through the beech-boughs, every turn of the
silver poplar leaves, thinking it might be you or some news of you."

Then I rose and drew her up with me; but she knelt again by my
brother's side, and kissed him, and said:

"0 brother! The Hollow Land is only second best of the places God has
made, for Heaven also is the work of His hand."

Afterwards we dug a deep grave among the beechroots and there we
buried Amald de Liliis.

And I have never seen him since, scarcely even in dreams; surely God
has had mercy on him, for he was very leal and true and brave; he
loved many men, and was kind and gentle to his friends, neither did he
hate any but Swanhilda.

But as for us two, Margaret and me, I cannot tell you concerning our
happiness, such things cannot be told; only this I know, that we abode
continually in the Hollow Land until I lost it.

Moreover this I can tell you. Margaret was walking with me, as she
often walked near the place where I had first seen her; presently we
came upon a woman sitting, dressed in scarlet and gold raiment, with
her head laid down on her knees; likewise we heard her sobbing.

"Margaret, who is she?" I said: "I knew not that any dwelt in the
Hollow Land but us two only."

She said, "I know not who she is, only sometimes; these many years, I
have seen her scarlet robe flaming from far away, amid the quiet green
grass: but I was never so near her as this.

Florian, I am afraid: let us come away."

FYTTE THE SECOND

Such a horrible grey November day it was, the fog-smell all about, the
fog creeping into our very bones.

And I sat there, trying to recollect, at any rate something, under
those fir-trees that I ought to have known so well.

Just think now; I had lost my best years some- where; for I was past
the prime of life, my hair and beard were scattered with white, my
body was growing weaker, my memory of all things was very faint

My raiment, purple and scarlet and blue once, was so stained that you
could scarce call it any colour, was so tattered that it scarce
covered my body, though it seemed once to have fallen in heavy folds
to my feet, and still, when I rose to walk, though the miserable
November mist lay in great drops upon my bare breast, yet was I
obliged to wind my raiment over my arm, it dragged so (wretched,
slimy, textureless thing! ) in the brown mud.

On my head was a light morion, which pressed on my brow and pained me;
so I put my hand up to take it ofi; bu