--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!"
Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger
went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into
the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the
gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at
sound whereof he started and turned him about.

"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."

"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways
of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."

Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of
the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing,
shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.
Whereat spake Beltane in amaze:

"How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"

"Not so--ah, God! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"

"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee
so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle
knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot
and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves
upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that
trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth
until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much
I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."

Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice
his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood
upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while.
Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich
surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin,
showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little
smooth-skinned and pale.

"Sir knight," said Beltane, "free art thou to go hence, nor shall any
stay or spoil thee. Yet first, hear this: thou art perchance some
roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair
lady. O folly! choose you something more worthy--a horse is a noble
beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful. But see you, a woman's love is
a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty. Give not
thine heart into a woman's hand lest she tear it in her soft, white
fingers: set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she trea