Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she, busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings, and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane, kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she, soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.

To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.

Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within the garden, Beltane found himself alone.  So he arose and walked amid the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of all.  As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing.  Now standing within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and yielding form, and behold—­it was Winfrida!  Then Beltane would have loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.

“My lord Beltane,” she sighed, “happy art thou to have won the love of our noble lady—­aye, happy art thou!  But as for me, alas! messire, meseemeth her heart is turned ’gainst me these days; I, who was her loved companion and childish play-fellow!  So now am I very desolate, wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to forgiveness.  Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess—­” here needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and thereafter spake, clear and loud:  “so will I love thee also!” Then, while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.

But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.  And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake her voice was cold and distant.

“Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?”

“Why truly,” stammered Beltane, “truly I—­she was here but now—­”

“Here, my lord?  Alone?”

“She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her love aforetime, to—­”

“Would’st plead for her, in sooth?”

“I would but have thee do her justice, Helen—­”

“Think you I am so unjust, my lord?”