“Yes, Igraine.”
“Tell me what is in your heart.”
Pelleas hung his head; he could not look at her for all his courage. She was kneeling in the bracken with her hands crossed over her breast and her face turned to his with the white wistfulness of a full moon. Pelleas felt death in his heart, and he could not speak nor look into her eyes.
“Pelleas.”
“Child.”
“You do not look at me.”
“Great God, would I were blind!”
The truth came crying to her like the wild cry of a bird taken by a weasel in the woods. A great sobbing shook her; she fell down and caught Pelleas by the knees.
“Pelleas, Pelleas!”