She looked down at Martin lying in the grass at her feet.
“Is there sin in my singing—when my brother is dead? Am I forgetting because my mouth is not silent?”
The sunset lit up Martin’s face. His eyes were gazing into the distance, eyes that questioned the earth and heaven—and life and the hypocrisies of men. It was as though the gates of a new wisdom had been opened to him. A man may think himself into hell, and feel himself into heaven.
“What is sin?”
She smiled at him.
“Such words from your lips!”
“I see a vision,” he said slowly, “of the beauty of the earth and the mystery thereof. Shall I quarrel with the apple because it comes from the bloom of the tree? Do not the beasts fight for their mates, and is there not a nobleness in valor? The good knight rides out, and his strength is for the service of those who are oppressed. As for hiding in a cell and starving one’s body—such a life begins to smell of cowardice.”
She raised her head proudly.
“We are rebels, Master Valliant, you and I. Say, have I lost you your soul?”
“No, by God; but you have found it for me, and set it free. I am no longer afraid of the shadows of sick thoughts.”