“Nay,” said she, with red lips curved and tender, “for this wide world to me is naught without thee, Beltane.  And I do need thy mighty arm—­to shelter me, Beltane, since Ivo hath defied me, threatening Mortain with fire and sword.  So when he cometh, instead of a woman he shall find a man to withstand him, whose sword is swift and strong to smite and who doeth such deeds as no man ever did; so shalt thou be my love, my lord, my champion.  Wilt not refuse me the shelter of thy strength, Beltane?”

Now of a sudden Beltane lifted his head and seized her in his arms and held her close.

Quoth he: 

“So be it, my Helen.  To wife will I take thee so soon as may be, to hold thee ever in love and reverence, to serve thee ever, to live for thee and for thee to die an needs be.”

But now strode Godric forward, with hands outstretched in eager protest.

“Lady,” he cried, “O dear lady bethink thee, now, bethink thee, thy choice is a perilous choice—­”

“Yet is it my choice, Godric.”

“But, O, dear my mistress—­”

“O my faithful Godric, look now upon lord Beltane, my well-beloved who shall be Duke of Mortain ere the moon change.  Salute thy lord, Godric!”

So, perforce, came old Godric to fall upon his knee before Beltane, to take his hand and swear the oath of fealty.

“Lord Beltane,” said he, “son art thou of a mighty Duke; God send Mortain find in thee such another!”

“Amen!” said Beltane.

Thereafter Godric rose and pointed up to the zenith.

“Behold, my lady,” said he, “it groweth to noon and there is danger hereabouts—­more danger e’en than I had dreamed.  Let us therefore haste over into Mortain—­to thy Manor of Blaen.”

“But Godric, see you not my lord is faint of his wound, and Blaen is far, methinks.”

“Not so, lady, ‘tis scarce six hours’ journey to the north, nay, I do know of lonely bridle-paths that shall bring us sooner.”

“To Blaen?” mused the Duchess.  “Winfrida is there—­and yet—­and yet—­ aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my Beltane, and there shalt thou—­wed with me—­an it be so thy pleasure in sooth, my lord.”

So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.

Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.

“O loved Mortain!” she sighed, “O dear Mortain!  ’Tis here there lived a smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and flowers.  ’Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful, who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until—­upon a day, these twain looked within each other’s eyes—­O day most blissful!  Ah, sweet Mortain!”