all. As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he
came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing
blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing. Now standing
within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind
him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and
yielding form, and behold--it was Winfrida! Then Beltane would have
loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his
broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.

"My lord Beltane," she sighed, "happy art thou to have won the love of
our noble lady--aye, happy art thou! But as for me, alas! messire,
meseemeth her heart is turned 'gainst me these days; I, who was her
loved companion and childish play-fellow! So now am I very desolate,
wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to
forgiveness. Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly
on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess--" here
needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and
thereafter spake, clear and loud: "so will I love thee also!" Then,
while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her
eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.

But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a
white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.
And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake
her voice was cold and distant.

"Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?"

"Why truly," stammered Beltane, "truly I--she was here but now--"

"Here, my lord? Alone?"

"She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her
love aforetime, to--"

"Would'st plead for her, in sooth?"

"I would but have thee do her justice, Helen--"

"Think you I am so unjust, my lord?"

"Not so indeed. But she is so young--so fair--"

"Aye, she is very fair, my lord--there be--others think the same."

"Helen?" said he, "O Helen!"

"And thou dost plead for her--and to me, my lord! And with her kisses
yet burning thee!"

"She did but kiss my hand--"

"Thy hand, my lord! O aye, thy hand forsooth!"

"Aye, my hand, lady, and therewith named me 'Duke'!" quoth Beltane,
beginning to frown. Whereat needs must the Duchess laugh, very soft and
sweet yet with eyes aglow beneath her lashes.

"'Duke,' messire? She names thee so betimes, meseemeth. Th