ight bring him back to life. And
gradually Geraint recovered, though still he lay as in a swoon,
hearing indeed what passed around him, but dimly, as from a
distance.

Soon there came into the hall many servitors, who brought forth
the tables and set thereon all manner of meats, haunches of venison
and boars' heads and great pasties, together with huge flagons of
wine. Then when all was set, there came trooping to the board the
whole company of Earl Limours' retainers; last of all came the Earl
himself and took his place on the raised dais. Suddenly, as he
feasted and made merry, he espied Enid, who, mistrusting him
utterly, would fain have escaped his eye. And when he saw her, he
cried: "Lady, cease wasting sorrow on a dead man and come hither.
Thou shalt have a seat by my side; ay, and myself, too, and my
Earldom to boot." "I thank you, lord," she answered meekly, "but, I
pray you, suffer me to be as I am." "Thou art a fool," said
Limours; "little enough he prized thee, I warrant, else had he not
put thy beauty to such scorn, dressing it in faded rags! Nay, be
wise; eat and drink, and thou wilt think the better of me and my
fair proffer." "I will not," cried Enid; "I will neither eat nor
drink, till my lord arise and eat with me." "Thou vowest more than
thou canst perform. He is dead already. Nay, thou shalt drink."
With the word, he strode to her and thrust into her hand a goblet
brimming with wine, crying, "Drink." "Nay, lord," she said, "I
beseech you, spare me and be pitiful." "Gentleness avails nothing
with thee," cried the Earl in wrath; "thou hast scorned my fair
courtesy. Thou shalt taste the contrary." So saying, he smote her
across the face.

Then Enid, knowing all her helplessness, uttered an exceeding
bitter cry, and the sound roused Geraint. Grasping his sword, with
one bound he was upon the Earl and, with one blow, shore his neck
in two. Then those who sat at meat fled shrieking, for they
believed that the dead had come to life.

But Geraint gazed upon Enid and his heart smote him, thinking of
the sorrow he had brought upon her. "Lady and sweet wife," he
cried, "for the wrong I have done thee, pardon me. For, hearing thy
words not three days since at morn, I doubted thy love and thy
loyalty. But now I know thee and trust thee beyond the power of
words to shake my faith." "Ah! my lord," cried Enid, "fly, lest
they return and slay thee." "Knowest thou where is my charger?" "I
will bring thee to it."