th
dead--and I am here, old and worn, a lonely man and sinful, to be
judged of as ye will."

Then came Beltane and looked down into Sir Benedict's pale, sad face.
And beholding him thus in his abasement, haggard with wounds and bowed
with grief, needs must Beltane kneel also and thereafter spake thus:

"Sir Benedict, who am I, to judge of such as thou?"

"I tempted her--I wooed her to shame, I that loved her beyond life--did
cause her many bitter tears--alas!"

"Yet in the end, Sir Benedict, because thy love was a great and noble
love, thou didst triumph over base self. So do I honour thee and pray
that I, in like case, may act as nobly."

"And now--she lieth dead! So for me is life ended also, methinks!"

"She is a saint in heaven, Benedict, living forever. As to thee, on
whose skill and valiance the safety of this fair city doth hang--so
hath God need of thee here, methinks. So now for thy sake and for her
sake needs must I love thee ever and always, thou noble knight. She,
being dead, yet liveth and shall go betwixt us henceforth, drawing us
together in closer bonds of love and amity--is it not so, dear my
friend?" And speaking, Beltane reached out his hands across his
mother's narrow grave, and straightway came Sir Benedict's hands, swift
and eager, to meet and clasp them.

For a while knelt they thus, hand clasping hand above that long, white
stone whence stole to them the mingled fragrance of the flowers, like a
silent benediction. And presently, together they arose and went their
way; but now, seeing how Sir Benedict limped by reason of his wounds,
Beltane set an arm about him. So came they together out of the shadows
into the glory of the morning.

Now as they came forth of the minster, the tocsin rang loud in sudden
alarm.

CHAPTER LXIV

HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUT OF HER FEAR

Within the market-place all was dire confusion; men hasted hither and
thither, buckling on armour as they went, women wept and children
wailed, while ever the bell clashed out its fierce summons.

Presently, through the populace cometh Sir Brian of Hartismere,
equipped in his armour and leaning on the mailed arm of his brother
Eric of the wry neck, but perceiving Sir Benedict and Beltane, they
turned and came up forthwith.

"Eric--Brian, what meaneth the tumult?" questioned Sir Benedict, his
eye kindling, "are we attacked--so soon?"

"Not so," answered Sir Brian, "at the least--not by Ivo's men."

"'Tis worse t