“Messires,” said he, “you were wise, methinks, to mount and away ere the night fall.  To-night, since the moon is hid, ’twill be very dark amid the trees, therefore let Orson guide you—­he is forest-bred and well knoweth the way to Thornaby.  Heaven prosper you, for in your valiant keeping is the safety of—­of our noble lady Abbess—­and her ladies.  So mount, my lords, press on with what speed ye may, and God aid us this night each and every—­fare ye well!”

Presently the trumpets sounded and forthwith armour was buckled on, horses saddled, while everywhere was stir and bustle of departure, what time, within his osier hut, my Beltane was busily doing on his armour, and, being in haste, making slow business of it; thrice he essayed to buckle a certain strap and thrice it escaped him, when lo! came a slim white hand to do it for him, and turning, he beheld the lady Abbess.  And in her eyes was yet that soft and radiant look, but nought said she until Beltane stood armed from head to heel, until she had girt the great sword about him; then she set her hands upon his shoulders: 

“Beltane,” said she soft-voiced, “thou didst yearn for thy mother, so is she come to thee at last, dear son!” So saying, she drew him down into her embrace.  “O Beltane, son of mine, long, long have I waited—­ aye, bitter, weary years, and oft-times in my sorrow I have dreamed of this hour—­the arms about thee are thy mother’s arms!”

Now fell Beltane upon his knees and caught those white and gentle hands and kissed them; quoth he: 

“Mother—­O dear my mother, ne’er did I know how deep had been my need of thee until now.  And yet, all unknowing, I have yearned for thee; in my youth I did love all sweet and gentle things in thy stead—­the trees, the tender flowers, the murmurous brooks—­these did I love in place of thee for that mine heart did yearn and hunger for a mother’s tender love—­” Here needs must she stoop, all soft whispers and tender mother-cries, to kiss him oft, to lay her cheek upon his golden head and murmur over him.

“And thou wilt love thy mother, Beltane—­thou wilt love thy unknown mother—­now and always, for that she is thy mother?”

“I will love her and honour her now and always, for that my mother is a sweet and noble woman!”

“And thou didst need me, Beltane, in thy lonely childhood thou didst need me, and I—­O God pity me—­I was far from thee!  But, dear my son, because I could not cherish thee within these arms I strove to love and cherish all motherless children for thy dear sake and to grieve for all sorrowing mothers.  So builded I the nunnery at Winisfarne and there sought to bring solace and comfort to desolate hearts because my heart was so desolate for thee, my babe, my Beltane.  And I have prayed unceasing unto God, and He, in His infinite mercy, hath given thee to my arms again—­”

A trumpet brayed harsh and loud near by, whereat those tender mother-arms drew him closer yet within their sheltering embrace.