Chapter II

All night, beside her slumbering lord, the Queen Tossed sleepless--every aching sense astrain With tingling wakefulness that racked like pain Her weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread, She watched the slow hours moving dark between The glimmering window and the curtained bed. The fitful calling of the owl, all night, Struck like the voice of terror on her ears; With brushing wings, about her taloned fears Fluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom, Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light, She rose and stood within the dawning room, Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hair Each moment quickening to a livelier gold About her snowy shoulders; yet, more cold Than the still gleam of winter-frozen meres, Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare, As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears; And, when she turned, the old familiar things Unknown and alien seemed to her sight-- Outworn and faded in the morning light The rose-embroidered tapestries, and frail The painted Love that hung on irised wings Above the sleeping King. Dark-browed and pale She looked upon her lord, and fresh despair With dreadful calm through all her being stole, And froze with icy breath the flickering soul That strove within her. Evil courage steeled Her heart once more, as, combing back her hair, She watched the waking world of wood and field: Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white; The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curl Above some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girl Driving the kine afield with loitering pace. But, as a youthful rider came in sight, She from the casement turned with darkening face, And looked not out again, and fiercely pressed Her white teeth in her quivering underlip, To stifle the wild cry that strove to slip From her strained throat; with clutching hands she sought To stay the throbbing tumult of her breast That fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.

Christine as yet in dreamless slumber lay Within her turret-chamber; but a bird Within the laurel singing softly stirred Her eyes to wakeful life, and from her bed She rose and stood within the light of day, White-faced and wondering, with lifted head. As April-butterflies, new-winged for flight, That poise awhile in quivering amaze, Ere they may dare the unknown, glittering ways Of perilous airs--upon the brink of morn She paused one moment in the showering light, In radiant ecstasy of youth forlorn. Then swift remembrance flushed her virgin snow, And wakened in her eyes the living fire; With joyous haste she drew her bright attire About her trembling limbs, with eager hands, Veiling her maiden beauty's morning glow, Before she looked abroad on meadowlands, Where Geoffrey rode at dawn. Across the blaze Of dandelions silvering to seed, She saw his white horse swing with easy speed; He rode with head exultant in the breeze That lifted his brown hair. With lingering gaze She watched him vanish down an aisle of trees; Then, swiftly gathering her dark hair in braids Above her slender neck, she crossed the floor With noiseless step, unlatched the creaking door, And stole in trembling silence down the stair, Intent to reach the garden ere the maids Should come with chattering tongues and laughter there; When by her side she heard a rustling stir: The arras parted, and before her stood Queen Hild in proud, imperious womanhood, Looking upon her with cold, smiling eyes. In startled wonder Christine glanced at her. Then spake the Queen: "Do maids thus early rise To tend their household duties, or to feed The doves, relinquishing sleep's precious hours To see the morning dew upon the flowers And what frail blooms have perished 'neath the moon? To reach the Grey Nun's Walk, mayhap you speed-- To count the stricken buds of lilies strewn O'ernight upon the soil by careless feet That wandered there so late? Yea, now I know, Christine, because you flush and tremble so. Yet look you not on me with eyes that burn; I would not stay you when you go to greet The rider of the dawn on his return. Think you I leave my bed at break of day-- I, Hild the Queen--to thwart a lover's kiss? Think you my love of you could stoop to this, Though you would wed a fledgling, deedless Knight? Nay, shrink you not from me, turn not away; Because my heart has never known love's light, I fain would hear your happy tale of love, That I may prosper you and your fair youth. Will you not trust me?" Blind with love's glad truth, Christine sank down within Hild's outstretched arms. Speechless, awhile, with sobbing breath she strove; Then poured out all the tale of love's alarms, Raptures, despairs, and deathless ecstasies, In one quick torrent from her brimming heart; Then, quaking, ceased, and