r for the departed soul. Now hereupon Beltane knew
sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have
prayed--yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger
grew more bitter.

"Mount, mount, sir knight!" cried he harshly. "Better to seek
vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees--mount, I say!"

Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle,
reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone. But in a while, Beltane
perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and
fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.

"Wherefore slink ye behind me?" he demanded.

Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled:

"My lord Beltane, 'twas said thou wert a noble knight--very strong and
very gentle--"

"Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?"

"Alas!" sighed the young knight; and again "alas!" and therewith a
great sob brake from him.

Of a sudden, from the gloom beside the way rose a woman's scream, and
thereafter a great and fierce roar; and presently came Walkyn with his
torch and divers of his men, dragging a woman in their midst, and lo!
it was the witch of Hangstone Waste.

Now she, beholding Beltane's face beneath his lifted vizor, cried out
for very joy:

"Now heaven bless thee, Duke Beltane! Ah, my lord--hear me!"

"What would ye? What seek ye of such as I?"

But hereupon Black Roger spurred beside Beltane, his eyes wide and
fearful in the shadow of his helm, his strong, mailed hand a-tremble on
Beltane's arm.

"Beware, my lord, beware!" he cried, "'tis nigh the midnight hour and
she a noted witch--heed her not lest she blight thy fair body, lest
she--"

"Peace, Roger! Now speak, woman--what would ye?"

"A life, my lord!"

"Ah, the blessed saints forfend--I feared so!" gasped Roger.

But now the witch turned and looked on Roger, and he incontinent
crossed himself and fell thenceforth to mumbling prayers beneath his
breath.

"Lord Duke, for that I am but a woman poor and helpless, now would I
beseech thine aid for--"

"Nay, tell me first, whence come ye?"

"From Barham Broom, messire. Ah! spare aid for one that lieth in peril
of death--the maid Mellent--they do proclaim her witch--they will burn
her--"

"O--a woman!" quoth Beltane, wrinkling his brows; and beholding Sir
Fidelis watching him, straightway frowned the blacker.

"Nay, messire, hear me!" cried the witch, "ah, turn not away! This
maid, indeed, is not of co