“It is Igraine,” she said.
Pelleas caught a deep breath, and groaned as his stricken side twinged to the quick.
Igraine put two fingers on his lips.
“Lie still,” she said, “lie still if you love earth. You must not speak, no, not one little word. I must have you quiet as a child, Pelleas. You have been so near death.”
She felt the man’s hand answer hers. He did not speak or move, but lay and looked at her as a little child in a cradle looks at its mother, or as a dog eyes his master. Igraine put his hands gently down upon the coverlet, and smiled at him.
“Lie so, Pelleas,” she said; “be very quiet, for I am to leave you, for a minute and no more. You must not move a finger, or I shall scold.”
She beamed at him, started up and ran straight to the chapel, her heart a-whimper with a joy that was not mute. She went full length on the altar steps with her face turned to the cross above—the cross whose golden arms were aglow with the sun through the eastern window. In her mood, the white Christ’s face seemed to smile on her with equal joy. She learnt more in that moment than Avangel had taught her in a year.
Hardly five minutes had passed before she was with Pelleas again, bearing fruit and olives, bread and oil. She made a sweet dish of bread and berries, with some wine in it for his heart’s sake, and then knelt at his side to feed him. She would not let him lift a finger, but served him herself with silver spoon and platter, smiling to give him courage as he obeyed her like a babe. It seemed very pitiful to her that so much strength and manliness should have been smitten so low in one brief night. None the less, the man’s feebleness brought her more joy than ever his courage had done, and his peril had discovered clear wells of ruth in her that might have been months hidden but for the hand of Galerius. When Pelleas had finished the bread and fruit, she gave him more wine, and then set to to bathe his hands and face with scented water taken from the tablinum. Pelleas’s eyes, with deep shadows under them now, watched her all the while with a kind of wondering calm. The sunlight flooded in, and lit her hair like red gold, and made her neck to shine like alabaster. Meeting his look, she reddened, and turned to hide her face for a moment, that he might not see all that was writ there in letters of flame.
“Now you must sleep, Pelleas,” she said, crossing his hands upon the quilt.
He shook his head feebly.