But Beltane answered, smiling a little as one that gloried in his freedom: 

“No woman hath ever touched my heart, yet have I lived nor found it lonely, hitherto.”

But hereupon, resting her white fingers on his arm, she leaned nearer to him so that he felt her breath warm upon his cheek, and there stole to him the faint, sweet perfume of her hair.

“Beware, O scorner of women! for I tell thee that ere much time hath passed thou shalt know love—­aye, in such fashion as few men know—­ wherefore I say—­beware, Beltane!”

But Beltane the strong, the mighty, shook his head and smiled.

“Nay,” quoth he, “a man’s heart may be set on other things, flowers may seem to him fairer than the fairest women, and the wind in trees sweeter to him than their voices.”

Now as she hearkened, the Duchess Helen grew angry, yet straightway, she dissembled, looking upon him ’neath drooping lashes.  Soft and tender-eyed and sighing, she answered: 

“Ah, Beltane! how unworthy are such things of a man’s love!  For if he pluck them, that he may lay these flowers upon his heart, lo! they fade and wither, and their beauty and fragrance is but a memory.  Ah, Beltane, when next ye sing, choose you a worthier theme.”

“Of what shall I sing?” said Beltane.

Very soft she answered, and with eyes abased: 

“Think on what I have told thee, and sing—­of love.”

And so she sighed, and looked on him once, then wheeled her palfrey, and was gone up the glade; but Beltane, as he watched her go, was seized of a sudden impulse and over-took her, running.

“Beseech thee,” cried he, barring her path, “tell me thy name!”

Then Helen the Beautiful, the wilful, laughed and swerved her palfrey, minded to leave him so; but Beltane sprang and caught the bridle.

“Tell me thy name,” said he again.

“Let me go!”

“Thy name, tell me thy name.”

But the Duchess laughed again, and thinking to escape him, smote her horse so that it started and reared; once it plunged, and twice, and so stood trembling with Beltane’s hand upon the bridle; wherefore a sudden anger came upon her, and, bending her black brows, she raised her jewelled riding-rod threateningly.  But Beltane only smiled and shook his head, saying: 

“Unless I know thy name thou shalt not fare forth of the greenwood.”

So the proud lady of Mortain looked down upon Beltane in amaze, for there was none in all the Duchy, knight, noble or princeling, who dared gainsay her lightest word; wherefore, I say, she stared upon this bold forest knave with his golden hair and gentle eyes, his curved lips and square chin; and in eyes and mouth and chin was a look of masterfulness, challenging, commanding.  And, meeting that look, her heart leapt most strangely with sudden, sweet thrill, so that she lowered her gaze lest he should see, and when she spake her voice was low and very sweet: