the bandage lie, fast-knotted--so. Nor
must it slacken, lest the bleeding start afresh." So saying, Sir
Fidelis arose, and taking the wallet in one hand and setting the other
'neath Beltane's arm, led him to where, deep-bowered under screening
willows, a fire burned cheerily, whereby were two beds of scented
bracken.

Dark and darker the shadows crept down, deepening to a night soft and
warm and very still, whose quietude was unbroken save for the drowsy
lap and murmur of the river and the sound the war-horse Mars made as he
cropped the grass near by. Full of a languorous content lay Beltane,
despite the smarting of his wound, what time Sir Fidelis came and went
about the fire; and there, within this great and silent wilderness,
they supped together, and, while they supped, Beltane looked oft upon
Sir Fidelis, heedful of every trick of mail-girt feature and gesture of
graceful hand as he ne'er had been ere now. Wherefore Sir Fidelis grew
red, grew pale, was by turns talkative and silent, and was fain to
withdraw into the shadows beyond the fire. And from there, seeing
Beltane silent and full of thought, grew bold to question him.

"Dost meditate our course to-morrow, my lord Beltane?"

"Nay--I do but think--a strange thought--that I have seen thy face ere
now, Fidelis. Yet art full young to bear arms a-field."

"Doth my youth plague thee still, messire? Believe me, I am--older than
I seem."

"Thou, at peril of thy life, Fidelis, didst leap 'twixt me and death,
so needs must I know thee for my friend, and yet--"

"And yet, messire?"

"Thou hast betimes the look and speech of one--of one beyond all
traitors vile!"

"Ah," murmured Sir Fidelis, a sudden tremor in his voice, "thou dost
mean--?"

"Helen of Mortain--poor Fidelis--whom thou dost love."

"Whom thou dost hate, Beltane! And O, I pray thee, wherefore is thy
hate so bitter?"

"Fidelis, there lived a fool, that, for her beauty, loved her with a
mighty love: that, for her seeming truth and purity, honoured her
beyond all things: that, in the end, did find her beyond all things
vile. Aye, there lived a fool--and I am he."

"Ah, beseech thee," cried Sir Fidelis, white hands outstretched, "how
know you her thus false to thee, Beltane?"

"Know then, Sir Fidelis, that--upon our wedding-eve I was--by her
command struck down--within the chapel--upon the very altar, and by
her borne in bonds unto Garthlaxton Keep--a present to mine enemy, Duke
Ivo--"

"O,