"Daughter," said David, "why do you torment and pester Cynyr son of Cyngen, a hermit seeking God?"
Her lips moved. Some thought she whispered hoarsely:
"I do not!"
"Dost thou hate Cynyr?"
"I hate him in my heart!" cried she.
"I will hang him from yonder ash-tree," said David with a mocking twinkle, "to-morrow at dawn."
"No, no!" she shrieked. "Mercy, mercy! Holy David, there is cruel he is! Spare him—spare Cynyr——"
"Peace, woman!" David's face had become a mask of fury, but his voice was mellifluous. "Nothing will thy tongue avail thee. Thou hast wrought devilish magic, and surely we shall slay thee as a witch!"
"Myn Duw!" shouted Cynyr the novice, tossing his arms on high. "Do not so! I was mistaken—there is mad I have been. David has cleared the covering from my eyes! I love Indeg…."
"And thou, Indeg," said David softly, "dost thou love Cynyr?"