"'Tis so I would be worthy of thee, beloved," he sighed, "for know that I am pledged to rest not nor stay until my task be accomplished or I slain—"
"Slain! Thou?"
"O, Helen, 'tis a mighty task and desperate, and many perchance must die ere this my vow be accomplished—"
"Thy vow? But thou art a smith, my Beltane,—what hath humble smith to do with vows? Thou art my love—my Beltane the Smith!"
"Indeed," sighed Beltane, "smith was I aforetime, and therewithal content: yet am I also son of my father, and he—"
"Hark!" she whispered, white hand upon his lips, "some one comes— through the leaves yonder!" So saying she sprang lightly to her feet and stood above him straight and tall: and though she trembled, yet he saw her eyes were fearless and his dagger gleamed steady in her hands.
"Beltane, my love!" she said, "thou'rt so weak, yet am I strong to defend thee against them all."
But Beltane rose also and, swaying on unsteady feet, kissed her once and so took his sword, marvelling to find it so heavy, and drew it from the scabbard. And ever upon the stilly air the rustle of leaves grew louder.
"Beltane!" she sighed, "they be very near! Hearken! Beltane—thine am I, in life, in death. An this be death—what matter, since we die together?"
But, leaning on his sword, Beltane watched her with eyes of love yet spake no word, hearkening to the growing stir amid the leaves, until, of a sudden, upon the bank above, the underbrush was parted and a man stood looking down at them; a tall man, whose linked mail glinted evilly and whose face was hid 'neath a vizored casque. Now of a sudden he put up his vizor and stepped toward them down the sloping bank.