he and Dame Bragwaine brought Tristram and Kehydius privately to
the court, and to a chamber which Isolde had assigned for them. But to
tell the joy of the meeting between Tristram and La Belle Isolde we
shall not endeavor, for no tongue could tell it, nor heart think it, nor
pen write it.

Yet misfortune still pursued these true lovers, and this time it came
from friends instead of foes, for the presence of Kehydius in the castle
led to the most doleful and melancholy misfortune which the world ever
knew. For, as the chronicles make mention, no sooner had Kehydius seen
La Belle Isolde, than he became so enamoured of her that his heart might
never more be free. And at last, as we are told, he died from pure love
of this beautiful queen, but with that we are not here concerned. But
privately he wrote her letters which were full of moving tales of his
love, and composed love poems to her which no minstrel of those days
might surpass.

All these he managed to put into the queen's hands privately, and at
length, when she saw how deeply he was enamoured, she was moved by such
pity for his hopeless love that, out of the pure kindness of her heart,
she unwisely wrote him a letter, seeking to comfort him in his distress.

Sad was it that pity should bring such sorrow and pain to two loving
hearts as came from that fatal letter. For on a day when King Mark sat
playing chess at a chamber window, it chanced that La Belle Isolde and
Kehydius were in the chamber above, where they awaited the coming of
Tristram from the turret-room in which he was secretly accommodated. But
as ill luck would have it, there fell into Tristram's hands the last
letter which Kehydius had written to the queen, and her answer, which
was so worded that it seemed as if she returned his love.

These the young lover had carelessly left in Tristram's chamber, where
he found them and thoughtlessly began reading them. But not far had he
read when his heart sank deep in woe, and then leaped high in anger. He
hurried in all haste to the chamber where Isolde and Kehydius were, the
letters in his hand.

"Isolde," he cried, pitifully, "what mean these letters,--this which
Kehydius has written you, and this, your answer, with its vile tale of
love? Alas! is this my repayment for the love I have lavished on you,
that you thus treacherously desert me for the viper that I have brought
hither?--As for you, Kehydius, you have foully repaid my trust in you
and all my se