drew herself apart, Dismayed that she so easily had revealed To this white, cold-eyed Queen love's sanctities. Yet Hild moved not, but stood, with hard lips sealed, Until, the chiming of the turret-bell Recalling her, she spake with far-off voice: "I, loveless, in your innocent love rejoice. May nothing stem its eager raptured course! Oh, that my barren heart could love so well, And feel the surge of love's subduing force! Yet even I from out my dearth may give To you, Christine. Would you that Geoffrey's name Shall shine, unchallenged, on the lists of fame? If you would have him win for you the crown Of knightly immortality, and live Triumphant on men's tongues in high renown, Follow me now." With cold, exulting eyes She raised the arras, opening to the light An unknown stair-way clambering into night. Within the caverned wall she swiftly passed. Christine for one brief moment in surprise Uncertain paused; then, wondering, followed fast. The falling arras shutting out the day, She stumbled blindly through the soaring gloom-- Enclosing dank and chilly as the tomb Her panting life; and unto her it seemed That ever, as she climbed, more sheer the way Before her rose, and ever fainter gleamed The wan, white star of light that overhead Hovered remote. Far up the stair she heard A silken rustling as, without a word, Relentlessly Queen Hild before her sped For ever up the ever-soaring steep. But when it almost seemed that she must fall-- So loudly in her ears the pulses beat, And each step seemed to sink beneath her feet-- She heard the shrilly grating of a key, And saw, above her, in the unseen wall, A dazzling square of day break suddenly. Within the lighted doorway Queen Hild turned To reach a helping hand, and, as she bent To clutch the swooning maiden, well-nigh spent, And drew her to the chamber, weak and faint, Through her gold hair so rare a lustre burned, It seemed to Christine that an aureoled saint Leaned out from heaven to snatch her from the deep. Then, dizzily, she sank upon the floor, Dreaming that toil was over evermore, And she secure in Love's celestial fold; Till, waking gradually as from a sleep, Her dark eyes opened on a blaze of gold. She sat within a chamber hung around With glistering tapestry, whereon a knight, Who bore a golden helm above the fight, For ever triumphed o'er assailing swords, Or led the greenwood chase with horse and hound, While far behind him lagged the dames and lords And all the hunting train; till he, at length, Brought low the antlered quarry on the brink Of some deep, craggy cleft, wherefrom did shrink The quailing hounds with lathered flanks aquake. As Christine looked on them, her maiden-strength Returned to her; and now, more broad awake, She saw, within the centre of the room, A golden table whereon glittered bright A casket of wrought gold, and, in the light, Queen Hild, awaiting her, with smiling lips, And laughing words: "Is this then love's sad doom, To perish, fainting, in light's brief eclipse Between a curtain and a closed door? Shall this bright casket ever hold, unsought, The golden helm--in elfin-ages wrought For some star-destined knight--because love's heart Grows faint within her? Shall the world no more Acclaim its helmed lord?" But, with a start, Christine arose, and swiftly forward came With eager eyes, and stooped with fluttering breast-- Her slender, shapely hands together pressed In tense expectancy, and all her face With quivering light of wondering love aflame. The Queen bent down, and in a breathing space Unlocked the casket with a golden key, And deftly loosed a little golden pin; The heavy lid swung open and, within, To Christine's eyes revealed the golden helm. Then spake Queen Hild, once more: "Your love-gift see! Think you that any smith in all the realm Can beat dull metal to so fair a casque? In jewelled caverns of enchantment old This helm was wrought of magic-tempered gold To yieldless strength, by elfin-hammers chased, That toiled unwearied at their age-long task, And over it an unknown legend traced In letters of some world-forgotten tongue. At noon, with careful footing, down the stair Unto the hall the casket you must bear, When King and knight are gathered round the board, And, ere the tales be told or songs be sung, Acclaim your love the golden-helmed lord." Christine, awhile, in speechless wonderment, Hung o'er the glistering helm, and silence fell Within the arrased chamber like a spell; While softly, on some distant, sunlit roof, The basking pigeons cooed with deep content; Till, far below, a sudden-clanging hoof Startled the morn. The women's lifted eyes One moment met in kindred ecstasy; Then Hild, with hopeless shudder, shaking free, With strained voice spake: "Why do you longer wait? Your love returns; shall he, in sad surprise, Find no glad face to greet him at the gate?"