a new world wherein Love came to me —­a love so deep and high, so pure and noble, that fain would I have died amid the flame than thus speak forth my shame, slaying this wondrous love by my unworthiness.  Yet have I told my shame, and love is dead, methinks, since I am known for false friend and traitor vile—­a thing for scorn henceforth, that no honourable love may cleave to.  So is love dead, and fain would I die also!”

Now, of a sudden, while yet Beltane frowned down upon her, came Sir Jocelyn, and kneeling beside Winfrida, spake with bent head: 

“Messire Beltane, thou seest before thee two that are one, henceforth.  So do I beseech thee, forgive us our trespass against thee, an it may be so.  But, if thy wrongs are beyond forgiveness, then will we die together.”

“O Jocelyn!” cried Winfrida breathlessly, “O dear my lord—­surely never man loved like thee!  Lord Beltane, forgive—­for this noble knight’s sake—­forgive the sinful Winfrida!”

“Forgive?” said Beltane, hoarsely, “forgive?—­nay, rather would I humbly thank thee on my knees, for thou hast given back the noblest part of me.  She that was lost is found again, the dead doth live.  Helen is her noble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her.  The happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world, methinks.  O kneel not to me—­and pray you—­speak on this matter no more.  Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy.  Lady, hast won a true and leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a noble lady, who hath spoken truth at hazard of losing her love.  And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world but love.  Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all!” So saying, Beltane turned very suddenly, and strode out, where, beside the great horse Mars, stood Roger, very pale in the moonlight, and starting and staring at every rustling leaf and patch of shadow.

“Roger,” said he, “thou art afraid of bats and owls, yet, forsooth, art a wiser man than I. Bring hither the horse.”

In a while cometh Sir Jocelyn and the lady Winfrida, hand in hand, aglow with happiness, yet with eyes moistly bright under the moon.

“Good comrade-in-arms,” quoth Beltane, “Mortain lieth far hence; now here is a goodly horse—­”

“O!” cried Winfrida shrinking, “surely ’tis the horse that bore Sir Gilles of Brandonmere in the lists at Barham Broom—­”

“So now, my lady Winfrida, shall it bear thee and thy love to Mortain and happiness—­O loved Mortain!  So mount, Jocelyn, mount!  Haste to thy happiness, man, and in thy joy, forget not Pentavalon, for her need is great.  And thou hast goodly men-at-arms!  How think ye, messire?”

“Beltane,” cried Sir Jocelyn gleefully, “Beltane, O dear my friend, doubt me not—­I do tell thee we shall ride together yet, when the battle joins!” So saying, be sprang to saddle.  Now turned Beltane to aid the lady Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn’s hold; but, even then, she fell upon her knees, and catching his hand to her bosom, kissed it.