"Lyonesse!" she cried. "Lyonesse!" And starting broad awake, lifted herself in the bed, her gaunt face beaded with sweat, her dark eyes staring broad awake. Then she fell back with a moan, and clutched at Miss Temple's hands, and held them fast.
"Oh, why did you let me sleep?" she whispered. "I fought so hard to keep awake."
"You must have sleep or you'll lose your senses, child."
"I dared not sleep," said Margaret, trembling, "lest I should see him dead!"
"Margaret, these fancies are dangerous."
"This is the fourth time, dearest. He was in a little ship, so small you could have put it in this room, and far down underneath, river, and lake, and forest streaming past. He was all alone, the blood-stained bandage loose about his head, and he lay in his harness dead, except for his eyes. Only his eyes were alive watching me, speaking to me."
Miss Temple read the rest in Margaret's eyes, and turned her face away lest the Queen should see.
Even as the desert hungers for the rain, so Margaret craved for Brand. She could not tell Miss Temple that she loved him; the wise old governess pretended not to know, and thus the secret was shared by two sweet women with delicate reticence and understanding, marred by no words while every word would hurt.
"Dearest," our Lady whispered, "did you ever love?"
"Love!" Miss Temple's eyes went red. "What's love to me? Is this a time to think of love—to talk of love? Get to your prayers, child, this is no time for love."