“Beltane—­thou dost know this!  Ah, love—­what would you?” For of a sudden his mighty arms were close about her, and rising, he lifted her upon his breast.  “What would’st do with me, Beltane?”

“Do?” quoth he, “do?  This night, this very hour thou shalt wed me—­”

“Nay, dear my lord—­bethink thee—­”

“It hath been my thought—­my dearest dream since first I saw thee within the woods at Mortain—­so now shalt wed me—­”

“But, Beltane—­”

“Shalt wed me!”

“Nay, love, I—­I—­thou art so sudden!”

“Aye, within this hour shalt call me ’husband’!”

“Wilt force me, my lord?”

“Aye, verily,” said Beltane, “as God sees me, I will!”

“Why then,” she sighed, “how may I gainsay thee!” and she hid her face against him once more.  But, as he turned to leave the arbour, she stayed him: 

“I prithee, now, whither dost take me, Beltane?”

“To the minster—­anywhere, so that I find good Friar Martin.”

“Nay, prithee, Beltane, prithee set me down!”

“What would’st, my Helen?”

“Loose me and shalt see.”

So Beltane, sighing, let her go, whereupon she took a small silver whistle that hung at her girdle and sounded it.

“Ah—­what do you?” he questioned.

“Wait!” said she, roguish-eyed.

And in a while came the sound of steps from the outer garden, and looking thither, Beltane beheld a tall man in cloak of blue camlet, and when this man drew near, behold! it was Giles.

“Giles!” quoth he, “thou wily rogue—­”

“Giles,” spake the Duchess softly, “I pray you let them come!”

Then Giles bowed him low, and smiling, hasted joyously away.

“Beltane, dear my lord,” said the Duchess a little breathlessly, “because thou art true man and thy love is a noble love, I did lure thee hither to-night that I might give myself to thee in God’s holy sight—­an so it be thy will, my lord.  O Beltane, yonder Giles and Roger do bring—­Friar Martin to make me—­thy wife—­wherefore I do grow something fearful.  ’Tis foolish in me to fear thee and yet—­I do—­a little, Beltane!” So saying, she looked on him with eyes full sweet and troubled, wherefore he would have kissed her, but steps drew nigh and lo! without the arbour stood the white friar with Giles and Roger in the shadows behind.

Now came Beltane and took the friar’s hand.

“Holy father,” said he, “O good Friar Martin, though I am but what I am, yet hath this sweet and noble lady raised me up to be what I have dreamed to be.  To-night, into my care she giveth her sweet body and fair fame, of which God make me worthy.”

“Sweet children,” spake the friar, “this world is oft-times a hard and cruel world, but God is a gentle God and merciful, wherefore as he hath given to man the blessed sun and the sweet and tender flowers, so hath he given him love.  And when two there be who love with soul as well as body, with mind as well as heart, then methinks for them this world may be a paradise.  And, my children, because I do love thee for thy sweet lives and noble works, so do I joy now to bind ye one to another.”