on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous

Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot

So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
lady's hand

She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
miller

Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate

BELTANE THE SMITH

CHAPTER I

HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD

In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.

Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.

A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
not.

Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
had need of.

Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
Beltane had said:

"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
called 'Desire of the World.'"

But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:

"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake su