the Duchess drank, and handed the goblet to Beltane.

"To thee, my Helen, whom only shall I love until death and beyond!"

Then Beltane drank also, and gave the cup to Winfrida: but, even as he
did so, the Duchess uttered a cry and pointed with hand a-tremble:

"O Beltane, the moon--the moon that was so bright and glorious--'tis
gone, the cloud hath blotted it out! Ah, Beltane, what doth this
portend? Why do I tremble thus because the moon is gone?"

"Nay, my beloved," quoth Beltane, kissing those slender fingers that
trembled upon his lip and were so cold--so deadly cold, "dear Helen,
it will shine forth again bright and radiant as ever."

"Yet why is my heart so cold, Beltane, and wherefore do I tremble?"

"The night grows chill, mayhap."

"Nay, this cold is from within. O, I would the moon would shine!"

"Nay, let us speak of our future, my Helen--"

"The future?" she sighed, "what doth it hold? Strife and bitter war for
thee and a weary waiting for me, and should'st thou be slain--Ah,
Beltane, forgive these fears and vain imaginings. Indeed, 'tis most
unlike me to fear and tremble thus. I was ever accounted brave until
now--is't love, think you, doth make me coward? 'Tis not death I fear--
save for thy dear sake. Death? Nay, what have we to do with such, thou
and I--this is our wedding night, and yet--I feel as if this night--I
were leading thee--to thy--death--. O, am I mad, forsooth? Hold me
close, beloved, comfort me, Beltane, I--I am afraid." Then Beltane
lifted her in his arms and brought her to the hearth, and, setting her
in the fireglow, kneeled there, seeking to comfort her.

And now he saw her very pale, sighing deep and oft and with eyes
dilated and heavy.

"Beltane," said she slowly, "I grow a-weary, 'tis--the fire,
methinks." And smiling faintly she closed her eyes, yet sighed and
gazed upon him as one new waked. "Did I sleep?" she questioned
drowsily, "Beltane," she sighed, speaking low and thick--"I charge
thee, whatsoe'er the future doth bring--yet love me alway--or I,
methinks--shall--die!"

Awhile she lay against him breathing deep and slow, then started of a
sudden, looking upon him vague-eyed.

"Beltane," she murmured, "art there, beloved? 'Tis dark, and my eyes--
heavy. Methinks I--must sleep awhile. Take me--to my women. I must
sleep--yet will I come to thee soon--soon, beloved." So Beltane brought
her to the door, but as he came thither the broidered curtain was
lifted and he be