“Brangwaine!” he said,
Turning and trembling. For a softer voice
Than Morgan’s now had spoken; a truer voice,
Which had not come alone to plead with him
In the King’s name for courtesy.
Turning and trembling. For a softer voice
Than Morgan’s now had spoken; a truer voice,
Which had not come alone to plead with him
In the King’s name for courtesy.
“Sir Tristram! . . .”
Brangwaine began, and ended. Then she seized
His hands and held them quickly to her lips
In fealty that he felt was his for ever.
“Brangwaine, for this you make a friend of me
Until I die. If there were more for one
To say . . .” He said no more, for some one else
Than Brangwaine was above him on the stairs.
Coming down slowly and without a sound
She moved, and like a shadow saying nothing
Said nothing while she came. Isolt of Ireland,
With all her dark young majesty unshaken
By grief and shame and fear that made her shake
Till to go further would have been to fall,
Came nearer still to him and still said nothing,
Till terror born of passion became passion
Reborn of terror while his lips and hers
Brangwaine began, and ended. Then she seized
His hands and held them quickly to her lips
In fealty that he felt was his for ever.
“Brangwaine, for this you make a friend of me
Until I die. If there were more for one
To say . . .” He said no more, for some one else
Than Brangwaine was above him on the stairs.
Coming down slowly and without a sound
She moved, and like a shadow saying nothing
Said nothing while she came. Isolt of Ireland,
With all her dark young majesty unshaken
By grief and shame and fear that made her shake
Till to go further would have been to fall,
Came nearer still to him and still said nothing,
Till terror born of passion became passion
Reborn of terror while his lips and hers
[ 36 ]
