"'Tis but the wind, Roger."
"'Tis like the cries of women wailing o'er their dead, I have heard such sounds ere now; I would my belt bore fewer notches, master!"
"They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!"
"Master—an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire— remembering these same notches?"
"Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger. Hark!" quoth Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road. Now as they drew near the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled 'neath a bush beside the way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.
"Ha!" cried Roger, stooping, "thou'rt of Brandonmere?"
"Aye—give me water—I was squire to Sir Gilles—God's love—give me— water!"
Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.
"Messire," said he, "I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women captive."
"There is—but one, and she—a nun. But nuns are—holy women—so I withstood my lord in his—desire. And my lord—stabbed me—so must I die—of a nun, see you!—Ah—give me—water!"