She rose, stood at the window, pointed him to the lake. Tristan drew to her side, gazed out as she told him of her charge.
“See, there is an island yonder, covered with trees.”
Tristan bent his head.
“There are boats on the strand below the town; go alone and ferry over. On the island there is a ruined chapel. By the altar, under the ambry in the right-hand wall, you will see a stone marked with a trefoil in the floor. Under the stone there lies a casket of black oak. Take the casket; sink it in the deeps of the lake.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes questioningly, like two mutes over a grave. Rosamunde was the first to break the silence.
“Tristan, you will take oath to me?” she said.
“By my sword, madame.”
“The casket goes unopened to the deeps?”
“I swear that.”
“Then, I am content.”