year that we parted; now is this the
eighth day of October. That makes five hundred and eleven days: not
oftener than that have I come here to look for thee."

So piteous-kind she looked as she spake, that his bosom heaved and his
face changed, and he wept. She said: "I wish I had not said that to
make thee weep for me, my dear." He spake as his face cleared: "Nay,
my dear, it was not all for thee, but for me also; and it was not all
for grief, but for love." She said: "With this word thou givest me
leave to weep;" and she wept in good sooth.

Then in a while she said: "And now thou wilt sit down, wilt thou not?
and tell me all thy tale, and of thy great deeds, some wind whereof
hath been blown to us across the Sundering Flood. And sweet it will be
to hear thy voice going on and on, and telling me dear things of
thyself."

"Even so will I do," said Osberne, "if thou wilt; yet I were fain to
hear of thee and how thou hast fared; and thy words would I hear above
all things." The voice of him quavered as he spake, and he seemed to
find it hard to bring any words out: but his eyes were devouring her
as if he could never have enough of looking on her. Forsooth there was
cause, so fair she was, and he now come far into his eighteenth year.
She was that day clad all in black, without any adornment, and her
hair was knit up as a crown about her beauteous head, which sat upon
her shoulders as the swan upon the billow: her hair had darkened since
the days of her childhood, and was now brown mingled with gold, as
though the sun were within it; somewhat low it came down upon her
forehead, which was broad and white; her eyes were blue-grey and
lustrous, her cheeks a little hollow, but the jaw was truly wrought,
and fine and clear, and her chin firm and lovely carven; her lips not
very full, but red and lovely, her nose straight and fine. The colour
of her clear and sweet, but not blent with much red: rather it was as
if the gold of her hair had passed over her face and left some little
deal behind there. In all her face was a look half piteous, as though
she craved the love of folk; but yet both mirth and swift thought
brake through it at whiles, and sober wisdom shaded it into something
like sternness. Low-bosomed she was yet, and thin-flanked, and had
learned no tricks and graces of movement such as women of towns and
great houses use for the beguiling of men. But the dear simpleness of
her body in these days when the joy of c