Now did Roger oft glance at Giles who kept his face averted and held his peace, whereat Roger grew uneasy, fidgeted in his saddle, fumbled with the reins, and at last spake: 

“Giles!”

“Aye, Roger!”

“Forgive me!”

But Giles neither turned nor spake, wherefore contrite Roger must needs set an arm about him and turn him about, and behold, the archer’s eyes were brimming with great tears!

“O Giles!” gasped Roger, “O Giles!”

“Roger, I—­I do love her, man—­I do love her, heart and soul!  Is this so hard to believe, Roger, or dost think me rogue so base that true love is beyond me?  ’Tis true I am unworthy, and yet—­I do verily love her, Roger!”

“Wilt forgive me—­can’st forgive me, Giles?”

“Aye, Roger, for truly we have saved each other’s lives so oft we must needs be friends, thou and I. Only thy words did—­did hurt me, friend—­ for indeed this love of mine hath in it much of heaven, Roger.  And—­ there be times when I do dream of mayhap—­teaching—­a little Giles—­to loose a straight shaft—­some day.  O sweet Jesu, make me worthy, amen!”

And now Beltane glancing up and finding the sun high, summoned Giles and Roger beside him.

“Friends,” said he, “we have journeyed farther than methought.  Now let us turn into the boskage yonder and eat.”

So in a while, the horses tethered, behold them within a leafy bower eating and drinking and laughing like the blithe foresters they were, until, their hunger assuaged, they made ready to mount.  But of a sudden the bushes parted near by and a man stepped forth; a small man he, plump and buxom, whose quick, bright eyes twinkled ’neath his wide-eaved hat as he saluted Beltane with obeisance very humble and lowly.  Quoth he: 

“Right noble and most resplendent lord Duke Beltane, I do most humbly greet thee, I—­Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, past Pardoner of the Holy See—­who but a poor plain soul am, do offer thee my very insignificant, yet most sincere, felicitous good wishes.”

“My thanks are thine.  Pardoner.  What more would you?”

“Breath, lord methinks,” said Giles, “wind, my lord, after periods so profound and sonorous!”

“Lord Duke, right puissant and most potential, I would but tell thee this, to wit, that I did keep faith with thee, that I, by means of this unworthy hand, did set thee beyond care, lift thee above sorrow, and gave to thee the heaven of thy most warm and earnest desires.”

“How mean you, Pardoner?”

“Lord Duke, when thou didst bestow life on two poor rogues upon a time, when one rogue stole away minded to betray thee to thine enemy, the second rogue did steal upon the first rogue, and this second rogue bare a small knife whereof the first rogue suddenly died.  And thus Duke Ivo, thine enemy, came not before Belsaye until thou and thy company were safe within its walls.  So by reason of this poor second rogue, Pentavalon doth rejoice in freedom.  To-day