“Good comrade, I am but a bird from over the sea, and yet I have no ring on my foot.”
“I marvel——”
“That I should sing?”
“No. That you should fly with these jays and stormcocks.”
She glanced at him slantwise under black lashes.
“Why should I tell you what no man in the land knows?”
“Why, indeed?” he echoed her.
“We are two riddles, you and I,” she said, “to be guessed, some time or never. But whether we shall guess each other, God and our need may show.”
Meanwhile, Guy the Stallion lay flat on his belly behind a bush, gnawing grass, and watching them with hungry eyes. The beast in him desired Isoult and hated the man beside her. And from a little distance Big Blanche watched her man, her round, white face sullen, and glum, and jealous.