"In truth, my lord."
"Dost love her—also?"
"Aye, my lord—also!"
"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee to thy death, methinks, for she—this wilful Helen—"
"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"
"Fidelis, art a gentle knight—but very young, art fond and foolish, so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"
"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool, meseemeth."
"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this—that I do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus— give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping—stoop not to her wanton lure—ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.
"Shame, messire—O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen, I do name thee liar!—liar!"
"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"