s to die--to-day, from her tortured
flesh the flame was to drive forth and exorcize, once and for all, the
demon who possessed her, by whose vile aid she wrought her charms and
spells. So country wenches pushed and strove amid the throng, and
dainty ladies leaned from canopied galleries to shudder with dread or
trill soft laughter; but each and every stared at one who stood alone,
'twixt armed guards, so young and fair and pale within her bonds, oft
turning piteous face to heaven or looking with quailing eye where stake
and chain and faggot menaced her with awful doom. And ever the kindly
sun rose high and higher, and ever the staring concourse grew.

Now, of a sudden the clarions rang out a point of war, and all voices
were hushed, as, forth into the lists, upon his richly-caparisoned
charger, my lord Duke Ivo rode, followed by his chiefest lords and
barons; and as he rode, he smiled to himself full oft as one that
meditates a hidden jest. Being come where the witch stood, her
disordered garments rent by vicious handling, striving to veil her
beauty in her long, dark hair, my lord Duke reined in his pawing steed
to sit a while and look down at her 'neath sleepy lids; and, ever as he
looked, his arching nostrils fluttered above curling lip, and ever he
fingered his long, blue-shaven chin.

"Alack!" cried he at last, "'tis a comely wench, and full young,
methinks, to die so soon! But witchcraft is a deadly sin, abhorred by
man and hateful unto God--"

"My lord--my lord," spake the witch swift and passionate yet trembling
'neath his sleepy gaze, "thou knowest I am no witch indeed--thou
knowest--"

"Nay, nay," quoth the Duke, shaking his head, and coming more near he
stooped and spake her, low-voiced, "nay, she thou would'st name was a
lady proud, soft and white, with hair bright and glorious as the sun--
in sooth a fair lady--yet something too ambitious. But thou, though of
her size and shape, art of a dark and swarthy hue and thy hair black,
meseemeth. Of a verity thou art only the witch Mellent, and so, by
reason of thy sun-browned skin and raven hair--aye, and for thy
witchcraft--thou, alack! must die--unless thou find thee a champion.
Verily I fear me no man will dare take up thy cause, for Sir Gilles is
a lusty man and famous at the joust. Moreover--my will is known in the
matter, so do I fear there none shall come to fight on thy behalf.
Alack! that one should die so young!"

"Ah, my lord--my lord Ivo," she wh