“’Tis but a wile that many women do know, messire, a device of the witch Jolette (that is no witch, but a noble woman) a device whereby I might lie hid awhile.  O indeed, indeed I who speak to thee am the wicked Winfrida—­Winfrida the Sorrowful!” Now herewith she sank before him on her knees and bowed her face within her hands, and Beltane saw that she trembled greatly.  “My lord,” she whispered, “now must I confess a thing beyond all words shameful, and though I fear death, I fear thy anger more.  If, therefore, when I have spoke thee all, thou wilt slay me, then—­O my lord—­I pray thee—­let death come swift—­”

“Master!” cried Roger of a sudden, “I hear horses—­they be after us already!  Mount—­mount and let us ride—­Hark! they come this way!”

“Aye!” nodded Beltane, drawing his sword, “yet here is but one methinks—­list, Roger—­leave him to me!” So waited they all three, what time the slow-pacing hoofs drew near and nearer, until, peering through the leaves, they beheld a knight, who rode low-stooping in his saddle, to mark their tracks plain upon the tender grass.  Forth stepped Beltane, fierce and threatening, his long sword agleam, and so paused to scowl, for the knight raised his head of a sudden and lo! ’twas Sir Fidelis.

“Now what seek ye here, sir knight?” saith Beltane, nothing gentle.

“Thee, my lord,” quoth Fidelis, meek of aspect, “to share thy perils according to thy word.  Put up thy sword, messire, thou wilt not harm thy companion in arms?”

Now Beltane, finding nought to say, scowled sulkily to earth, and thus saw nothing of the eyes so deep and tender that watched him ’neath the shadow of the young knight’s bascinet, nor the smile so sad and wistful that curled his ruddy lips, nor all the lithe and slender grace of him as he swayed to the impatient movements of the powerful animal he bestrode; but it chanced that Winfrida’s eyes saw all this, and being a woman’s eyes, beheld that which gave her breathing sudden pause—­turned her red—­turned her pale, until, with a gasp of fear she started, and uttering a cry, low and inarticulate, sped fleet-footed across the glade and was gone.

Quoth Beltane, staring: 

“Now what aileth the maid, think ye?  But ’tis no matter—­we are well quit of her, meseemeth.”  So saying, he turned to behold Roger flat upon his belly and with his ear to the ground.

“Master,” cried he, “master, there be horsemen i’ the forest hereabouts—­a great company!”

“Why then, do you mount, Roger, and hie thee with Sir Fidelis hot-foot to Walkyn at Hundleby Fen.  Bid him set our bowmen in every place of vantage, and let every man stand to arms.  So mayhap, Roger, will we this day make hunted men of them that hunt!” So saying, Beltane swung to saddle.

“Aye—­aye—­but what o’ thee, master?”

“Mark ye this horse, Roger.  Thou hast said ’twas of good speed and endurance, and methinks ’tis sooth.  Howbeit, now shall he prove thy word, for here I wait the hunters, and to-day will I, keeping ever out of bow-shot, lead them through every quag, every bog and marsh ’twixt here and Hundleby Fen, and of those that follow still, thou and Walkyn and our merry men shall make an end, I pray God.  So let all lie well hid, and watch for my coming.  And now—­farewell to thee, Roger.”