“My beloved!” she whispered, “O my beloved!” And the gentle night-wind bore her secret in its embrace away across the valley to the dim solitudes of the woods.  “Beltane!” she sighed, “love hath come into mine heart even as it came to thee, when I recked not of it.  My beloved—­O my beloved!” Anon she rose and stood awhile with head bowed as one that dreams, and of a sudden her cheek glowed warmly red, her breath caught and she gazed upon the moon with eyes of yearning tenderness; thereafter she laughed, soft and happily and, snatching up a cloak, set it about her and fled from the chamber.  So, swift and light of foot, she sped by hidden ways until she came where old Godric, her chief huntsman, busied himself trimming the shaft of a boar-spear, who, beholding his lady, rose up in amaze.

“Godric,” said she, white hands upon his arm, “thou didst love me or ever I could walk?”

“Aye, verily thou hast said, dear my lady.”

“Love you me yet?”

“Truly thou knowest that I love thee.”

“Thou hast heard, Godric, how that my counsellors have long desired me to wed with Duke Ivo, and do yet await my answer to his suit—­nay hearken!  So to-night shall my mind be known in the matter once and for all!  Come, my Godric, arm you and saddle two horses—­come!”

“Nay, sweet my lady, what would ye?”

“Fly hence with thee, my Godric!  Come—­the horses!”

“Fly from Mortain, and thou the Duchess?  Nay, dear lady, ’tis madness, bethink thee!  O dear my Mistress—­O little Helen that I have cherished all thy days, bethink thee—­do not this thing—­”

“Godric, did not the Duke, my father, strictly charge thee to follow ever my call?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Then follow now!” And so she turned and beckoned, and Godric perforce followed after.

Hand in hand they went a-down the winding stair, down, to the great, dim courtyard that whispered to their tread.  And, thereafter, mounting in haste, the Duchess galloped from Mortain, unheeding stern old Godric by her side and with never a look behind, dreaming ever of Beltane with cheeks that crimsoned ’neath her hood.

Fast and faster she rode ’neath the pale moon, her eyes ever gazing towards the gloom of the forest, her heart throbbing quick as the hoof-beats of her horse.  So at last, being come to that glade whereby Beltane had his dwelling, she lighted down, and bidding Godric wait, stole forward alone.

Autumn was at hand, and here and there the fallen leaves rustled sadly under foot while the trees sighed and mourned together for that the flowers so soon must wither and die.  But in the heart of the Duchess Helen, Spring was come, and all things spake to her of coming joys undreamed till now as she hasted on, flitting through the pallid moonbeams that, falling athwart rugged hole and far-flung branch, splashed the gloom with radiant light.  Once she paused to listen, but heard nought save the murmur of the