They took up their journey again, safe from dogs for the time. The
music had died away in the distance; they knew that if the wolf-pack
were caught there would be work enough for more hounds than the Abbey
could furnish. Then it grew dark, and Isoult weary and heavy with
sleep. She swayed in her saddle.
"Ah," said Prosper, "we will stay here. You shall sleep while I keep
watch."
"It is very still, my lord. Wilt thou not let me watch for a little?"
she asked.
Prosper laughed. "There are many things a man's wife can do for him,
my dear," he said, "but she cannot fight dogs or men. And she cannot
sleep with one eye open Eat what you have, and then shut your pair of
eyes. You are not afraid for me?"
Isoult looked at him quickly. Then she said--"My lord is--," and
stopped confused.
"What is thy lord, my girl?" asked he.
"He is good to his servant," she whispered in her low thrilled voice.
They ate what bread was left, and drank a little water. Before all was
finished Isoult was nodding. Prosper bestirred himself to do the best
he could for her; he collected a heap of dried leaves, laid his cloak
upon them, and picked up Isoult to lay her upon the cloak. His arms
about her woke her up. Scarce knowing what she did, dreaming possibly
of her mother, she put up her face towards his; but if Prosper noticed
it, no errant mercy from him sent her to bed comforted. He put her
down, covered her about with the cloak, and patted her shoulder with
an easy--"Good-night, my lass." This was cold cheer to the poor girl,
who had to be content with his ministry of the cloak. It was too dark
to tell if he was looking at her as he stooped; and ah, heavens! why
should he look at her? The dark closed round his form, stiffly erect,
sitting on the root of the great tree which made a tent for them both,
and then it claimed her soul. She lost her trouble in sleep; he kept
the watch all night.