er shapely leg to catch a woman's eye--see how it hath
shrunk, nay, faith, 'tis hidden in mine armour! But verily, my shanks
will soon be no thicker than my bowstave! Lastly I--I that loved
company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I
creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and
there make much ado--and such is love, O me!"

"Doth the maid know of thy love?"

"Nay lord, good lack, how should she?--who am I to speak of it? She is
a fair lady and noble, a peerless virgin, while I--I am only Giles--
poor Giles o' the Bow, after all!"

"Truly, love is teaching thee wisdom, Giles," said Beltane, smiling.

"Indeed, my lord, my wisdom teacheth me this--that were I the proudest
and noblest in the land yet should I be unworthy!" and Giles shook
miserable head and sighed again full deep.

"Who is she, Giles?"

"She is Genevra, daughter to the Reeve! And the Reeve is a great man in
Belsaye and gently born, alas! And with coffers full of good broad
pieces. O would she were a beggar-maid, the poorest, the meanest, then
might I woo her for mine own. As it is, I can but look and sigh--for
speak me her I dare not--ha, and there is a plump fellow!" Here Giles
clenched bronzed fist. "A round and buxom fellow he, a rich merchant's
son doth woo her boldly, may speak with her, may touch her hand! So do
I ofttimes keep him shooting at the butts by the hour together and
therein do make me some small amend. Yet daily do I mope and pine, and
pine and mope--O tall brother, a most accursed thing is this love--and
dearer than my life, heigho!"

"Nay, pluck up thy heart, thou'rt a man, Giles."

"Aye, verily, but she is a maid, brother, therein lieth vasty
difference, and therefore do I fear her for her very sweetness and
purity--fear her? Faith, my knees do knock at sound of her voice, her
very step doth set me direly a-tremble. For she is so fair--so pure and
nigh the angels, that I--alack! I have ever been a something light
fellow in matters of love--forget not I was bred a monk, noble brother!
Thus, brother, a moping owl, I--a very curst fellow, gloomy and silent
as the grave, saving my breath for sighs and groans and curses fell,
wherefore I have builded me a 'mockery' above the wall and there-from
do curse our foes, as only a churchman may, brother."

"Nay, how mean you, Giles?" questioned Beltane, staring.

"Follow me, lord, and I will show thee!" So saying, Giles led the way
down to