Read "The Seven Streams" by Warwick Deeping online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
They bore Tristan from the shrine of St. Geneviève northwards towards Agravale and the waters of the Gloire. All one day and a night they were on the road, riding slowly, since Tristan's wound would stand but little jolting of the litter. Ever beside him rode Blanche the Bold, sorrowful at heart for Tristan's sake, and for the last hours that she grudged to another. Had she not played the nobler part and contrasted her pity with Rosamunde's pride? Yet to Tristan the end would be bitter if he looked not again on Rosamunde's face, for the red stream never ceased to flow from where the barb was buried deep.
It was dawn when they came to the great Gloire and saw Agravale tower on the heights above, smitten with the sunlight from the east. Very peaceful seemed the green meadows where the tall poplars barred back the dawn. All the world seemed bathed in dew; the odours of flowers breathed in the air.