henceforth, nor will I turn aside for man or woman, heeding not the
lure of friendship or of love. I do swear never to look upon a woman to
love--"

ROGER (fearfully). "Master--master!"

BELTANE. "Nor to suffer woman's love to come 'twixt me and my duty--"

ROGER (despairingly). "O master, swear it not--swear it not--"

BELTANE. "Nor shall aught let or stay me until Pentavalon win to
freedom or my poor soul return whence it came. And this do I swear to
the ears of God!"

Now turned he to Roger, bright-eyed and with hands tight-clenched.

"Roger," said he, "thou art witness to this my oath, an I do fail or
falter henceforth, then in that same hour may sharp death be mine. So
now bring to me sword and armour, for this night must I hence."

Now was Roger sore troubled and fain was to speak, but beholding his
master's flashing eye, he presently did as he was commanded. So Beltane
took hold upon the sword and drew it, and looked glad-eyed upon its
broad and shining blade. But when he would have wielded it, behold! he
scarce could lift it; with teeth fierce-clenched he strove against his
weakness until his breath waxed short and the sweat ran from him, but
ever the great blade grew the heavier. Then he groaned to find himself
so feeble, and cried aloud an exceeding bitter cry, and cast the sword
from him, and, staggering, fell into Roger's waiting arms. Forthwith
Roger bare him to the cave and laid him down upon his bed.

"Master," quoth he, "O master, grieve not thyself, thou shalt be hale
and strong anon, but the time is not yet. Comfort ye, comfort ye, my
lord--ere long thou shalt be strong, aye, and mightier e'en than
aforetime. So grieve not nor repine, my master!"

But Beltane lay heeding not, nor would he eat despite all Roger's
wheedling arts; but being fevered and athirst, drank deep of the
sleeping draught, and thereafter, falling to his black humour, turned
his face to the shadows, and, lying thus, straightway fell to weeping,
very silently, because of his so great weakness, until, like a child,
he had wept himself to sleep.

Slowly the moon sank, the fire burned low and Roger snored blissfully
hard by, but Beltane, blessed within his slumbers, dreamed again of one
who stole, light of foot, to lie beside him watchful in the dark and
with warm, soft arms set close about him like the sheltering arms of
that mother he had never known.

Thus slept Beltane, like a weary child upon a mother's breast, and kne