t he but groaned again.

"God pity me!" quoth he, "I am in sooth so changed, meseemeth some vile
demon doth possess me betimes!" and, sighing deep, he gazed upon the
rippling waters wide-eyed and fearful. And, as he sat thus, abashed
and despairing, Sir Fidelis, speaking no word, bathed and bound up his
wound, and, thereafter brought and spread forth their remaining viands.

"Eat," said he gently, "come, let us break our fast, mayhap thy sorrows
shall grow less anon. Come, eat, I pray thee, Beltane, for none will I
eat alone and, O, I famish!"

So they ate together, whiles the war-horse Mars, pawing impatient
hoof, oft turned his great head to view them with round and wistful
eye.

"Fidelis," quoth Beltane suddenly, "thou didst name me selfish, and
verily, a selfish man am I--and to-day! O Fidelis, why dost not
reproach me for the evil I purposed thee to-day?"

"For that I do most truly love thee, Beltane my lord!"

"Yet wherefore did ye so yesterday, and for lesser fault?"

"For that I did love thee, so would I see thee a strong man--yet
gentle: a potent lord, yet humble: a noble man as--as thou wert said to
be!"

"Alas, my Fidelis, harsh have I been, proud and unforgiving--"

"Aye, my lord--thou art unforgiving--a little!"

"So now, Fidelis, would I crave forgiveness of all men." Then came the
young knight nearer yet, his face radiant with sudden joy, his white
hands clasped.

"Lord!" he whispered, "O Beltane, could'st indeed forgive all--all harm
done thee, howsoever great or small thy mind doth hold them--could'st
forgive all!"

"Aye, I could forgive them all, Fidelis--all save Helen--who hath
broke this heart of mine and made my soul a thing as black as she hath
whited this my hair."

Now of a sudden Beltane heard a sound--a small sound 'twixt a sob and a
moan, but when he raised his heavy head--lo! Sir Fidelis was gone.

CHAPTER XLIV

HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD

The sun rose high, jet still Beltane sat there beside the stream,
staring down into the gurgling waters, grieving amain for his
unworthiness.

Thus presently comes Sir Fidelis, and standing afar, spake in voice
strange and bitter:

"What do ye there, my lord? Dost dream ever upon thy woes and ills?
Wilt dream thy life away here amid the wild, forsooth?"

Quoth Beltane, very humbly:

"And wherefore not, Sir Fidelis? Unfit am I for great achievements.
But, as to thee, take now the horse and ride you ever