Perchance these were my most blessed days, as of one who had returned to the sinless years, when we are happier than we know, and not yet acquainted with desire.  Now and again Rutherford and Lindsay would come to visit me, seeming strangely still and gentle, speaking little, but looking at me with kind eyes, and vowing that my tailor should yet be paid for his labour.  Capdorat also came, for he had but suffered a flesh wound with much loss of blood, and we showed each other the best countenance.  So time went by, while I grew stronger daily; and now it was ordained by the leech, a skilful man, that I might leave my bed, and be clothed, and go about through the house, and eat stronger food, whereof I had the greatest desire, and would ever be eating like a howlet. {19} Now, when I was to rise, I looked that they should bring me my old prentice’s gabardine and hose, but on the morning of that day Elliot came, bearing in her arms a parcel of raiment very gay and costly.

“Here is your fine clothing new come from the tailor’s booth,” she cried merrily.  “See, you shall be as bright as spring, in green, and white, and red!”

There was the bonnet, with its three coloured plumes, and the doublet, with Charles wrought in silver on the arm and breast, and all other things seemly—­a joy to mine eyes.

She held them up before me, her face shining like the return of life, with a happy welcome; and my heart beat to see and hear her as of old it was wont to do.

“And wherefore should not I go to the wars,” she cried, “and fight beside the Maid?  I am as tall as she, if scantly so strong, and brave—­oh, I am very brave Glacidas, I bid you beware!” she said, putting the archer’s bonnet gallantly cocked on her beautiful head, and drawing forth the sword from his scabbard, as one in act to fight, but in innocent unwarlike wise.

There she stood before me in the sunlight, like the Angel of Victory, all glad and fair, and two blue rays from her eyes shot into my heart, and lo!  I was no more a child, but a man again and a lover.

“O Elliot,” I said, ere ever I wist what I was saying, and I caught her left hand into mine—­“O Elliot, I love you!  Give me but your love, and I shall come back from the wars a knight, and claim my love to be my lady.”

She snatched her hand suddenly, as if angered, out of mine, and therewith, being very weak, I gave a cry, my wound fiercely paining me.  Then her face changed from rose-red to lily-white, she dropped on her knees by my bed, and her arms were about my neck, and all over my face her soft, sweet-scented hair and her tears.

“Oh, I have slain you, I have slain you, my love!” she sobbed, making a low, sweet moan, as a cushat in the wild wood, for I lay deadly still, being overcome with pain and joy.  And there I was, my love comforting me as a mother comforts her child.

I moved my hand, to take hers in mine—­her little hand; and so, for a space, there was silence between us, save for her kind moaning, and in my heart was such gladness as comes but once to men, and may not be spoken in words of this world.