what should appear.

I stood in a lordly hall, where, by a blazing fire on the hearth, sat a
lady, waiting, I knew, for some one long desired. A mirror was near me,
but I saw that my form had no place within its depths, so I feared not
that I should be seen. The lady wonderfully resembled my marble lady,
but was altogether of the daughters of men, and I could not tell whether
or not it was she.

It was not for me she waited. The tramp of a great horse rang through
the court without. It ceased, and the clang of armour told that his
rider alighted, and the sound of his ringing heels approached the hall.
The door opened; but the lady waited, for she would meet her lord alone.
He strode in: she flew like a home-bound dove into his arms, and nestled
on the hard steel. It was the knight of the soiled armour. But now the
armour shone like polished glass; and strange to tell, though the mirror
reflected not my form, I saw a dim shadow of myself in the shining
steel.

"O my beloved, thou art come, and I am blessed."

Her soft fingers speedily overcame the hard clasp of his helmet; one by
one she undid the buckles of his armour; and she toiled under the
weight of the mail, as she WOULD carry it aside. Then she unclasped
his greaves, and unbuckled his spurs; and once more she sprang into
his arms, and laid her head where she could now feel the beating of his
heart. Then she disengaged herself from his embrace, and, moving back a
step or two, gazed at him. He stood there a mighty form, crowned with a
noble head, where all sadness had disappeared, or had been absorbed in
solemn purpose. Yet I suppose that he looked more thoughtful than
the lady had expected to see him, for she did not renew her caresses,
although his face glowed with love, and the few words he spoke were
as mighty deeds for strength; but she led him towards the hearth, and
seated him in an ancient chair, and set wine before him, and sat at his
feet.

"I am sad," he said, "when I think of the youth whom I met twice in the
forests of Fairy Land; and who, you say, twice, with his songs, roused
you from the death-sleep of an evil enchantment. There was something
noble in him, but it was a nobleness of thought, and not of deed. He may
yet perish of vile fear."

"Ah!" returned the lady, "you saved him once, and for that I thank you;
for may I not say that I somewhat loved him? But tell me how you fared,
when you struck your battle-axe into the ash-tree, and he cam