Lilith looked at the floor and plucked at her gown with her fingers.
“Do you hear me?”
“Yes, father.”
“Then answer at once.”
“I can’t.”
“Upon my soul—”
“Igraine made me promise.”
Radamanth lost his temper again and began to bluster like a March wind. Lilith’s cheeks were wet with her tears; they ran down and dropped into her lap like little crystals. She shook and sobbed in her chair, but answered not a word, a martyr to her promises. Then Radamanth, man of money-bags and craft, found something wherewith to loose her tongue.
“Listen,” he said; “a certain lad never enters this house again, and you never again have speech with him, unless you answer me this at once.”
The mean measure triumphed. Lilith’s tears never ceased, but she gave way at last, and hating herself, told Radamanth what he wanted. Then he left her there to whimper by herself, and went into the garden to speak with Gorlois.