"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit, ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go—obey me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir Fidelis:
"How, messire—are ye not gone?"
Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:
"Thou seest, my lord—I go beside thee according to thy word—"
"Presumptuous youth, I want thee not!"
"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord—and I can be patient—"
"Ha—dost defy me?"
"Not so, my lord—nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than thyself, so do I pity thee—pity thee—thou that art so mighty and yet so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a noble man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies—God send they soon may pass. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."
Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce baying of the hounds.
Said Beltane at last: