged his retreating foes, who fled swiftly before him hither and thither. In making this attack he left at his rear, unheeding, the man who had fallen, and this one, suddenly quickening from his seeming lethargy, rose to his feet directly behind the advancing knight, and struck at close quarters a murderous blow at his head with what seemed to be a short club or mace. The youth gave a groan and reeled as he turned and tried to face this unexpected onslaught, and instantly all his enemies came swarming at him again.

"Will you not help him?" Argathona cried, in fine scorn. "Then I will."

A fallen tree-trunk lay in their way; the dryad leaped upon it just as the harassed youth, stumbling under a second treacherous blow, tripped and fell, and the robbers came swooping from all quarters upon their quarry to despatch him. Argathona flung up her arms.

"Help me, help, ye forest powers," she cried, in a great voice that seemed to Simon to fill the four corners of the world.

At the awful sound the startled robbers turned from their victim and stared in terror at the white figure perched upon the stricken tree. Simon to that moment had noted no signs of rising storm, though it was no news to his experience that storms rise and fall swiftly in the land of Greece. But on that instant it seemed to him and to the confounded robbers that a fierce wind came roaring through the forest while a black cloud like a dragon swallowed the moon at one bite, drowning the wood with intolerable darkness, ripped at swift intervals with zigzags of lightning, blindingly bright. Furious volleys of thunder rolled through the blended terror of light and darkness, and the clamor of heaven was horribly mimicked on earth by a bellowing as of innumerable wild beasts, fierce citizens of the forest, disturbed in their slumbers by the sudden hubbub. Simon, frankly frightened, fell on his knees and tried to stammer a prayer, while the robbers, utterly discomfited, shrieked their fears, and turning from that figure standing preternaturally white against the blackness, fled for their rascal lives. It appeared to Simon as he knelt that the dryad high above him chanted a wild imprecation upon the fugitives which rang thus:

Chase them, wolves, but do not slay;
Scare them, snakes, but do not sting;
Glow-worms, guide the rogues astray;
Hedgehogs, trip them as they spring
Helter-skelter through the night,
Dumb and deaf and blind with fright.

Though Simon deemed it an age-long time before the last sound of flying feet died away and the last words of the wood-nymph's imprecation faded into silence, yet the storm died with a suddenness only equalled by its birth. The thunder ceased to rumble, the lightning ceased to fly, the great, black dragon of cloud fell asunder dissipated into a myriad vanishing fragments, and in a quiet sky the sweet moon shone supreme again, filling the glade with brilliance. Simon staggered to his feet and made an end of his paternosters.

"That was a very pretty piece of work," he stammered, wiping the beads of sweat from his wet forehead as he turned to address the wood-nymph. The remark was intended to be a compliment, but it proved a soliloquy, for he found that he stood and spoke alone. Argathona had already quitted the tree-trunk and skimmed across the intervening grass to the field of battle. She was now bending over the wounded man. Simon followed her as quickly as he could, fearful of his own black shadow as it trailed raggedly in the moonlight. When he reached her side Simon, bending by her, peered into the rigid face of the fallen fighter. The man was, indeed, his book-reading knight of the afternoon, who lay now very still and pale in the moonlight with his eyes shut, and there was blood upon his bright hair and blood upon his colored coat. The dryad looked up imploringly at Simon with clasped hands and face strained with sorrow.

"The beautiful boy!" she sighed. "What have they done to him? I hope he is not dead. Tell me, you who are human and should understand your kind."

Simon stooped closer over the body and examined it dexterously enough. In the rough-and-tumble of his life he had had plenty of experience of wounds, and knew what to do. The heart was beating satisfactorily, and Simon nodded approval.

"Have you never seen death before?" he asked of his companion, while his big paws began to search more gently than seemed natural to them for the man's wounds.

Argathona wrung her hands.

"Never of human creature," she wailed; "but I still weep for the forest creatures, the beasts and the birds and the insects who seem so happy in their little lives."

By this time Simon had plucked open the knight's coat, and his fingers travelled dexterously over flesh that seemed womanly white and smooth in the moonlight.

"You are mighty compassionate," he grunted.

Argathona gave him a glance of pathetic reproval.

"I should be, being immortal," she answered, with a girlish dignity which was quaint in such a case.

Simon nodded silently. He had forgotten the girl's claim to immortality, but he was now very sure that she was a witch and her words did not worry him. Patiently he finished his examination of the body. A stroke aimed at the side had slipped on a buckle, causing only a gash where a hole had been hoped for. The loss of blood was not enough to account for the knight's helpless condition. Simon lifted him carefully to one side and then saw the cause of unconsciousness. The murderous blow that had been struck at the back of the knight's head had been struck at close quarters, and struck to kill. It had come pretty near to carry out its purpose, if the striking arm had been stronger.

Simon turned an encouraging countenance to the girl's grave face.

"Your knightling is not dead nor in great danger of death, though he has a nasty nick in the side that had better be bunged."

As he spoke he tore away a great piece of the youth's shirt and laid bare his side while he twisted the linen to shape a bandage.

"The worst of his business is that crack at the back of the head which has knocked him silly. It were well if we had some water."

"Let me do that," Argathona ordered, pointing to his employment. "I know how to stanch wounds. I saved the life of a stag lately that Alcibiades had wounded. Run you to the spring in the forest and bring me water."

When Argathona commanded in Argathona's woodland, Simon felt that it was for him to obey without question.

"Where is the spring?" he asked, as he rose to his feet.

Argathona drew from her girdle the myrtle-bough that she had thrust there when they began their wild race through the forest.

"Hold this so in your hand," she showed him, "and go straightly moonward, pressing it lightly between your palms. When it begins to quiver and twirl in your fingers you will know that you are near the spring. It is but a little way from here."

Simon had heard ere this of such ways of finding water, though in his country folk did the business rather with witch-hazel than myrtle; yet he had little doubt but that Argathona knew her woodland ways, and he took the bough from her hands and made at the top of his speed for the forest.

VI

LIKE UNTO ADONIS

Argathona, bending on one knee over the wounded man, lifted his shoulders with firm, supple fingers upon the other knee, and, tenderly supporting the bruised head with one hand, breathed quickly and repeatedly upon his parted lips. The breath of those who are deathless can fan the dying flame of the lamp of life till it burns again serenely. As she worked thus, tending a mortal man for the first time, touching the curling young head and the smooth young skin, unwonted tremors stirred her and unwonted fancies fumed. "If it were not for the red blood," she thought, "surely this youth might be of kin with the immortal gods. Adonis must have looked so when he lay with his life-blood dabbling the brake and reddening the petals of the roses, and widowed Aphrodite wept."

There were tears in Argathona's eyes as she thought thus, and they fell warm upon the cold face and kindled color in it, for the tears of those that are deathless quicken the flesh as the rains from heaven quicken the earth. After a little the youth opened his eyes and looked up in wonder at the beautiful, sad face that compassionated him, the beautiful body that neighbored him.

"Who are you?" he asked, faintly, wondering where he was, for his wits were still wool-gathering, and wondering why his voice sounded so weak and foolish to him, as voices sometimes sound in dreams.

"I am--" Argathona began, and faltered. She thought that she would not again tell a stranger the truth about herself and be doubted, as Simon had doubted her, so she changed her purpose a little and went on:

"I am a woman, and I live in this wood."

Rainouart struggled somewhat to get up, for it vexed his strength exceedingly to feel helpless and it fretted his courtesy to trouble a woman with such care of him. But Argathona gently laid a hand upon his breast, and for all his strength he could not resist that pressure, and she kept him pillowed on her knee. He put a hand that seemed unusually clumsy to his aching head, and then stared in amazement at his naked chest and weakly strove to claw his coat together. Argathona whispered to him very softly, and he understood her without marvelling, being unable for the moment to marvel at anything.

"Robbers set on you--wounded you."

Again Rainouart struggled to rise.

"Now I remember," he said, fiercely; and looking about him, though it hurt him much to move his head, he saw how his sword lay on the grass a-nigh him, and he made a grab for the weapon. But Argathona put her beautiful, strong arms about him, and held him thus while she whispered motherly to him, as children have whispered to their dolls since the first child played with the first mandrake:

"You must keep still; you are sorely hurt, but I have stanched the blood."

Rainouart's wits were none too muddled to forget reverence. He stooped his head and kissed the girl's hands where they met about his breast. The touch of his lips upon her seemed to sting her virgin flesh through to the pure heart, and she unclasped her hands with a little moan. Rainouart looked up at her.

"Why do you cry out? Why do you withdraw your hands? My gratitude would never offend you."

