"And wilt love me ever, Beltane, no matter what betide?"
"Ever and always, so long as thou art Helen. Nay, why dost tremble?"
"O my lord—see yonder—that cloud, how black—see how it doth furtive creep upon the gentle moon—"
"'Tis a long way hence, my Helen!"
"Yet will it come. Ah, think you 'tis a portent? O would the gentle Angelo were here—and yet, an he were come—methinks I might wish him hence—for that, loving thee so, yet am I a maid, and foolish—ah, who is here—not Angelo so soon? What, 'tis thou, Winfrida? Welcome—bring hither the goblet."
So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her lady's hand, who, rising, turned to Beltane looking on him soft-eyed across the brimming chalice.
"Lord and husband," she breathed—"now do I drink to thy glory in arms, to our future, and to our abiding love!" So the Duchess raised the goblet to her lips. But lo! even as she drank, the thick, black cloud began to engulf the moon, quenching her radiant light in its murky gloom. So the Duchess drank, and handed the goblet to Beltane.
"To thee, my Helen, whom only shall I love until death and beyond!"
Then Beltane drank also, and gave the cup to Winfrida: but, even as he did so, the Duchess uttered a cry and pointed with hand a-tremble:
"O Beltane, the moon—the moon that was so bright and glorious—'tis gone, the cloud hath blotted it out! Ah, Beltane, what doth this portend? Why do I tremble thus because the moon is gone?"