"To Blaen?" mused the Duchess. "Winfrida is there--and yet--and yet--
aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my
Beltane, and there shalt thou--wed with me--an it be so thy pleasure
in sooth, my lord."

So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide
them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before
him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future
with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.

Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and
beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.

"O loved Mortain!" she sighed, "O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a
smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and
flowers. 'Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful,
who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these
twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet
Mortain!"

By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages
bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting
shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing
the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and
whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset.
And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which
rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.

Now as they drew near, being yet sheltered 'mid the green, old Godric
halted in his stride and pointed to the highway that ran in the vale
below.

"Lady," quoth he, "mine eyes be old, and yet methinks I should know yon
horseman that rideth unhelmed so close beside the lady Winfrida--that
breadth of shoulder! that length of limb! Lady, how think ye?"

"'Tis Duke Ivo!" she whispered.

"Aye," nodded Godric, "armed, see you, yet with but two esquires--"

"And with Winfrida!" said the Duchess, frowning. "Can it indeed be as I
have thought, betimes? And Blaen is a very solitary place!"

"See!" whispered Godric, "the Duke leaveth her. Behold him kiss her
hand! Ha, he summoneth his esquires. Hey now, see how they ride--sharp
spur and loose bridle, 'tis ever Ivo's way!"

Now when the Duke and his esquires were vanished in the dusk and the
sound of their galloping died away, the Duchess sprang lightly to the
sward and bidding them wait until she summoned them, hasted on before.

Thus, in a while, as Winfrida the Fair