paced slowly along upon her
ambling palfrey, her blue eyes a-dream, she was suddenly aware of a
rustling near by and, glancing swiftly up, beheld the Duchess Helen
standing before her, tall and proud, her black brows wrinkled faintly,
her eyes stern and challenging.

"Lady--dear my lady!" stammered Winfrida--"is it thou indeed--"

"Since when," quoth the Duchess, soft-voiced yet menacing, "since when
doth Winfrida hold sly meeting with one that is enemy to me and to
Mortain?"

"Enemy?--nay, whom mean you--indeed I--O Helen, in sooth 'twas but by
chance--"

"Is this treason, my lady Winfrida, or only foolish amourette?"

"Sweet lady--'twas but chance--an you mean Duke Ivo--he came--I saw--"

"My lady Winfrida, I pray you go before, we will speak of this anon.
Come, Godric!" she called.

Then the lady Winfrida, her beauteous head a-droop, rode on before,
sighing deep and oft yet nothing speaking, with the Duchess proud and
stern beside her while Beltane and Godric followed after.

And so it was they came to the Manor of Blaen.

CHAPTER XXII

CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR

Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to
happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve,
the Duchess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to
deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so
that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.

Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she,
busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings,
and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and
falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious
head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane,
kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she,
soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.

To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she
the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady
Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and
her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow
her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.

Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within
the garden, Beltane found himself alone. So he arose and walked amid
the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of