‘Do not weep any more, but eat and be merry. Then I will marry you, and you shall share my earldom, and I will hunt for you,’ said the wild Earl.
Enid’s head drooped lower, and she murmured, ‘Leave me alone, I beseech you, for my lord is surely dead.’
The Earl hardly heard what she said, but thought Enid was thanking him. ‘Yes, eat and be glad,’ he repeated, ‘for you are mine.’
‘How can I ever be glad again?’ said Enid, thinking, ‘Surely Geraint is dead.’
But the Earl was growing impatient. He seized her roughly, and made her sit at the table, and he put food before her, shouting, ‘Eat.’
‘No,’ said Enid, ‘I will not eat, till my lord arises and eats with me.’
‘Then drink,’ said the Earl, and he thrust a cup to her lips.
‘No,’ said Enid, ‘I will not drink, till my lord arises and drinks with me; and if he does not arise, I will not drink wine till I die.’
The Earl strode up and down the hall in a great rage. ‘If you will neither eat nor drink, will you take off this old faded dress?’ said the Earl. And he told one of his women to bring Enid a robe, which had been woven across the sea, and which was covered with many gems.
But Enid told the Earl how Geraint had first seen and loved her in the dress she wore, and how he had asked her to wear it when he took her to the Queen. ‘And when we started on this sad journey, I wore it again, to win back his love,’ she said, ‘and I will never take it off till he arises and bids me.’