to King Arthur?"

"No," answered the bard, divining his lord's thought, "for Guenever
survived not the King, and they were buried side by side in the Vale of
Avallon."

"Thou art wise in the lore of the heart, and love hath been thy study
from youth to grey hairs. Is it love, is it hate, that prefers death for
the loved one, to the thought of her life as another's?" A look of the
tenderest compassion passed over the bard's wan face, but vanished in
reverence, as he bowed his head and answered:

"O King, who shall say what note the wind calls from the harp, what
impulse love wakes in the soul--now soft and now stern? But," he added,
raising his form, and, with a dread calm on his brow, "but the love of a
king brooks no thought of dishonour; and she who hath laid her head on
his breast should sleep in his grave."

"Thou wilt outlive me," said Gryffyth, abruptly. "This carn be my tomb!"

"And if so," said the bard, "thou shalt sleep not alone. In this carn
what thou lovest best shall be buried by thy side; the bard shall raise
his song over thy grave, and the bosses of shields shall be placed at
intervals, as rises and falls the sound of song. Over the grave of two
shall a new mound arise, and we will bid the mound speak to others in the
fair days to come. But distant yet be the hour when the mighty shall be
laid low! and the tongue of thy bard may yet chant the rush of the lion
from the toils and the spears. Hope still!"

Gryffyth, for answer, leant on the harper's shoulder, and pointed
silently to the sea, that lay, lake-like at the distance, dark-studded
with the Saxon fleet. Then turning, his hands stretched over the forms
that, hollow-eyed and ghost-like, flitted between the walls, or lay
dying, but mute, around the waterspring. His hand then dropped, and
rested on the hilt of his sword.

At this moment there was a sudden commotion at the outer entrance of the
wall; the crowd gathered to one spot, and there was a loud hum of voices.
In a few moments one of the Welch scouts came into the enclosure, and the
chiefs of the royal tribes followed him to the carn on which the King
stood.

"Of what tellest thou?" said Gryffyth, resuming on the instant all the
royalty of his bearing.

"At the mouth of the pass," said the scout, kneeling, "there are a monk
bearing the holy rood, and a chief, unarmed. And the monk is Evan, the
Cymrian, of Gwentland; and the chief, by his voice, seemeth not to be
Saxon. The