, 'tis but that I--I--" But when he would
have said more his voice failed him, his lip fell a-quivering, and even
as Beltane stared in wonder, Black Roger groaned and flung himself upon
his knees, and hid his face within his hands.

"Why Roger! What ails thee, Roger, man?" said Beltane and laid a hand
upon his shoulder, whereat Roger groaned again and shrank away.

"Ah, lord, touch me not!" he cried, "unfit am I for hand of thine,
unfit and all unworthy--"

"Nay, good friend--"

"Master--master!" groaned Roger, and therewith a great cry brake from
him and he cast himself face downwards in the dust. "Unworthy am I to
be thy man, so must I leave thee this night--aye, leave thee! For O my
lord! yon poor blind man--'twas I--at the Red Pertolepe's command--
'twas I--did burn out his eyes and--cut off his hand--'twas I--I--Black
Roger! O Saint Cuthbert! O sweet Jesu! So all unworthy am I to be thy
man!"

And now great sobs shook him, fierce sobs and bitter, and he writhed
there in the dust, groaning in the agony of his remorse. Little by
little his passion spent itself, but still he lay there, yearning
mightily for sound of his master's voice or touch of his hand, yet
dared he not look up because of his abasement.

At last, whenas his sobs had ceased, he lifted his wretched head and
stared in wide-eyed wonder to see Beltane upon his knees, his mailed
hands clasped and his lips moving in silent prayer; when, his prayer
ended, he raised his head and straightway Roger's wonder grew, for
behold! the eyes of Beltane were wondrous gentle, his mouth sweet-curved
and tender, the old harsh lines of grim-curled lip and lowering
brow had vanished quite; and thus at last Black Roger saw again the
face of my Beltane that had smiled on him long since amid the green
across the prostrate form of poor Beda the Jester. So now, my Beltane
smiled, and smiling, reached forth his hand.

"Roger," said he, "by shame and agony some men do win to new life and
fuller manhood, and such a man, methinks, thou art. So hath God need of
thee, and from this the dust of thy abasement, mayhap, shall lift thee,
one day, high as heaven. Stand up, Roger, good my friend, stand up, O
man, for he only is unworthy that ne'er hath wept remorseful in the
dust for evil past and done."

Then Roger grasped that strong, uplifting hand, and stood upon his
feet, yet spake he no word; and presently they went on along the road
together.

And Roger's habit was staine