“Holy Saint Cuthbert, thou see’st here all that is left of one that in life was a filthy, lewd, and traitorous knave, insomuch that he hath, methinks, died of roguery.  Now, most blessed saint, do thy best for the knavish soul of him, intercede on his behalf that he may suffer no more than he should.  And this is the prayer of me, Black Roger, that has been a vile sinner as I have told thee, though traitor to no man, I praise God.  But, most blessed and right potent saint, while I am at the ears of thee, fain would I crave thy aid on matter of vasty weight and import.  To wit, good saint:  let now Sir Fidelis, who, as ye well know, doth hide womanly beauties in ungentle steel—­let now this brave and noble lady muster forthwith all the powers within her Duchy of Mortain —­every lusty fellow, good saint—­and hither march them to my master’s aid.  Let her smite and utterly confound Black Ivo, who (as oft I’ve told thee—­moreover thine eyes are sharp), is but a rogue high-born, fitter for gallows than ducal crown, even as this most unsavoury Gurth was a rogue low-born.  So when she hath saved my master despite himself, sweet saint, then do thou join them heart and body, give them joy abounding and happiness enduring, nor forget them in the matter of comely children.  So bring to woeful Pentavalon and to us all and every, peace at last and prosperity—­and to sorrowful Roger a belt wherein be no accursed notches and a soul made clean. In nomen Dominum, Amen!”

“Master,” quoth he, yet upon his knees and viewing Beltane somewhat askance, “here is the best I can do for such as yon Gurth; will’t suffice, think ye?”

“Aye, ’twill serve, Roger.  But, for the other matter—­”

“Why see you, master, a man may freely speak his dear desires within his prayers—­more especially when his prayers are potent, as mine.  Moreover I warned thee—­I warned thee I would pray for thee—­and pray for thee I have.”  Now hereupon Beltane rose somewhat hastily and turned his back, what time Roger sheathed his sword.

Then spake Beltane, turning him to the pool again: 

“We had store of tools and mattocks, I mind me.  Go and look within the caves if there be ever a one left, for now must we bury this poor clay.”

“Ha, must we pray for him—­and bury him, master?”

“And bury him, Roger.”

Then Roger sighed and shook his head and so left Beltane, who fell again to profound meditation; but of a sudden hearing a cry, he turned to behold Roger running very fleetly, who, coming near, caught him by the arm and sought to drag him away.

“Run!” he panted, “run, master—­I ha’ just seen a goblin—­run, master!”

Now beholding the terror in Roger’s eyes, Beltane unsheathed his sword.  “Show me, Roger,” said he.

“Nay, lord—­of what avail?  Let’s away, this place is rank o’ deviltries and witchcraft—­”

“Show me, Roger—­come!”

Perforce, Roger led the way, very heedful to avoid each patch of shadow, until they were come opposite that cave where aforetime Beltane had been customed to sleep.  Here Roger paused.