“O Genevra, beseech thee, who was she did wear it yesterday—­speak!”

“Nay, this—­this I may not tell thee, lord Beltane.”

“And wherefore?”

“For that I did so promise—­and yet—­what seek you of her, my lord?”

“Forgiveness,” said Beltane, hot and eager, “I would woo her sweet clemency on one that hath wrought her grievous wrong.  O sweet Genevra, wilt not say where I may find her?”

A while stood the maid Genevra with bowed head as one in doubt, then looked on him with sweet maiden eyes and of a sudden smiled compassionate and tender.

“Ah, messire,” said she, “surely thine are the eyes of one who loveth greatly and well!  And I do so love her that fain would I have her greatly loved—­so will I tell thee despite my word—­hearken!” And drawing him near she laid white finger to rosy lip and thereafter spake in whispers.  “Go you to the green door where yesterday thou didst meet with Gi—­with the captain of the archers—­O verily we—­she and I, my lord, did see and hear all that passed betwixt you—­and upon this door knock you softly three times.  Go—­yet, O prithee say not ’twas Genevra told thee this!” and again she laid white finger to roguish, pouting lip.

Then Beltane stooped, and catching that little hand kissed it, and thereafter hasted blithely on his way.

Swift of foot went he and with eyes a-dance, nor paused in his long stride until he was come to a certain high wall wherein was set the small, green door, whereon he knocked three times.  And presently he heard the bar softly raised, the door was opened slow and cautiously, and stooping, Beltane stepped beneath the lintel and stood suddenly still, staring into the face of Black Roger.  And even as Beltane stared thus amazed, so stared Roger.

“Why, master—­” quoth he, pushing back his mail-coif to rumple his black hair, “why, master, you—­you be early abroad—­though forsooth ’tis a fair morning and—­”

“Roger,” quoth Beltane, looking round upon a fair garden a-bloom with flowers, “Roger, where is the Duchess Helen?”

“Ha, so ye do know, master—­who hath discovered it—?”

“Where is she, Roger?”

“Lord,” quoth Roger, giving a sudden sideways jerk of his head, “how should Roger tell thee this?” Now even as he spake, Roger must needs gesture again with his head and therewith close one bright, black eye, and with stealthy finger point to a certain tall hedge hard by; all of which was seen by one who stood beyond the hedge, watching Beltane with eyes that missed nought of him, from golden spur to golden head; quick to note his flushing cheek, his parted lips and the eager light of his blue eyes; one who perceiving him turn whither Roger’s sly finger pointed, gathered up her flowing robe in both white hands that she might flee the faster, and who, speeding swift and light, came to a certain leafy bower where stood a tambour frame, and sitting there,