Now beholding the face of the speaker, his proud and noble bearing, his bold eyes fierce and bright and the grim line of nose and chin, Duke Ivo blenched and drew back, the smile fled from his lip, and he stared wide of eye and breathless.

“Beltane!” quoth he at last, “Beltane—­ha! methought thee dusty bones these many years—­so it is war, I judge?”

For answer Duke Beltane lifted on high the long sword he bore.

“Ivo,” said he, “the cries and groans of my sorrowful and distressed people have waked me from my selfish griefs at last—­so am I come for vengeance on their innocent blood, their griefs and wrongs so long endured of thee.  This do I swear thee, that this steel shall go unsheathed until I meet thee in mortal combat—­and ere this sun be set one of us twain shall be no more.”

“Be it so,” answered Black Ivo, “this night belike I shall hang thee above the ruins of Belsaye yonder, and thy son with thee!” So saying, he turned about and chin on fist rode into his camp, where was mounting and mustering in hot haste.

“Beltane,” spake the Duchess, clasping Beltane’s hand, “dost know at last?”

“Aye,” answered he with eyes aglow, “But how cometh my noble father yonder?”

“I sought him out in Holy Cross Thicket, Beltane.  I told him of thy valiant doings and of thy need of instant aid, and besought him to take up arms for thee and for me and for dear Mortain, and to lead my army ’gainst—­”

But Beltane, falling before her on his knee spake quick and passionate: 

“O Helen—­Helen the Beautiful! without thee I had been nought, and less than nought!  Without thee, Pentavalon had groaned yet ’neath cruel wrong!  Without thee—­O without thee, my Helen, I were a thing lost and helpless in very truth!”

Now hereupon, being first and foremost a woman, young and loving and passionate, needs must she weep over him a little and stoop to cherish his golden head on her bosom, and holding it thus sweetly pillowed, to kiss him full oft and thereafter loose him and blush and sigh and turn from his regard, all sweet and shy demureness like the very maid she was.

Whereat Beltane, forgetful of all but her loveliness, heedful of nought in the world but her warm young beauty, rose up from his knees and, trembling-mute with love, would have caught her to his eager arms; but of a sudden cometh Giles, breathless—­hasting up the narrow stair and, all heedless of his lord, runneth to fling himself upon his knees before the Duchess, to catch her robe and kiss it oft.

“O dear and gracious lady!” he cried, “Genevra hath told me!  And is it true thou hast promised me a place within thy court at fair Mortain—­is it true thou wilt lift me up that I may wed with one so much o’er me in station—­is it true thou wilt give me my Genevra, my heart’s desire—­ all unworthy though I be—­I—­O—­” And behold!  Giles’s ready tongue faltered for very gratitude and on each tanned cheek were bright, quick-falling tears.