By the time they reached the great gates, they had been opened, and Cai himself had stepped forward to welcome the great harper to Camelot. Kevin bowed to the King, but Gwenhwyfar's eyes were on the slender, ill-clad form behind.

Morgaine bowed and said, "So I have returned to your court, my brother."

Arthur went and embraced her. "Welcome back, my sister-it has been so long," he said, his cheek lingering against hers. "And now that our mother has gone from us, we who are kinfolk should be together. Do not go from me again, sister."

She said, "I had no thought of it."

Gwenhwyfar came and embraced her too, feeling the other woman's body sharp-boned and thin against her arms. She said, "You look as if you had been long on the road, my sister."

"True-I have come very far," Morgaine said, and Gwenhwyfar kept her hand as they walked within.

"Where have you been? You were so long away-almost I thought you would never return," Gwenhwyfar said.

"Almost I thought so myself," said Morgaine. But, Gwenhwyfar noticed, she did not say, either, where she had been.

"Such gear as you left with us-your harp, your gowns, all these things-they were left at Caerleon. Tomorrow I will send for them as swiftly as a messenger can ride," Gwenhwyfar said, as she took her to the room where her women slept. "Till then, if you will, I will lend you a gown -you have been travelling long, sister, and you look as if you had been sleeping within a cow byre. Were you attacked by robbers and your gear stolen?"

"I had ill fortune indeed on the road," Morgaine said, "and if you will send someone to me that I may bathe, and dress myself clean, I will bless you. I would ask the loan of a comb too, and pins for my hair, and a shift."

"My gown will be too long for you," said Gwenhwyfar, "but no doubt you can pin it up somehow until your own clothes have come. Combs and veils and shifts I will give you gladly, and shoes as well-those look as if you had walked in them from here to Lothian and back!" She beckoned to one of her waiting-women and said, "Bring the red gown, and the veil that goes with it, and a shift and my other indoor shoes and hose-choose everything so that my lord's sister is dressed as is fitting to her station. And send for a bath and a bath-woman too." She looked disdainfully at the gown Morgaine was taking off, and said, "If that one cannot be fitly aired and cleaned, give it to one of the dairy-women!"

When Morgaine appeared at the King's table she wore the red gown, which lent color to her dark skin and became her well; they besought her to sing, but she would not, saying that as Kevin was at hand, no one would listen to a robin's chirping when a nightingale was near.

The next day Kevin sought private audience with Arthur, and he and the King and Taliesin, too, were closeted for many hours, and even had supper brought to them there; but Gwenhwyfar never knew what they spoke of-Arthur told her little of affairs of state. No doubt, they were angered with him that he had chosen to renounce his vows to Avalon, but soon or late they must accept it-that he was a Christian king. As for Gwenhwyfar, she had other things to think of.

THAT SPRING THERE WAS fever at the court, and some of her women fell sick of it, so that until Easter was past she had no leisure to think of anything else. She had never thought she would be glad of Morgaine's presence, but Morgaine knew much of herb lore and of healing, and she thought it was due to Morgaine's wisdom that there were no deaths in the court-in the country round, she heard, many died, though mostly little children and old folk. Her little half-sister Isotta took the fever, but her mother heard and would not have her stay at court, so that she was sent back to the island, and later in that month Gwenhwyfar heard that she had died. She mourned for the girl-she had come to be fond of her, and had hoped to marry her to one of Arthur's Companions when she was older.

Lancelet fell sick of the fever too, and Arthur gave orders that he should be quartered in the castle and nursed by her own women. While there was still danger that she might take the fever she did not go near him- she had hoped herself pregnant again, but it turned out not to be so; only her own hopes and illusions. When he began to recover she went often and sat by his side.

Morgaine came too, to play the harp, while he was unable to leave his bed. One day, watching them when they spoke of Avalon, Gwenhwyfar caught the look in Morgaine's eyes, and thought, Why, she still loves him! She knew Arthur still hoped for this-a match between Morgaine and Lancelet and she watched, sick with jealousy, as Lancelet listened to Morgaine's harp.

Her voice is so sweet; she is not beautiful, but she is so wise and learned -beautiful women are so many, Elaine is beautiful, and Meleas, and the daughter of King Royns, and even Morgause is beautiful, but why should Lancelet care for that? And she marked the gentleness of Morgaine's hands as she lifted him and gave him her herb medicines and cooling drinks. She, Gwenhwyfar, was not good at all with the sick, she had no skills, she sat dumb while Morgaine talked and laughed and amused him.

It was growing dark, and at last Morgaine said, "I can no longer see the harp strings, and I am hoarse as a crow-I can sing no more. You must drink your medicine, Lancelet, and then I will send your man to you, to get you settled for the night-"

With a wry smile Lancelet took the cup she put in his hand. "Your drinks are cooling, kinswoman, but ugh! The taste of them-"

"Drink it," Morgaine said, laughing. "Arthur has put you under my command when you are sick-"

"Aye, and I do not doubt, if I refused you should beat me and put me supperless to bed, while if I drink my medicine like a good lad I shall have a kiss and a honey cake," Lancelet said.

Morgaine chuckled. "You cannot have a honey cake yet, you can have your nice gruel. But if you drink up your potion, you shall have a goodnight kiss and I will bake you a honey cake when you are well enough to eat it."

"Yes, Mother," Lancelet said, wrinkling up his nose. Gwenhwyfar could see that Morgaine did not like the jest, but when he had emptied the cup she bent over him and kissed him lightly on the brow, and drew up the covers under his chin as a mother smooths a child's cradle. "There, now, good child, go to sleep," she said, laughing, but the laughter sounded bitter to Gwenhwyfar, and Morgaine went away.

Gwenhwyfar stood by Lancelet's bed, and said, "She is right, my dear, you should sleep."

"I am weary of Morgaine being always right," said Lancelet. "Sit you here by me for a little, dear love-"

It was seldom he dared speak so to her, but she sat herself on his bed and let him hold her hand. After a little he pulled her down beside him and kissed her; she lay along the edge of his bed and let him kiss her again and again, but after a long time he sighed, weary, and did not protest when she rose from his side. "My dearest love, this cannot go on like this. You must give me leave to depart from the court."

"What? To chase Pellinore's favorite dragon? Why, what will Pel-linore do in holidaytime, then? It is his favorite hunting," Gwenhwyfar said, jesting, but it was like a pain in her heart.

He seized both her arms, pulling her down. "No, make this not a jest, Gwen-you know it and I know it, and God help us both, I think even Arthur knows it, that I have loved none but you, or ever will, since first I set eyes on you in your father's house. And if I am to remain a true man to my king and my friend, then I must depart from this court and never set eyes on you again-"

Gwenhwyfar said, "I would not hold you, if you feel that you must go-"

"As I have gone before," he said violently. "Every time I rode forth to war, half of me longed that I should fall at Saxon hands and return no more to hopeless love-God forgive me, there were times when I hated my king, whom I have sworn to love and serve, and then I thought, no woman should part the friendship that was between us two, and I have sworn I would think of you no more, save as the wife of my king. But now there are no more wars, and I must sit here day by day and look upon you at his side in his high seat, and think of you in his bed, his happy and contented wife-"