of my low condition, and if my neck be slim 'tis the sooner broke. Let
me go then, but only grant me this grace, to stand beside me at the
tree and not leave me till I am dead. For there may be a worse thing
than death preparing for me." Again she cried out at her own thoughts
"Ah, no, no, no, I dare not let thee wed me!" He heard the wringing of
her hands, and guessed her beside herself.

He stood, therefore, reasoning it all out something after this
fashion. "Look now, Prosper," thought he, "this child says truer than
she knows. It is an ill thing to be hanged, but a worse to deserve a
hanging, and worst of all for her, it seems, to escape a hanging. And
it is good to find death sweet when he comes (since come he must), but
better to prove life also a pleasant thing. And life is here urgent,
though in fetters, in this child's breast; but death is not yet here.
Yet if I leave her she gains death, or life (which is worse), and if I
take her with me it can only be one way. What then! a man can lay down
his life in many ways, giving it for the life that needeth, whether by
jumping a red grave or by means slower but not less sure. And if by
any deed of mine I pluck this child out of the mire, put clear light
into her eyes (which now are all dark), and set the flush on her grey
cheeks which she was assuredly designed to carry there; and if she
breathe sweet air and grow in the grace of God and sight of men--why
then I have done well, however else I do."

He thought no more, but took the girl's hand again in both of his.
"Well, Isoult," he said cheerfully, "thou shalt not be hanged yet
awhile, nor shall that worse thing befall thee. I will wed thee as
soon as I may. At cock-crow we two will seek a priest."

"Lord," she said, "a priest is here in this place."