this?"

"I was her bedfellow betimes, and oft within the night have heard her
speak a name unto her pillow, as love-sick maids will."

Now once again was Beltane aware of the throb and sting of his wounded
arm, yet 'twas not because of this he sighed so deep and oft.

"Spake she this name--often?" he questioned.

"Very oft, messire. Aye me, how chill the wind blows!"

"Some lord's name, belike?"

"Nay, 'twas no lord's name, messire. 'Tis very dark amid these trees!"

"Some knight, mayhap--or lowly squire?"

"Neither, messire. Heigho! methinks I now could sleep awhile." So she
sighed deep yet happily, and nestled closer within his shielding arm.

But Beltane, my Innocent, rode stiff in the saddle, staring sad-eyed
into the gloom, nor felt, nor heeded the yielding tenderness of the
shapely young body he held, but plodded on through the dark, frowning
blacker than the night. Now as he rode thus, little by little the pain
of his wound grew less, a drowsiness crept upon him, and therewith, a
growing faintness. Little by little his head drooped low and lower, and
once the arm about the nun slipped its hold, whereat she sighed and
stirred sleepily upon his breast. But on he rode, striving grimly
against the growing faintness, his feet thrust far within the stirrups,
his mailed hand tight clenched upon the reins. So, as dawn broke, he
heard the pleasant sound of running water near by, and as the light
grew, saw they were come to a grassy glade where ran a small brook--a
goodly place, well-hidden and remote. So turned he thitherward, and
lifting up heavy eyes, beheld the stars paling to the dawn, for the
clouds were all passed away and the wind was gone long since. And, in a
while, being come within the boskage of this green dell, feebly and as
one a-dream, he checked the great horse that snuffed eagerly toward the
murmuring brook, and as one a-dream saw that she who had slumbered on
his breast was awake--fresh and sweet as the dawn.

"Lady," he stammered, "I--I fear--I can ride--no farther!"

And now, as one a-dream, he beheld her start and look at him with eyes
wide and darkly blue--within whose depths was that which stirred within
him a memory of other days--in so much he would have spoken, yet found
the words unready and hard to come by.

"Lady,--thine eyes, methinks--are not--nun's eyes!"

But now behold of a sudden she cried out, soft and pitiful, for blood
was upon him, upon his brow, upon his golden hair.