in and clove the man so that he
never breathed again.

Thus was all accomplished, and gladly was Sir Tristram returning on his
homeward way, when one of the robbers who had made his escape and lay
concealed, shot at Sir Tristram from his hiding-place, and the arrow
pierced Sir Tristram in that same wound whereof he had nearly died before
he went to Ireland, and La Belle Iseult cured him. And now he felt like
to die again.

Scarcely could he stagger home through the long miles of that rugged
forest by the sea; his eyes were faint and blinded, his legs shook under
him. Parched, trembling, well-nigh dead, he reached at last his castle
gates, but there his strength failed him, and with a terrible cry he fell
prostrate on the ground.

At the sound forth came soldiers and servants, and strong men lifted him
in kindly arms and laid him gently on a bed, calling aloud for someone to
come and dress his wound.

Over by the window of the big hall sat Iseult la Blanche Mains, gazing
with stony, unseeing eyes out over the golden sea, paying no heed to the
noise and bustle going on about her. She had recognized that cry of pain
at the gate, and knew her husband had returned sore stricken, but never,
never once did she turn her head to look at him, nor move to give him
comfort or assistance. And Tristram, ill though he was, felt the change
in her manner to him, and grieved in his heart that all was not as it
should have been, for he could not bear to cause pain to any woman.

As soon as he could speak he called to her, humbly, "Iseult, my wife!"
At that she rose and went to him, but sullenly, and stood looking at him
as though he were a stranger.

"Kiss me," he whispered, and at his bidding she stooped and kissed him,
but it was as though an icicle had brushed his cheek, and a black cloud of
misery settled down upon him, and despairing longing for her who would
have been so gentle and kind to him; and towards his wife his heart
hardened.

And she, poor little Iseult, her heart aching sorely with love and
jealousy and bitter pain, returned to her seat, and no movement did she
make to heal her lord of his wound, though she alone could do so. But in
her heart she had vowed that she would not give him health and life only
that he might leave her again to go to that other Iseult. So, stern and
cold she sat by the window looking out upon the sea, and never spake one
gentle word, or tried to win his love.

And thus three days