"I have given one such promise; let it serve for both; now for your question." "Ah!" replied Wulf cheerfully; "I am glad that Godwin went first, since it saves me words, at which he is better than I am." "I do not know that, Wulf; at least, you have more of them," answered Rosamund, with a little smile.
"More perhaps, but of a different quality--that is what you mean.
Well, happily here mere words are not in question." "What, then, are in question, Wulf ?" "Hearts.

Your heart and my heart--and, I suppose, Godwin's heart, if he has one--in that way." "Why should not Godwin have a heart ?" "Why?
Well, you see just now it is my business to belittle Godwin.

Therefore I declare--which you, who know more about it, can believe or not as it pleases you--that Godwin's heart is like that of the old saint in the reliquary at Stangate--a thing which may have beaten once, and will perhaps beat again in heaven, but now is somewhat dead--to this world." Rosamund smiled, and thought to herself that this dead heart had shown signs of life not long ago.

But aloud she said: "If you have no more to say to me of Godwin's heart, I will begone to read with my father, who waits for me." "Nay, I have much more to say of my own." Then suddenly Wulf became very earnest--so earnest that his great frame shook, and when he strove to speak he could but stammer.

At length it all came forth in a flood of burning words.
"I love you, Rosamund! I love you--all of you, as I have ever loved you--though I did not know it till the other day--that of the fight, and ever shall love you--and I seek you for my wife.