"You do not offend me," Argathona whispered, very softly, so softly that he could scarcely hear her. But he did hear her, and so hearing he now wondered, as Simon before him had wondered, how it happened that his own dear French speech should sound at all strange to him. As the girl's hands no longer restrained him, he struggled a little and sat erect, and stared into her eyes as she kneeled beside him. His troubled thoughts seemed to lapse again into a trance; surely he had strayed in the guarded garden, surely he lay in the mystical pleasance, surely he had touched with his lips the petals of the noble rose.

"What is your name?" he whispered, and she told him, and he repeated it softly, "Argathona," and found it very sweet to say and hear.

"When I kissed your hands, Argathona," he murmured, "all the pain of my wounds seemed to leave me, and I drew new life, new vigor, from the kiss. But when you withdraw your touch from me the smart returns and my head aches wearily. If you will let me kiss your hands once more I think that would surely banish pain."

He pleaded not because he dreaded to bear pain, but because he longed with all his heart to kiss her hands again, and he hoped to win her to yield through pity. He asked no more in his speech than to kiss her hands, and he asked no more in his heart. For this, though he knew it not, was his first acquaintance with the meaning of love, and his white chivalry would have died blithely for less grace than this from the loved one.

"You must not suffer pain," the girl said, looking with troubled doubt into his bright, mortal eyes. For this, though she knew it not, was her first acquaintance with the meaning of love. Then she yielded her hands to him sweetly as one who, being great, grants a favor, and granting it is glad to be humble in the granting. The young French knight took her white fingers in his and kissed them very tenderly, very courteously, and as he kissed them he looked up into her pitying eyes and longed to weep for the very keenness of the joy that filled his being. It seemed to him on the instant that he had waited through all the love-loneliness of his spring for the touch of those hands, for the regard of those eyes. Surely Lord Love had locked his heart with a golden key, to keep it as a shrine vacant till this hour and dedicated to this image.

"You have the most wonderful hands in all the world," he stammered, tremulous with a sense of intimate revelation. "Their touch yields life. But you have the most wonderful face in the world, the most wonderful eyes."

He had clean forgotten how he came there, he had clean forgotten Athens, forgotten everything except the glorious certainty that he had found the rose of the world. Argathona neared her face to his till she almost touched his cheek with her lips. She knew with the wisdom of the wood that he spoke the truth of his heart. She would have known even, if she had been wise in the wisdom of the world, from the loyalty of his voice, and she gave back the truth of her heart with the frankness of the dawn of time.

"Your hands are strong and shapely, like the hands of the gods; your eyes are bright, like the eyes of the gods; you are good to behold."

Rainouart colored, a little bashful as a gallant lad should be at the high praise of a fair girl, and tried, manlike, to put it by in spite of his wild pleasure at its sound and sense.

"So long as a man be brave, it matters little how he be formed and featured, at least so all men say, but I have heard that some ladies think otherwise." And he smiled shyly at her, hotly glad that she should think well of him, spirit and substance together glad to madness with happiness.

The dryad looked at him gravely. "Are there many mortals like this," she pondered--"so modest, so brave, so fair?" Her heart assured her that this must be the pride and idol of the time.

"Comeliness is a mark of the favor of the gods," she asserted.

Rainouart pressed her hands closely, his spirit rekindling at the exquisite contact, his soul desiring nothing better than this bright hour. Yet he wondered at her words.

"Why do you speak like a pagan?" he asked. "The gods have gone long ago."

The dryad sighed as she thought of the splendid figures riding to the twilight land. Was it yesterday?

"Ay," she sighed, "the gods have gone long ago," and she stared across the moonlit space into the blackness of the wood, and wondered what had happened to her which had changed so strangely the ancient way.

There was a little silence; mortal and immortal troubled with new thoughts. Then Rainouart made to rise. It was strangely sweet to lie there supported by this woman's arms; but Rainouart was a man and a knight, and must not presume on a fair lady's patience. So he got to his knees, and she helped him to his feet with her strength, which could have aided a greater than he; and they stood face to face in the moonlight, mortal boy and immortal girl, and to both alike the moment of mortal immortality had come. The night wind was very quiet, the wood seemed still with a kind of sacred stillness; it was as if the world were asleep and only they awake in all the world. The hearts of youth beat with the mutual pulses of a great passion.

VII

LOVE IS ENOUGH

The maid gazed at the man wistfully, a-quiver with mysterious hopes and fears.

"What god do you serve?" she faltered, her memory all alive with the divine faces and the shining forms and that calm, tragic procession to the shadowland.

Rainouart bowed his head, meekly devotional as his devout mother, and crossed himself slowly while he prayed a prayer.

"Messire Christ Jesus, who died for all men and for me, a sinner, thirteen hundred years ago. What other Lord may a knight serve? Do you take me for a follower of Mohammed?"

To Argathona neither name had any meaning. The beautiful gods her babehood knew had journeyed to the sunless land, and her mother had told her how a great voice, louder than all the winds that fill the sky, had cried abroad that great Pan was dead. She had always heard of a power mightier than the gods. That power had triumphed; she knew no more, she asked no more.

"I take you for a brave man," she said, looking him full in the face, and she looked many things that she could not say. In the conquering spell of that night of springtime his glorious youth seemed as abiding as hers, and she forgot to pity his dower of frailty or her dower of endurance, surrendering to a greater force than pity. To the man it seemed as if he, standing there holding this unknown woman's hands and drowning in this unknown woman's eyes, had learned in one noble moment the sacred secret of life, the reason why it is worth while to exist and to endure, live hardily a man's hard life, die firmly a man's inevitable death. All his spirit was at his lips as he spoke, his hands clinging to the clasp of her hands. For he knew that he had come to the crown of his life, that he had caught the clew that he was seeking, that he had found the noble rose.

"Pray God you take me for your loyal lover. My soul has lived alone for this moment, my little life has been spared for this grace." So he began, and then for the first time in all her age-long life the dryad heard the splendid, the terrible words that govern the reeling world.

"I love you," the man cried from the heart of his heart, and again, "I love you," and yet again, "I love you"--the mystical three words repeated mystically three times, as is meet in the litany of love. He would have caught her in his arms, but she held his hands fast, and for all his strength he could not pluck them away from her grasp. Joy and sorrow struggled for the supremacy of her being.

"Do you really love me, you mortal man, me whom you have never seen before this night?" she asked, with a tender pity, with a tender irony. The pity was for him, the about-to-die loving the undying; the irony was for her, that she spoke with the speech of doubt knowing with all her heart that he loved her, knowing with all her heart that she loved him.

"I am a mortal man," Rainouart answered, passionately, "as you are a mortal woman; but love is immortal, and true knights who are true lovers only think so of love. They ride and they ride and they see fair faces in lattice or orchard, and they vow the world is a pleasant place; but they pay no heed to the fair faces, and they ride on in the quest of the rose. Then at a thoughtless turn of the road they see one face and the world is heaven or hell--heaven if they win and wear the rose, hell if they may not attain to its petals. No, not so," he corrected himself, quickly, "for to love the loveliest is well whether she smile or frown, and so, come what may, it is my glory to love you, but I wish you could love me a little."

She answered in racking anguish to the rapture of the man:

"I think I could love you very dearly, but I do not think it would be wise."

"Do not mistrust me," he pleaded. "I could be nothing but loyal to my lover, loyal to the death."

As the words rang from his lips Argathona gave a great cry, and loosing her hold of him covered her face with her hands like a frightened child, and her body shook with sobs.

"Alas, to the death!" she wailed, shuddering at the gulf between them and the doom laid upon immortals to see their mortal lovers die.

Rainouart trembled; liberated from her fingers, his life seemed to ebb again furiously, the very strength her touch had given him made him the weaker at the withdrawal of that contact. His wound ran red anew, and the hurt in his head burned horridly. But he cried vehemently, catching at his breath:

"We must all die, young or old, gentle or simple; but we die in the hope of salvation, and to-day we two live, to-day I love you, to-day I pray God that you may love me."

She was stirred by his passionate enthusiasm, by the vehemence of his speech, by the earnest meaning in his eyes. Loving him, she was eager to be loved according to the simple creed of the woodland, and she tried like him to forget the unavoidable.

"Give me your love," he cried to her again. "Give me your love. Come with me into the wide world. I am Rainouart of the Rock, son of the Duke of Athens. You shall live like a queen in the sweet city."

A sudden pain tugged at the dryad's heart, and she shook her head sadly. This was not what she understood by love, to go and dwell among mortals and watch them die as summer flies die in a day.

"If I gave you my love," she said, "I could not go with you into the wide world. My life is here in the ancient wood."

Resolve ruled Rainouart's forehead with strong lines. He was so sure that this was the love of his life, and that to love like this was truly to live, that he was ready to pay his price for paradise.

