th Roger, staring.

"Why verily," nodded Giles, "my lord meaneth the tall and goodly fellow
in the cloak of blue camlet, Roger."

"Ne'er have I seen one in blue cloak!" said Roger, "and this do I
swear!"

"None the less," said Beltane, rising, "I will seek him there myself."

"At moonrise, lord?" questioned Giles.

"Aye," said Beltane grimly; "at moonrise!" and scowling he turned away.

"Aha!" quoth Giles, nudging Roger with roguish elbow, "it worketh,
Roger, it worketh!"

"Aye, Giles, it worketh so well that an my master get his hands on this
singing fellow--then woe betide this singing fellow, say I."

CHAPTER LXVII

TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN

The moon was already filling the night with her soft splendour when
Beltane, coming to a certain wall, swung himself up, and, being there,
paused to breathe the sweet perfume of the flowers whose languorous
fragrance wrought in him a yearning deep and passionate, and ever as
love-longing grew, bitterness and anger were forgot. Very still was it
within this sheltered garden, where, fraught by the moon's soft magic,
all things did seem to find them added beauties.

But, even as he paused thus, he heard a step approaching, a man's
tread, quick and light yet assured, and he beheld one shrouded in a
long cloak of blue, a tall figure that hasted through the garden and
vanished behind the tall yew hedge.

Down sprang Beltane fierce-eyed, trampling the tender flowers under
cruel feet, and as he in turn passed behind the hedge the moon
glittered evilly on his dagger blade. Quick and soft of foot went he
until, beholding a faint light amid the leaves, he paused, then hasted
on and thus came to an arbour bowered in eglantine.

She sat at a table where burned a rushlight that glowed among the
splendour of her hair, for her head was bowed above the letter she was
writing.

Now as he stood regarding her 'neath frowning brows, she spake, yet
lifted not her shapely head.

"Well, my lord?"

"Helen, where is he that came here but now?"

Slowly she lifted her head, and setting white hands 'neath dimpled
chin, met his frown with eyes of gentleness.

"Nay, first put up thy dagger, my lord."

"Helen," said he again, grim-lipped, "whom dost wait for?"

"Nay, first put up thy dagger, messire."

Frowning he obeyed, and came a pace nearer.

"What do you here with pen and ink-horn?"

"My lord, I write."

"To whom?"

"To such as it pleaseth me."

"I