ce thrilling in his ears, wakes, to find the
sun already westering and Black Roger near by, who, squatting before a
rough table he has contrived set close beside the fire whereon a
cooking pot seethes and bubbles, is busied with certain brewings,
infusings and mixings in pipkin and pannikin, and all with brow of
frowning portent.

Whereat says Beltane, wondering:

"What do ye, good Roger?"

"Master, I mix thee thy decoction as She did instruct--She is a
learned youth, master--Sir Fidelis. In these dried herbs and simples,
look you, lieth thy health and strength and Pentavalon's freedom--aye,
a notable youth in faith, thy Duchess."

Hereupon Beltane, remembering his dream, must needs close his eyes that
he may dream again, and is upon the portal of sleep when Roger's hand
rouses him.

"What would'st, Roger?"

"Master--thy draught."

"Take it hence!"

"Nay, it must be swallowed, master."

"Then swallow it thyself!"

"Nay, lord, 'tis the hour for thy draught appointed by Sir Fidelis and
She must be obeyed--come, master!" Forthwith, yet remembering his
dream, Beltane opens unwilling eyes and more unwilling mouth and the
draught is swallowed; whereupon comes languor and sleep, and therewith,
more dreams.

Anon 'tis even-fall, and the stars, one by one, peep forth of the
darkening heaven, shadows steal and lengthen and lo! 'tis night; a
night wherein the placid moon, climbing apace, fills the silent world
with the splendour of her advent. And ever and always Beltane lies
deep-plunged in slumber; but in his sleep he groans full oft and oft
doth call upon a name--a cry faint-voiced and weak, yet full of a
passionate yearning; whereupon cometh sturdy Roger to behold him in the
light of the fire, to stoop and soothe him with gentle hand; thus needs
must he mark the glitter of a tear upon that pale and sunken cheek,
wherefore Black Roger's own eyes must needs fall a-smarting and he to
grieving amain. In so much that of a sudden he stealeth swiftly from
the cave, and, drawing sword setteth it up-right in the ling; then
kneeling with bowed head and reverent hands, forthwith fell to his
prayers, after this wise:--

"Sweet Cuthbert--gentle saint--behind me in the shadows lieth my
master--a-weeping in his slumber. So needs must I weep also, since I do
love him for that he is a man. Good Saint Cuthbert, I have wrought for
him my best as thou hast seen--tended his hurt thrice daily and
ministered the potion as I was com