pray you--show me."

"Nay, for that doth not please me, messire."

"I pray you, who was he that came hither but now--a tall man in a long
blue cloak?"

"I saw him not, my lord."

"So needs must I see thy letter."

"Nay, that thou shalt not, my lord," said she, and rose to her stately
height.

"Aye, but I shall!" quoth Beltane softly, and came a pace yet nearer.

Now because of the grim and masterful look of him, her heart fell
a-fluttering, yet she fronted him scornful-eyed, and curled her red lip
at him.

"Messire," said she, "methinks you do forget I am the--"

"I remember thou art woman and thy name--Helen!"

Now at this laughed she softly and thereafter falleth to singing very
sweet and blithe and merry withal.

"The letter!" said he, "give me thy letter!"

Hereupon she took up the letter, and, yet singing, crumpled it up
within white fingers.

Then Beltane set by the table and reaching out sudden arms, caught her
up 'neath waist and knee, and lifting her high, crushed her upon his
breast.

"Helen!" said he, low-voiced and fierce, "mine art thou as I am thine,
forever, 'twas so we plighted our troth within the green. Now for thy
beauty I do greatly love thee, but for thy sweet soul and purity of
heart I do reverence and worship thee--but an thou slay my reverent
worship then this night shalt thou die and I with thee--for mine art
thou and shalt be mine forever. Give me thy letter!"

But now her eyes quailed 'neath his, her white lids drooped, and
sighing, she spake small-voiced:

"O my lord, thine arms are so--so tyrannous that I do fear thee--
almost! And how may a poor maid, so crushed and helpless thus, gainsay
thee? So prithee, O prithee take my poor letter an thou wilt ravish it
from one so defenceless--O beseech thee, take it!"

So she gave the crumpled parchment into his hand, yet while he read it,
nestled closer in his arms and hid her face against him; for what he
read was this:

"Beloved, art thou angered, or sorrowful, or humble in thy foolish
jealousy? If angered, then must I woo thee. If sorrowful, cherish thee.
But being Beltane, needs must I love thee ever--so write I this,
bidding thee come, my Beltane the Smith, for I--"

The crumpled letter fell to the ground.

"Helen!" he whispered, "Beloved, I am all of this, so do I need thy
comfort, thy cherishing, and all thy dear love--turn thy head--O Helen,
how red is thy sweet mouth!" Then stooped he, and so they kissed each
ot