At first I marvelled, then I pitied, then——

Arthur. Yea, and what?

Launcelot. I met his eyes, and straightway I forgot

The manner of man he was, save that a soul

Of wondrous scorn and mystery met mine;

That froze the present, made the future dread,

With strange forbodings. While I mused he passed,

[Pg 19]

[Pg 19]

But left that chill behind him in my blood.

And yet he seemeth a soul, Sire, to be pitied.

Arthur. Yea, all but pity, Arthur’s son should claim.

Launcelot. ’Tis thy cross Arthur, as a king thou’lt bear it.

And we all seeing shall say our king, like Christ,

Beareth his cross i’ the sunlight i’ the shadow,

And take pattern from thy greatness.

Arthur. I bear it not, Launcelot, it beareth me down,

Down into black depths, aye and blacker.

He cometh betwixt my spirit and the sun.

Canst thou not help thy king?

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