t she knew.

And with the revelation there was born
A wider knowledge of life's mystery.
Sir Torm had never satisfied her soul;
But though in outward seeming she was proud,
High-spirited, and passing courtly dame,
At heart the Lady Gwendolaine was still
A hungry child who craved love's nourishing,
Unconscious of her hunger; so she had clung,--
In spite of shocks, repeated time on time,--
Close to the thought of Torm, remembering all
He was to her in wooing her; rehearsed--
As children count their pennies one by one
Day after day to prove their wealth--each good
And sign of promise in his nature generous,
Until her buoyant heart, quick to react,
Had warmed itself, and kept itself alive,
By its own warmth and fire of earnest zeal.
And as men, lost in a morass, feed fast
On berries, lest they starve, and call it food,
Thus, with shut eyes, had Gwendolaine, till now,
Fed on affection and chance tenderness,
And called it by the great and awful name
Of Love, not knowing what love meant. But swift
As light floods darkened chamber, when one flings
The window wide, so her unconscious soul
Was flooded with the strange incoming thought--
In that eternal moment--of true love,
Love as a vital force within the soul,
A strength, a power, an illuming light.
And Sanpeur loved her! O immortal crown.
She was not conscious of her love for him,
Her love for his love was enough for her.

Then she awoke to joy; all things became
Pregnant with deep significance. The sky
Flushed with the coming of the rosy dawn;
The mountains reaching heavenward; the sun
That warmed the flowers, and drank their dew; the birds
That built their nests well hid in leafy shade;
The grass that bent in homage to the wind,--
All touched her heart anew with subtle thoughts;
And joy brought rich unfolding in her life.

She had more pity for the men she scorned,
More quick forgiveness for the envious dames,
And when the little children crossed her path,
She stooped, and kissed them, as was not her wont.

Alas! too often, this new harmony
Of life was clashed by discord. Sir Torm flung
Upon the homage Sanpeur rendered her
Unworthy jest and spiteful words, for well
He hated him with grudge despiteous.
Full oft his wrath was roused to such a point
He could not hold his peace; even to the King
He jeered one day at visionary knights.
The keen-eyed King, with intuition, knew
The motive of his speech,--"Our knight, Sanpeur,
But contradicts your verdict, Tor