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And the deep, still, manly anguish of his face cried out to the reawakening womanhood in Lynette, and a strange, new, overwhelming emotion seized and shook her as a stream of white and liquid fire seemed to pass into her veins and mingle with her blood. She began to understand, as she pored, with beating heart and bated breath, upon the living page before her eyes.
Now Lynette was more cross than ever because Lancelot had left her, and when Gareth at last rode up to her, she cried rudely, 'You are only a kitchen-knave. Your clothes smell of cooking, and your dress is soiled with grease and tallow. Ride further off from me. But what she said was not true, for Gareth had put on the beautiful armour his mother had sent him.
Saxham made his little brusque bow. Lynette, bending her lovely head, gave a grateful glance at the khâki-clad figure with the great hulking shoulders, standing under the patch of hot blue sky that the top of the ladder vanished in, and a strange shock and thrill went through the man's whole frame.
Why had Chance and Luck and Fate forced him to play a part like this? "I wish to Heaven we had met a year ago!" he broke out impulsively. "Half-a-dozen years ago only you'd have been a mere kid too young to understand what Love means.... Why, Lynette darling! what is the matter? What have I said that hurt?" Her arms had fallen from about his neck. She shrank away from him.
Next follows 'Geraint and Enid, Enid, the gentle and timid, whom Geraint had married after wooing the haughty Lynette, a tale of pure and loyal womanhood, darkened for awhile by the clouds of jealousy and suspicion, yet closing happily long after the "spiteful whispers" had died down, and Geraint, assured of Enid's fealty, had ruled his kingdom well and gone forth to "crown a happy life with a fair death" against the heathen of the Northern Sea, "fighting for the blameless King."
He thought her very pretty as she stood there, a slender willowy creature with the golden shadow of her rough straw-hat intensifying the clear amber of her thoughtful eyes. "Very." She looked him in the face and smiled. "So did I when the Mother gave it to me. I think it belonged to someone she used to know, and her mother was Lynette. So they baptised me Lynette Mildare.
As it is, we've left the car at a little 'Temperance Tavern' in S'rewsbury, kep' by a Methodist widder, 'oo thinks such new-fangled inventions sinful an' only consented to take charge on account o' the Prophet Elijer a-going up to 'Eaven in a fiery chariot an' come on 'ere by tryne." Lynette looked at the man in silence. She even repeated after him, rather dully: "You came on here by train?"
That evening at supper-time, Lynette again mocked Gareth. He had never asked her to be more gentle to him, but now he said, 'Mock me no more, for in spite of all your taunts I have killed many knights, and cleared the forests of the King's enemies.
"And you" she wheels again upon Lynette, her wistarias nodding, her chains and bangles clanking "why do you stand there, like a white deer in a park like an image cut out of ivory?
And their meeting had been, upon his side, free of constraint, unshadowed by the recollection of what had once appeared to him a base betrayal a gross, foul, unpardonable wrong. Suppose he had married Mildred, and been uneventfully happy and successful. Then, Saxham told himself, he would never have seen and known Lynette.
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