“Is this light lady’s fame so dear to thee, poor, youthful fool?” said he.  “Aye me! doubt not her falsity shall break thy heart some day and teach thee wisdom—­”

A shout among the woods upon their right, a twinkling light that came and went amid the underbrush, and Walkyn appeared, bearing a lighted brand.

“Lord,” he growled, “here has been devil’s work of late, for yonder a cottage lieth a heap of glowing ashes, and upon a tree hard by a dead man doth swing.”

“Learned ye aught else, Walkyn?”

“Nothing, save that a large company passed here yesterday as I judge.  Horse and foot—­going south, see you,” and he held his torch to the trampled road.

“Going south—­aye, Walkyn, to Barham Broom, methinks.  Here is another debt shall yet be paid in full, mayhap,” quoth Beltane grimly.  “Forward!”

The jingling column moved on again, yet had gone but a little way when Sir Fidelis, uttering a cry, swerved his horse suddenly and sprang to earth.

“What now?” questioned Beltane, staring into the murk.

“My lord—­my lord, a woman lieth here, and—­ah, messire—­she is dead!”

“O, a woman?” quoth Beltane, “and dead, say you?  Why then, the world shall know less of evil and treachery, methinks.  Come—­mount, sir knight, mount, I say, and let us on!”

But Sir Fidelis, on his knees beside that silent, dim-seen form, heeded him not at all, and with reverent, folded hands, and soft and tender voice, spake a prayer for the departed soul.  Now hereupon Beltane knew sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have prayed—­yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger grew more bitter.

“Mount, mount, sir knight!” cried he harshly.  “Better to seek vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees—­mount, I say!”

Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle, reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone.  But in a while, Beltane perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.

“Wherefore slink ye behind me?” he demanded.

Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled: 

“My lord Beltane, ’twas said thou wert a noble knight—­very strong and very gentle—­”

“Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?”

“Alas!” sighed the young knight; and again “alas!” and therewith a great sob brake from him.

Of a sudden, from the gloom beside the way rose a woman’s scream, and thereafter a great and fierce roar; and presently came Walkyn with his torch and divers of his men, dragging a woman in their midst, and lo! it was the witch of Hangstone Waste.

Now she, beholding Beltane’s face beneath his lifted vizor, cried out for very joy: 

“Now heaven bless thee, Duke Beltane!  Ah, my lord—­hear me!”

“What would ye?  What seek ye of such as I?”