But when Beltane would have questioned him further he smiled sad and wistful and went forth to the fire.  Up rose the moon, a thing of glory filling the warm, stilly night with a soft and radiant splendour—­a tender light, fraught with a subtle magic, whereby all things, rock and tree and leaping brook, found a new and added beauty.

And in some while comes Sir Fidelis to set out their viands, neat and orderly, as was ever his custom, and thereafter must needs chide Beltane, soft-voiced, for his lack of hunger, and cut dainty morsels, wooing him thereby to eat.

“Fidelis,” says Beltane, “on so fair a night as this, methinks, the old fables and romances might well be true that tell of elves that dance on moony nights, and of shapely nymphs and lovely dryads that are the spirits of the trees.  Aye, in the magic of so fair a night as this aught might happen—­miracles and wonders.”

“Save one thing, dear my lord.”

“As what, my Fidelis?”

“That thou should’st dream Helen pure and faithful and worthy to thy love—­that, doubting thine own senses, thou should’st yearn and sigh to hold her once again, heart on heart—­”

“Ah, Fidelis,” quoth Beltane, sighing deep, “why wilt thou awake a sleeping sorrow?  My love was dead long since, meseemeth, and buried in mine heart.  O Fidelis, mine eyes, mine ears, my every sense do tell me she is false—­so is an end of love for me henceforth.”

“Dear my lord,” spake Fidelis, and his voice thrilled strangely in Beltane’s ears—­“O, Beltane, my lord, could’st thou but doubt thyself a little—­could’st thou, doubting thine own senses for love’s sake, believe her now true—­true as thou would’st have her, then Love indeed might work for thee a miracle this night and thou be loved as man of god-like faith.”

“Nay, sweet Fidelis, I am but a man, apt to evil betimes and betimes seeking good.  Howbeit, now am I a weary man that fain would sleep.  Come then, lay you down here beside me where I may touch thee an I awake i’ the night.”  And, lying down, Beltane beckoned Fidelis beside him.

So in a while the young knight came and did as Beltane bade, and side by side they lay within the shelter of the little cave; and in the dark, Beltane set his mighty arm about him and thereafter spake, wondering: 

“Art not cold, Fidelis?”

“Nay, lord.”

“Then why dost tremble?”

“Indeed I know not—­mayhap I grieved that—­the age of miracles—­is passed away.”

Now at this Beltane wondered the more and would fain have questioned him, but in that moment sighed, and fell to slumber.  But in his sleep he dreamed that Fidelis was beset by foes and cried to him for aid, whereon he would have hasted to his deliverance yet could not for that unseen hands held him fast; then strove he amain against these griping hands, and so awaked in sudden terror and lay there trembling in the dark; and in the dark he reached out cautious hand further and further and so found himself alone—­for the young knight was gone.