“Step out, brother,” said Wulf, “for at the very sight of those rugs I grow sleepy, and the wine in the cups sparkles as bright as their bearers’ eyes.”
So they walked on towards the sound of a waterfall, and, when they came to it, drank, and bathed their faces and heads.
“This is better than their wine,” said Wulf. Then, catching sight of more women flitting round them, looking like ghosts amid the moonlit glades, they pressed forward till they reached an open sward where there were no rugs, no sleepers, and no cupbearers.
“Now,” said Wulf, halting, “tell me what does all this mean?”
“Are you deaf and blind?” asked Godwin. “Cannot you see that yonder fiend is in love with Rosamund, and means to take her, as he well may do?”
Wulf groaned aloud, then answered: “I swear that first I will send his soul to hell, even though our own must keep it company.”
“Ay,” answered Godwin, “I saw; you went near to it tonight. But remember, that is the end for all of us. Let us wait then to strike until we must—to save her from worse things.”
“Who knows that we may find another chance? Meanwhile, meanwhile—” and again he groaned.
“Among those ornaments that hung about the waist of Rosamund I saw a jewelled knife,” answered Godwin, sadly. “She can be trusted to use it if need be, and after that we can be trusted to do our worst. At least, I think that we should die in a fashion that would be remembered in this mountain.”
As they spoke they had loitered towards the edge of the glade, and halting there stood silent, till presently from under the shadow of a cedar tree appeared a solitary, white robed woman.