"Masouda," he said in a whisper, "oh! think me no vain fool, but since it is best perhaps that both should know full surely, tell me, is it as I have sometimes--""Feared?" broke in Masouda with her little mocking laugh."Sir Godwin, it is so.What does your faith teach--the faith in which I was bred, and lost, but that now is mine again--because it is yours? That men and women are free, or so some read it.Well, it or they are wrong.We are not free.Was I free when first I saw your eyes in Beirut, the eyes for which I had been watching all my life, and something came from you to me, and I--the cast-off plaything of Sinan--loved you, loved you, loved you--to my own doom? Yes, and rejoiced that it was so, and still rejoice that it is so, and would choose no other fate, because in that love Ilearned that there is a meaning in this life, and that there is an answer to it in lives to be, otherwhere if not here.Nay, speak not.I know your oath, nor would I tempt you to its breaking.But, Sir Godwin, a woman such as the lady Rosamund cannot love two men," and as she spoke Masouda strove to search his face while the shaft went home.
But Godwin showed neither surprise nor pain.
"So you know what I have known for long," he said, "so long that my sorrow is lost in the hope of my brother's joy.Moreover, it is well that she should have chosen the better knight.""Sometimes," said Masouda reflectively, "sometimes I have watched the lady Rosamund, and said to myself, 'What do you lack? You are beautiful, you are highborn, you are learned, you are brave, and you are good.' Then I have answered, 'You lack wisdom and true sight, else you would not have chosen Wulf when you might have taken Godwin.Or perchance your eyes are blinded also.' ""Speak not thus of one who is my better in all things, I pray you," said Godwin in a vexed voice.
"By which you mean, whose arm is perhaps a little stronger, and who at a pinch could cut down a few more Saracens.Well, it takes more than strength to make a man--you must add spirit.""Masouda," went on Godwin, taking no note of her words, "although we may guess her mind, our lady has said nothing yet.Also Wulf may fall, and then I fill his place as best I can.I am no free man, Masouda.""The love-sick are never free," she answered.
"I have no right to love the woman who loves my brother; to her are due my friendship and my reverence-- no more.""She has not declared that she loves your brother; we may guess wrongly in this matter.They are your words--not mine.""And we may guess rightly.What then?"
"Then," answered Masouda, "there are many knightly Orders, or monasteries, for those who desire such places--as you do in your heart.Nay, talk no more of all these things that may or may not be.Back to your tent, Sir Godwin, where I will send Abdullah to you to receive the jewel.So, farewell, farewell."He took her outstretched hand, hesitated a moment, then lifted it to his lips, and went.It was cold as that of a corpse, and fell against her side again like the hand of a corpse.Masouda shrank back among the flowers of the garden as though to hide herself from him and all the world.When he had gone a few paces, eight or ten perhaps, Godwin turned and glanced behind him, and at that moment there came a great blaze of lightning.In its fierce and fiery glare he saw Masouda standing with outstretched arms, pale, upturned face, closed eyes, and parted lips.Illumined by the ghastly sheen of the levin her face looked like that of one new dead, and the tall red lilies which climbed up her dark, pall-like robe to her throat--yes, they looked like streams of fresh-shed blood.
Godwin shuddered a little and went his way, but as she slid thence into the black, embracing night, Masouda said to herself:
"Had I played a little more upon his gentleness and pity, I think that he would have offered me his heart--after Rosamund had done with it and in payment for my services.Nay, not his heart, for he has none on earth, but his hand and loyalty.And, being honourable, he would have kept his promise, and I, who have passed through the harem of Al-je-bal, might yet have become the lady D'Arcy, and so lived out my life and nursed his babes.Nay, Sir Godwin; when you love me--not before; and you will never love me--until I am dead."Snatching a bloom of the lilies into her hand, the hand that he had kissed, Masouda pressed it convulsively against her breast, till the red juice ran from the crushed flower and stained her like a wound.Then she glided away, and was lost in the storm and the darkness.
