roups of Sir Benedict's stout
rear-guard, staggering with weariness and limping with wounds, the
while, upon the plain beyond, Eric with his men-at-arms and Walkyn with
the survivors of the foresters and Giles with his archers and pikemen,
holding the foe in play, fell back upon the town, compact and orderly.
Thus, they in turn began to cross the drawbridge, archers and pikemen,
and last of all, the men-at-arms, until only Eric o' the Noose and a
handful of his horsemen, with Beltane, Roger and Ulf remained beyond
the drawbridge, whereon the enemy came on amain and 'neath their
furious onset brave Eric was unhorsed; then Beltane drew sword and with
Roger and Ulf running at either stirrup, spurred in to the rescue.

A shock of hard-smitten steel--a whirl and flurry of blows--a shout of
triumph, and, reeling in his saddle, dazed and sick, Beltane found
himself alone, fronting a bristling line of feutred lances; he heard
Roger shout to him wild and fearful, heard Walkyn roar at him--felt a
sudden shock, and was down, unhelmed, and pinned beneath his stricken
charger. Half a-swoon he lay thus, seeing dimly the line of on-rushing
lance-points, while on his failing senses a fierce cry smote:

"'Tis Beltane--the Outlaw! Slay him! Slay him!"

But now of a sudden and as one that dreamed, he beheld a tender face
above him with sad-sweet eyes and lips that bent to kiss his brow, felt
soft arms about him--tender arms that drew his weary head upon a
gentle bosom to hide and pillow it there; felt that enfolding embrace
tighten and tighten in sudden shuddering spasm, as, sighing, the lady
Abbess's white-clad arms fell away and her proud head sank beside his
in the dust.

And now was a rush and roar of fierce voices as over them sprang Roger
and Giles with Ulf and Eric, and, amid the eddying dust, axe and sword
swung and smote, while came hands strong yet tender, that bare Beltane
into the city.

Now beyond the gate of the city was a well and beside the well they
laid Beltane and bathed him with the sweet cool water, until at length
the mist vanished from his sight and thus he beheld the White Abbess
who lay upon a pile of cloaks hard by. And beholding the deadly pallor
of lip and cheek, the awful stains that spotted her white robe and the
fading light in those sad-sweet eyes, Beltane cried aloud--a great and
bitter cry, and fell before her on his knees.

"Mother!" he groaned, "O my mother!"

"Dear my Beltane," she whispered fa