Page:Stories from Old English Poetry-1899.djvu/75

Rh her sorrow, she uttered no word of complaint or anger against the Duke.

“Is he not my liege lord,” she said to her own heart, when it sometimes rose in bitter complainings, “and did I not swear to obey his will in all things?”

At last the day came when they had been wedded twelve years. Long ago had Griselda won the hearts of the people by her gentle manners, her sweet, sad face, her patient ways. If Walter’s heart had not been made of senseless stone, he would now have been content. But in his scheming brain he had conceived one final test, one trial more, from which, if Griselda’s patience came out unmoved, it would place her as the pearl of women, high above compare.

On this wedding morn, then, he came into her bower, and in cold speech, thus spoke to her,“Griselda, thou must have guessed that for many years I have bewailed the caprice which led me to take thee, low-born, and rude in manners, as my wife. At last my people’s discontent, and my own heart, have told me that I must take a bride who can share fitly my state, and bring me a noble heir. Even now from Pavia, my sister’s court, my young bride, surpassing beautiful, is on her way hither. Canst thou be content to go back to thy father, and leave me free to marry her?”