verance yet could not for that
unseen hands held him fast; then strove he amain against these griping
hands, and so awaked in sudden terror and lay there trembling in the
dark; and in the dark he reached out cautious hand further and further
and so found himself alone--for the young knight was gone.

Now being very sick with the fever of his wound, dread came upon him,
fear seized and shook him, and, trembling in the dark he called aloud
"Fidelis! Fidelis!" But no sound heard he save the ripple of the brook
near by. Groaning, he arose and, limping forth of the cave stood in the
glory of the moon, voiceless now by reason of his ever-growing terror;
conscious only of his passionate desire to find again the youth whose
gentle voice had cheered him often in the dark, whose high courage and
tender care had never failed. So, leaning upon his great sword, Beltane
limped through light and shadow, heedless of direction, until he was
stayed by the waters of the pool.

A faint splash, a rippling of the sleepy waters, and, out into the
moonlight came one that swam the pool with long, easy strokes; one that
presently leapt lightly ashore and stood there to shake down the
unwetted glory of her hair. At first he thought this some enchanted
pool and she the goddess of the place, but even then she turned, and
thus at last--he knew. And in that moment also, she beheld him amid the
leaves; tall and fair she stood, proud and maidenly, nor moved she,
nor spake: only she shook about her loveliness the shining mantle of
her hair. And beholding the reproachful sadness of those clear, virgin
eyes, Beltane, abashed by her very beauty, bowed his head, and turning,
stumbled away and thus presently finding himself within the cave, threw
himself down and clasped his head within fierce hands. Yet, even so,
needs must he behold the slim, white beauty of her, the rippling
splendour of her hair, and the deep, shy sadness of her eyes, and,
because of her beauty he trembled, and because of her falsity he
groaned aloud.

Now as he lay thus, after some while he heard a swift, light footfall,
the whisper of mail, and knew that she stood above him; yet he heeded
not, wherefore at last she spake, sweet-voiced and gentle.

"Beltane--dear my lord, now dost thou know who is Fidelis, and thou
didst--love Fidelis!" But Beltane stirred not, and finding him silent,
she spake on, yet faltering a little:

"When I waked from my swoon within the chapel at--at Blaen,