and found
thee gone, I, distraught with woeful fear and a most strange sickness,
took thy sword and therewith horse and armour and in that same hour
fled from Blaen, none knowing. Many days I rode seeking thee, until
Love brought me to thee in the green. But, O Beltane, for those dire
chances of our--wedding night, by what spells and witchcraft our
happiness was changed to sorrow and dire amaze, I know no more than
thou. Ah, Beltane--dear my lord--speak--speak to me!" And falling on
her knees she would have lifted his head. But of a sudden he shrank
away, and rose to his feet.

"Touch me not, I am but a man and thou--art woman, and there is evil in
thee, so touch me not with thy false, alluring hands. O, thou hast
deceived me now as ever--As Fidelis did I love thee above all men, but
for what thou art, I do despise thee--"

But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her
white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon
with love and supplication.

"Beltane!" she sighed, "Beltane! Is thy great love dead in very truth?
nay, indeed I know it liveth yet even as mine, and shall live on
forever. I know--I have seen it leap within thine eyes, heard it in thy
voice--and wherefore did'st thou love Fidelis? Look at me, Beltane! I
can be as brave, as faithful and tender as Fidelis! Look at me!"

But Beltane dared not look, and trembled because of her so great
beauty, and fain would speak yet could not.

Whereat she, yet upon her knees, drew nearer.

"Beltane," she murmured, "trust me. Despite thyself, O, trust me--so
shalt thou find happiness at last and Pentavalon an end to all her
sorrows. Be thou my lord, my master--my dear love and husband--ride
with me this night to my fair Mortain--"

"To Mortain?" cried Beltane wildly, "aye, to Blaen, belike--to silken
wantonings and to--death! Tempt me not, O witch--aye, witch that
weaveth spells of her beauty--tempt me not I say, lest I slay thee to
mine own defence, for I know thee beyond all women fair, yet would I
slay thee first--" But, groaning, Beltane cast aside his sword and
covered burning eyes with burning palms, yet shook as with an ague fit.

The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head
sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her
with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet. Stumbling, he
turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse
Mars.

"To