The man seemed sunk in thought for the moment as he gazed upon her face.
“We learn to be silent,” he answered her, “by reason of the rough realities of life. Am I the rude boy, Rosamunde, whom you pitied and helped of yore?”
She coloured, and her eyes grew deep with shadows. There was some bitterness in Tristan’s voice, even as though the memory of her own mere pity still weighed upon his soul. She grew meek before him with a simplicity that surprised even her own heart. In the old days her pride would have tinged her lips with scorn. Yet now that love had come and opened her whole heart, the petty prides of life had shrivelled and decayed.
“Tristan,” she said, “God knows, you are much changed to me. Sit here beside me. Must I then ask you twice?”
Tristan obeyed her in silence, resting one great arm on the carved back of the settle. The two were half turned towards each other, casting questioning glances into each other’s eyes; for as yet neither had fathomed the depths of the other’s heart.
It was Rosamunde who first set pride aside with much of the innocence of a little child.
“Tristan,” she said, with the look of one whose heart beat hurriedly, “am I to be forgiven?”
“For the ingratitude I gave to you of old. I was a proud fool in those dead days. Tristan, I am wiser now.”
He caught a deep breath, bent slightly towards her, gazing in her face.
“You cannot cheat me into loving my old self.”
He still looked into her eyes, doubtingly, like a man half disbelieving a dawning truth.
“Rosamunde,” he said, “in those days I was but a rough and impetuous boy. God knows, I served you, even as a rude soldier would have served one throned above him in the hearts of many. What then was Tristan, that he should lift his eyes to yours?”
She coloured and bowed down her head. Her hands were folded upon her bosom; she swayed slightly, even as a woman needing the strength of a strong man’s arm.
“Nay, Tristan,” she said, stammering over the words, “the fault was mine, and I, proud fool, have learnt my lesson. All the horror and heaviness of life have made me wise. What was Rosamunde that she should refuse a heart of gold?”
Tristan stretched out a hand, stooped, and looked into her face.
“Before God, Tristan, take and guard me from the world.”