mity and death sown betwixt them.

CHAPTER XVIII: THE MAID GIVES WALTER TRYST

Now, on the morrow, when Walter was awake, he found there was no one
lying beside him, and the day was no longer very young; so he arose, and
went through the garden from end to end, and all about, and there was
none there; and albeit that he dreaded to meet the Lady there, yet was he
sad at heart and fearful of what might betide. Howsoever, he found the
gate whereby they had entered yesterday, and he went out into the little
dale; but when he had gone a step or two he turned about, and could see
neither garden nor fence, nor any sign of what he had seen thereof but
lately. He knit his brow and stood still to think of it, and his heart
grew the heavier thereby; but presently he went his ways and crossed the
stream, but had scarce come up on to the grass on the further side, ere
he saw a woman coming to meet him, and at first, full as he was of the
tide of yesterday and the wondrous garden, deemed that it would be the
Lady; but the woman stayed her feet, and, stooping, laid a hand on her
right ankle, and he saw that it was the Maid. He drew anigh to her, and
saw that she was nought so sad of countenance as the last time she had
met him, but flushed of cheek and bright-eyed.

As he came up to her she made a step or two to meet him, holding out her
two hands, and then refrained her, and said smiling: "Ah, friend, belike
this shall be the last time that I shall say to thee, touch me not, nay,
not so much as my hand, or if it were but the hem of my raiment."

The joy grew up in his heart, and he gazed on her fondly, and said: "Why,
what hath befallen of late?"

"O friend," she began, "this hath befallen."

But as he looked on her, the smile died from her face, and she became
deadly pale to the very lips; she looked askance to her left side,
whereas ran the stream; and Walter followed her eyes, and deemed for one
instant that he saw the misshapen yellow visage of the dwarf peering
round from a grey rock, but the next there was nothing. Then the Maid,
though she were as pale as death, went on in a clear, steady, hard voice,
wherein was no joy or kindness, keeping her face to Walter and her back
to the stream: "This hath befallen, friend, that there is no longer any
need to refrain thy love nor mine; therefore I say to thee, come to my
chamber (and it is the red chamber over against thine, though thou
knewest it not) an hour before t