"Then I will dwell with you in the ancient wood," he answered. "The world is a fine place, full of color and music and honorable strife, but true love is better than all things, and if you love me I will dwell with you in the ancient wood."

The dryad sighed. She longed with all her heart to say yes, longed and dared not. She knew now how her mother felt when the Greek youth wooed her in the days before the heroes sailed to Troy.

"It may not be," she said, but she said it half-heartedly, petitioning secretly if, after all, it might not be. Perhaps she might keep his spirit alive within him with her immortal lips, perhaps she might hold death off with her immortal arms as the demi-god Herakles did when he brought back Alkestis.

The impetuous Rainouart, lip-deep in love, made light of her denial. Heaven had been very gracious to him and he would not lose the rose. What was there to weep for in his father's court? Could its drunken chief and dissolute women and debauched princes restrain him from the religious quiet of the wood? What was there in all Athens to be set against a moment of Argathona's love?

"It must be," he persisted; "we are troth-plighted, you and I. We have exchanged loves and hearts and cannot deny it."

He drew a ring from his finger as he spoke, a heavy gold ring cunningly carved with the image of our Lord upon the tree, and set about with little studs of gold wherewith to say the rosary.

"This is my Master and thine," he whispered. "Wear it and be mine."

She put the ring and his hand away from her, troubled by his words and by the unknown image on the ring. Rainouart misunderstood her gesture.

"Dear," he protested, "I mean all honor and honesty with you. With this ring I will wed you. Hear, my dear lady. A little way beyond the wood between here and Athens there lives apart a holy man; let us go to him hand-in-hand that he may make us man and wife."

The dryad tried painfully and vainly to understand his meaning. What had their loves to do with the little hermitage at the foot of the hill and the lonely man who lived there? To wed meant to her to give herself hand and heart and all to the lover whom she loved, and if ever she dreamed on summer days and nights of what love could be it was as of something that might come to pass when the gods returned, as they surely would one day return from the twilight land. Now she knew that she loved this mortal wholly, now she knew that this mortal loved her wholly, and now, looking at her mortal lover, she knew that he was in peril of the melancholy disease, the ceasing, which mortals call death. For since she had unclasped her hands from his hands his face had grown pale again which had warmed at her touch, and his energies had ebbed with the warmth of his wooing, and his senses sickened with the dizziness in his head. She clasped him again, but her touch could no longer quicken his vitality as keenly as before, for her powers were weaker through love of a mortal. He slipped from her arms upon the grass and his face was grown suddenly gray.

"What has happened," he moaned, "that a scratch can so unman me?"

Argathona bent over him, consoling, comforting, loving.

"I must find the herb of healing," she said. "It hides in the heart of the wood. Sleep here for a little till I return."

She breathed softly upon his forehead willing him to sleep, and the youth's drawn face softened, his limbs relaxed, and he lay motionless upon the turf. A stranger would have guessed that he was dead, but Argathona knew better; she knew that the youth lay drowned in a dreamless, soothing slumber.

"Sleep," she murmured--"sleep till I return with the herb of healing."

Tears flooded her eyes making the moonlight dim, and she beat at her breasts.

"Alas! I cannot deny to love him. My mother's fate is mine, for I love a mortal, and my lover will die in a day and I shall live unhappy till the gods ride back from the twilight land."

She turned from her sleeping lover and ran swifter than a stag across the moonlit space and dived into the darkness of the wood.

VIII

SIMON SPIES

When the wonderful lovers were speaking together, unstained youth and stainless maid, neither of them dreamed that human eyes were watching them from the thicket; but it was so. Simon, twisting and twiddling the myrtle-bough between his big fingers, had picked his way through the forest till the twig began to spin of itself, and then he found the clear fountain and filled his gourd, after satisfying that private thirst of his own which an unmoistened supper of onions had done much to stimulate. He was in no great heat of enthusiasm about the book-reading youth whom the dryad had rescued. He admitted him a brave fellow, but that was nothing; it was no more than a man's business to be brave, and if the wood-girl must like a brave fellow, why could not Simon serve her turn? He grumbled to himself as he went and returned that he believed the minx had sent him to the water-pool on purpose that she might be left alone with the lad; and he reflected cynically, with a cynicism worthy of such a lickerish lantern-bearer, that a woman is a woman though she be a thousand years old and is pleased to call herself immortal.

