But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon with love and supplication.

“Beltane!” she sighed, “Beltane!  Is thy great love dead in very truth? nay, indeed I know it liveth yet even as mine, and shall live on forever.  I know—­I have seen it leap within thine eyes, heard it in thy voice—­and wherefore did’st thou love Fidelis?  Look at me, Beltane!  I can be as brave, as faithful and tender as Fidelis!  Look at me!”

But Beltane dared not look, and trembled because of her so great beauty, and fain would speak yet could not.

Whereat she, yet upon her knees, drew nearer.

“Beltane,” she murmured, “trust me.  Despite thyself, O, trust me—­so shalt thou find happiness at last and Pentavalon an end to all her sorrows.  Be thou my lord, my master—­my dear love and husband—­ride with me this night to my fair Mortain—­”

“To Mortain?” cried Beltane wildly, “aye, to Blaen, belike—­to silken wantonings and to—­death!  Tempt me not, O witch—­aye, witch that weaveth spells of her beauty—­tempt me not I say, lest I slay thee to mine own defence, for I know thee beyond all women fair, yet would I slay thee first—­” But, groaning, Beltane cast aside his sword and covered burning eyes with burning palms, yet shook as with an ague fit.

The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet.  Stumbling, he turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse Mars.

“To Mortain shalt thou ride to-night—­I pray thee mount!” cried he, “Come—­mount, I say!”

Standing tall and proud before him she sighed and spake deep-sorrowing: 

“Then will I leave thee—­an it must be so.  But, in days to come, mayhap, thou shalt grieve for this hour, Beltane, nor shall all thy sighs nor all thy tears avail to bring it back again.  Thou hast shamed me oft, yet for all thy bitter scorns I do forgive thee, aye, even the anguish of my breaking heart, for that my love doth rise beyond my pain; and so, dear my lord—­fare thee well!”

So she mounted, whereat the mettled charger must needs rear, and Beltane, staggering aside, catch at a tree and lean there.

“Art sick, Beltane?” she cried in sudden fear—­“how may I leave thee thus—­art sick!”

“Aye, Helen, for thy beauty.  The devil is here, and I am here, so here is no place for thee—­so get thee gone, spur—­spur! for despising thee in my heart yet would I have thee stay:  yet, an thou stay needs must I slay thee ere the dawn and myself thereafter!”

Thus spake he, his voice loud, his speech quick and fevered.

“Indeed, thou’rt sick, my lord—­nor do I fear thee, thou noble son of noble father!”

“My father!  Forsooth he liveth in Holy Cross Thicket within Mortain; he bade me beware of women and the ways of women.  So do I know thee witch, thou golden Helen.  Ha! must Troy burn again—­I loved thee once, but love is dead long since and turned corrupt—­so get thee hence, Helen the Wilful!”