manded. I have worked for him--prayed
for him--yet doth he weep great tears within his sleep. So now do I
place him in thy care, good saint, for thou dost know me but poor rogue
Roger, a rough man and all unlearned, yet, even so, I do most truly
love him and, loving him, do fear--for meseemeth his hurt is deeper
than hurt of body, he doth pine him and grieve for lack of his heart's
desire--a young man, sweet saint, that doth yearn for a maid right fair
and noble, _pars amours,_ good saint, as is the custom. But alack, she
is far hence and he lieth here sick and like to perish and I am but
poor Roger--a very sinful man that knoweth not what to do. So do I call
on thee, sweet saint--achieve me a miracle on his behalf, bring him to
his heart's desire that he may wax hale and well and weep no more
within his sleep. And this do I ask for his sake and his lady's sake
and for the sake of Pentavalon Duchy--not forgetting poor Roger that
doth plague thee thus for love of him. Amen!"

Now behold! even as the prayer was ended came a faint stir and rustle
amid the leaves hard by, and, lifting startled head, Black Roger beheld
a radiant vision standing in the pale glory of the moon, whereat he
knew fear and a great awe.

"O, good Saint Cuthbert, and is it thou indeed?" he whispered, "Sweet
saint, I thought not to win thee down from heaven thus, though forsooth
I did pray right lustily. But, since thou art come--"

"Hush, good Roger!" spake a voice soft and wondrous sweet to hear; and,
so speaking, the shining figure raised the vizor of its helm. "O hush
thee, Roger, for he sleepeth. All day, unseen, have I watched over him,
nor can I leave him until his strength be come again. And sleep is life
to him, so wake him not. Come your ways, for I would speak thee many
things--follow!"

As one that dreams, Roger stared into the eyes beneath the vizor, and
as one that dreams he rose up from his knees, and, sheathing his sword,
followed whither the gleaming vision led; yet betimes he blinked upon
the moon, and once he shook his head and spake as to himself:

"Verily--aye, verily, a lusty pray-er, I!"

CHAPTER XLVII

HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH

Slowly the days sped, dewy dawn and tender eve, days of sun and shadow
and gentle rain; golden days wherein Beltane lay 'twixt sleep and
wake, and nights of silver wherein he slept full deep and dreamed
wondrously of gentle hands that soothed him with their touch, and warm
soft lips on c