The woman broke in, eagerly:

“Ah, fair my lord, do thou persuade him! Thou canst an thou wilt. Ah, he suffereth so; and it is for me — for me !

And how can I bear it? I would I might see him die — a sweet, swift death; oh, my Hugo, I cannot bear this one!”

And she fell to sobbing and grovelling about my feet, and still imploring. Imploring what? The man’s death? I could not quite get the bearings of the thing. But Hugo interrupted her and said:

“Peace! Ye wit not what ye ask. Shall I starve whom I love, to win a gentle death? I wend thou knewest me better.”

“Well,” I said, “I can’t quite make this out. It is a puzzle. Now —