of leather and garments of skins; its ruddy light showed faces fierce and hairy; it glinted on rusty mail and flashed back from many a dinted head-piece and broad spear-head; and upon the air was the sound of noisy talk and boisterous laughter.  Through the midst of this great green hollow a stream wound that broadened out in one place into a still and sleepy pool upon whose placid surface stars seemed to float, a deep pool whereby was a tall tree.  Now beneath this tree, far removed from the fire, sat a great swarthy fellow, chin on fist, scowling down at that which lay at his feet, and of a sudden he spurned this still and silent shape with savage foot.

“Oswin!” he cried, “Walcher!  Throw me this useless carrion into the pool!” Hereupon came two sturdy rogues who, lifting the dead betwixt them, bore her to the edge of the silent pool.  Once they swung and twice, and lo, the floating stars shivered to a sullen splash, and subsiding, rippled softly to the reedy banks.

Slowly the swarthy giant rose and stood upon his legs, and Beltane knew him for the tallest man he had ever seen.

“Oswin,” quoth he, and beckoned with his finger, “Oswin, did I not bid thee keep watch upon yon dainty light o’ love?” Now meeting the speaker’s baleful eye, the man Oswin sprang back, striving to draw sword, but even so an iron hand was about his throat, he was lifted by a mighty arm that held him a while choking and kicking above the silent pool until he had gasped and kicked his life out ’midst shouts and gibes and hoarse laughter; thereafter again the sullen waters quivered, were still, and Tostig stood, empty-handed, frowning down at those floating stars.

Then Beltane leapt down into the hollow and strode swift-footed, nor stayed until he stood face to face with Tostig beside the sullen pool.  But swift as he had come, Roger had followed, and now stood to his back, hand on sword.

“Aha!” quoth Tostig in staring amaze, and stood a while eying Beltane with hungry gaze.  “By Thor!” said he, “but ’tis a good armour and should fit me well.  Off with it—­off, I am Tostig!” So saying, he drew a slow pace nearer, his teeth agleam, his great hands opening and shutting, whereat out leapt Roger’s blade; but now the outlaws came running to throng about them, shouting and jostling one another, and brandishing their weapons yet striking no blow, waiting gleefully for what might befall; and ever Beltane looked upon Tostig, and Tostig, assured and confident, smiled grimly upon Beltane until the ragged throng about them, watching eager-eyed, grew hushed and still.  Then Beltane spake: 

“Put up thy sword, Roger,” said he, “in very truth this Tostig is a foul thing and should not die by thy good steel—­so put up thy sword, Roger.”