Therewith he drew his sword from the sheath, and tossed it into the air, and caught it by the hilts as it came down, and he cried out: “Hearken, Ursula! By my sword I swear it, that when I come home to the little land, if my father and my mother and all my kindred fall not down before thee and worship thee, then will I be a man without kindred, and I will turn my back on the land I love, and the House wherein I was born, and will win for thee and me a new kindred that all the world shall tell of. So help me Saint Nicholas, and all Hallows, and the Mother of God!”
She looked on him with exceeding love, and said: “Ah, beloved, how fair thou art! Is it not as I said, yea, and more, that now lieth the world at thy feet, if thou wilt stoop to pick it up? Believe me, sweet, all folk shall see this as I see it, and shall judge betwixt thee and me, and deem me naught.”
“Beloved,” he said, “thou dost not wholly know thyself; and I deem that the mirrors of steel serve thee but ill; and now must thou have somewhat else for a mirror, to wit, the uprising and increase of trouble concerning thee and thy fairness, and the strife of them that love thee overmuch, who shall strive to take thee from me; and then the blade that hath seen the Well at the World’s End shall come out of his sheath and take me and thee from the hubbub, and into the quiet fields of my father’s home, and then shalt thou be learned of thyself, when thou seest that thou art the desire of all hearts.”
“Ah, the wisdom of thee,” she said, “and thy valiancy, and I am become feeble and foolish before thee! What shall I do then?”
He said: “Many a time shall it be shown what thou shalt do; but here and now is the highway dry and long, and the plain meads and acres on either hand, and a glimmer of Whitwall afar off, and the little cloud of dust about us two in the late spring weather; and the Sage and Michael riding behind us, and smiting dust from the hard road. And now if this also be a dream, let it speedily begone, and let us wake up in the ancient House at Upmeads, which thou hast never seen—and thou and I in each other’s arms.”
XIII
They Come to Whitwall Again
Herewith they were come to a little thorp where the way sundered, for the highway went on to Whitwall, and a byway turned off to Swevenham. Thereby was a poor hostel, where they stayed and rested for the night, because evening was at hand. So when those four had eaten and drunk there together, Ralph spoke and said: “Michael-a-dale, thou art for Swevenham tomorrow?” “Yea, lord,” said Michael, “belike I shall yet find kindred there; and I call to thy mind that I craved of thee to lead me to Swevenham as payment for all if I had done aught for thy service.”
“Sooth is that,” said Ralph, “thou shalt go with my goodwill; and, as I deem, thou shalt not lack company betwixt here and Swevenham, whereas our dear friend here, the friend of thy father’s father, is going the same road.”
Then the Sage of Swevenham leaned across the board, and said: “What word hath come out of thy mouth, my son?” Said Ralph, smiling on him: “It is the last word which we have heard from thee of this matter, though verily it was spoken a while ago. What wilt thou add to it as now?” “This,” quoth the Sage, “that I will leave thee no more till thou biddest me go from thee. Was this word needful?”
Ralph reached his hand to him and said: “It is well and more; but the road hence to Upmeads may yet be a rough one.” “Yea,” said the Sage, “yet shall we come thither all living, unless my sight now faileth.”
Then Ursula rose up and came to the old man, and cast her arms about him and said: “Yea, father, come with us, and let thy wisdom bless our rooftree. Wilt thou not teach our children wisdom; yea, maybe our children’s children, since thou art a friend of the Well?”
“I know not of the teaching of wisdom,” said the Sage; “but as to my going with thee, it shall be as I said e’en now; and forsooth I looked for this bidding of thee to make naught of the word which I spoke ere yet I had learned wisdom of thee.”
Therewith were they merry, and fain of each other, and the evening wore amidst great content.
But when morning was come they gat to horse, and Ralph spake to Michael and said: “Well, friend, now must thou ride alone to thy kindred, and may fair days befall thee in Swevenham. But if thou deem at any time that matters go not so well with thee as thou wouldst, then turn thine head to Upmeads, and try it there, and we shall further thee all we may.”
Then came the Sage to Michael as he sat upon his horse, a stalwarth man of some forty winters, and said: “Michael-a-dale, reach me thine hand.” So did he, and the Sage looked into the palm thereof,
