The Line of Love. Dizain des Mariages

of the rain's noise. This dank night now divulged no more, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and Melite lifted it and twisted it idly.

'I wonder—?' said she.

She lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the room. Melite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Melite laughed—her laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass,—and raised her arms above her, head, stretching tensely like a cat before a fire, and laughed yet again.

'After all,' said she, 'I do not wonder.'

Melite sat before the mirror, and braided her hair, and sang to herself in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in the glass, while the October rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged.

Sang Melite:

'Rustling leaves of the willow-tree 
Peering downward at you and me, 
And no man else in the world to see, 

'Only the birds, whose dusty coats 
Show dark in the green,—whose throbbing throats 
Turn joy to music and love to notes.

'Lean your body against the tree, 
Lifting your red lips up to me, 
Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!

'And let us laugh for a little:—Yea, 
Let love and laughter herald the day 
When laughter and love will be put away.

'Then you will remember the willow-tree 
And this very hour, and remember me, 
Melite,—whose face you will no more see!

'So swift, so swift the glad time goes,
And Eld and Death with their countless woes 
Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows,

'Lean your body against the tree, 
Lifting your red lips up to me, 
Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!'

Melite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for her upon a May morning at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were very young. So now she smiled to remember the making of the verses which she sang while the October rain was beating about Puysange.

5. Night-work

It was not long before they came upon d'Andreghen and his men camped about a great oak, with One-eyed Peire a-swing over their heads for a lamentable banner. A shrill sentinel, somewhere in the dark, demanded the newcomers' business, but without receiving any adequate answer, for at that moment Adhelmar gave the word to charge.

Then it was as if all the devils in Pandemonium had chosen Normandy for their playground; and what took place in the night no man saw for the darkness, so that I cannot tell you of it. Let it suffice that Adhelmar rode away before d'Andreghen had rubbed sleep well out of his eyes; and with Adhelmar were Hugues d'Arques and some half of Adhelmar's men. The rest were dead, and Adhelmar was badly hurt, for he had burst open his old wound and it was bleeding under his armor. Of this he said nothing.

'Hugues,' said he, 'do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence take ship for England.'

He would have none of Hugues' thanks; instead, he turned and left Hugues to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain at him. Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang.

Sang Adhelmar:

'D'Andreghen in Normandy 
Went forth to slay mine enemy; 
But as he went 
Lord God for me wrought marvellously;

'Wherefore, I may call and cry 
That am now about to die, 
'I am content!'

'Domine! Domine! 
Gratias accipe! 
Et meum animum 
Recipe in coelum!'

6. They Kiss at Parting