held Winfrida, who ran to her mistress, kissing her oft
and sighing over her.

"Winfrida," sighed the Duchess, slumberous of voice, "I grow a-weary--I
must sleep awhile--"

"Aye, thou'rt overwrought, dear lady. Come, rest you until the holy
Angelo be come, so shalt be thine own sweet self anon."

And when the Duchess was gone, Beltane sat and stared upon the fire and
felt himself vaguely troubled, yet even so, as he watched the leaping
flame, his head nodded and he slept, yet sleeping, dreamed he heard the
Duchess calling him, and opening his eyes, found the fair Winfrida
beside him:

"My lord Beltane," said she softly, "thy Duchess biddeth thee wait her
in the chapel--follow me, messire!" Now being yet heavy with sleep,
Beltane arose and followed her through an opening in the arras near by,
and down a narrow stair, stumbling often as he went and walking as one
in a dream. So by devious ways Winfrida brought him into a little
chapel, where, upon the altar, was a crucifix with candles dim-burning
in the gloom.

"Wait here, my lord," said Winfrida, "so will I go prepare my lady,
Friar Angelo doth stay to do his holy office." So speaking, Winfrida
turned and was gone. Then Beltane came unto the altar and, kneeling
there, leaned his heavy head upon the fair white altar cloth, and
kneeling thus, fell asleep--The altar beneath him seemed of a sudden
riven and split asunder and, while he gazed, behold the fair white
altar cloth grew fouled and stained with blood--new blood, that
splashed down red upon the white even as he watched. Then did Beltane
seek to rise up from his knees, but a heavy weight bore him ever down,
and hands huge and hairy gripped him fierce and strong. But beholding
these merciless hands, a sudden mighty rage came upon Beltane, and
struggling up, he stood upon his feet and drew sword; but the fierce
hands had crept up to his naked throat, cutting off his breath, the
sword was dashed from his loosening grasp, the weight about him grew
too much for his strength, it bore him down and down into a pitchy
gloom where all was very still. A wind, sweet and cool, breathed upon
his cheek, grass was below and trees above him, shadowy trees beyond
which a pallid moon rose high, very placid and serene. Now as Beltane
stared heavenward the moon was blotted out, a huge and hairy face
looked down in his, and hairy hands lifted him with mighty strength.
Then Beltane thought to see the Duchess Helen standing by in her