Such an aggrieved, sour humor is apt to grow with much dandling and patting, and Simon was in a simmering bad temper with destiny and the sisters three when he reached the fringe of the glade and saw the youth and the maiden standing together. He paused, unseen, unheeded, on the farther side of darkness, rubbing his bristling chin. They looked to be of very good accord together, and his blood boiled at their amity. "It were a shame to spoil sport," he said to himself, apologetically, for what he was about to do, as he drew back a little deeper into the wood, still unseen and unheard. Then, "it were a shame to lose sport," he added, more truthfully to his itching curiosity, and dropping noiselessly on his hands and knees he proceeded to crawl very quietly towards a part of the wood nearer to the pair from which he might certainly oversee their deeds better, and also possibly overhear their words.

He moved quite stealthily and swiftly for his volume of body, for he had learned the primals of forest strategy when he served his apprenticeship to war under Philip the Fair, and his celerity of passage was accompanied by little rustling. At another time, though he did not know this, he could not have hoped to scramble so through the brushwood unperceived by the woodland sense of Argathona, but contact with a mortal sometimes dulls the immortal wit, and Argathona was absorbed by other than woodland thoughts. Indeed, if some faint sound of his patient progress had troubled the night, it would have fallen unheeded on the ears of those two who were wading straight from the shallows into the deeps of love.

At last Simon found his profitable lair and lay hunched up in the darkness with his chin propped on his fists, watching the boy and girl. He interpreted their gestures with a raging heart, hearing now and then something of the words they spoke, for the night was very still. His torpid sense of honor was untroubled by this playing of the spy, for he felt now a very personal sense of enmity to the stranger knight who, as he was inclined to phrase it, had taken his wood-girl away from him. It was Simon's simple creed that if he cast his eyes upon a girl in favor, that girl was his by right; wherefore he watched the mutual wooing with hot eyes of wrath, and there were wild moments when he longed to leap out upon the pair, slay the man, and seize the girl--and perhaps he would have done so had he not been mortally afraid of the maid. But when he saw the youth reclining upon the grass and Argathona bending so tenderly over him, pity began to pull at his heartstrings sorely against his will--pity for the maid, naturally, not pity for the man.

When the dryad, after breathing sleep on the face of her lover, disappeared into the forest Simon groped cautiously from his cover and moved stealthily over the moonlit space to the side of the sleeping man. He looked down upon the young, still face of Rainouart, rubbing his russet chin thoughtfully as he shrugged his shoulders in astonishment.

"What does she see," he asked himself, "in that smooth, unmeaning face that she prefers him to me--to me who know what love means, and war, and how to love women, and carry my liquor, and who never wasted time over a silly, painted book?"

That same painted book was still in the pouch of the young man's girdle, where he had thrust it when he had come from his reverie. There was a corner sticking out and it caught Simon's eye. He stooped and pulled the book from its concealment, a little square of vellum pages, scribed in a fine, clerkly hand, craftily enriched with pictures, and he balanced it curiously on his palm.

"What was there," he asked himself, "in such a lump of ink-stained, pigmented parchment to make a man forget that he was alive?"

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped the volume into his own pouch as a lawful prize, resolving at some future time to see what he could make of its pages. The glimpse of the little, painted book fiercely rekindled his old resentment, which had withered a little at the sight of his enemy lying helpless on the grass. His fingers slipped to the horn handle of the knife that nestled in his girdle, and he moved it up and down from its sheath, enjoying grimly the slipperiness of the steel in the leather. Presently he plucked the blade bare and contemplated its brightness.

"It is but jamming this to the hilt," he thought, "in that quiet, white flesh, and the Duchy of Athens were sadly lacking an heir, and my white witch were sadly in want of a lover."

It was an alluring thought for a very unscrupulous fellow, but he pushed it aside at last, ramming the knife home with an oath, although he made a wry face at his abnegation. "The pretty witch would weep and her tears would grieve me," he thought; "and, besides, the fool is asleep and at my advantage, and belike he has not the blood left to fight with if I kicked him into waking and challenged him to fair battle."

As he thus reluctantly refused murder, he noticed that something glittered on the grass by the side of the sleeping man. Simon stooped and picked it up, and examined it carefully in the moonlight. It was a big, gold ring admirably wrought with the image of the Saviour of the world upon the tree, and set with little studs about the circle for the saying of the rosary.

"By the mass!" said Simon to the surrounding silence, "this is the ring he offered her." But even as he spoke thus, and as he weighed the ring in his palm, he was made aware that he might speak to silence no longer.

IX

THE DUCHESS OF THEBES