"Thy—comrade-in-arms, lord Beltane."
"Why hast thou the seeming of one beyond all women false? Why dost thou speak me betimes in her voice, look at me with her eyes, touch me with her soft, white, traitor's hands—answer me!"
"My lord, we are akin, she and I—of the same house and blood—"
"Then is thy blood foul with treachery!"
"Yet did I save thy life, Beltane!"
"Yet thy soft voice, thy red mouth and false eyes—thy very blood—all these do prove thee traitor—hence!" and Beltane threw him off.
"Nay my lord!" he cried, "prithee take care, Beltane,—see—thou hast displaced the bandage, thy wound bleedeth amain—so will I bind it up for thee—"
But Beltane, nothing heeding, turned and strode back into the green and there fell to donning his armour as swiftly as he might—albeit stealthily. Thereafter came he to the destrier Mars and, having saddled and bridled him with the same swift stealth, set foot in stirrup and would have mounted, yet found this a painful matter by reason of his wound; thus it befell, that, ere he could reach the saddle, the leaves parted close by and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:
"My lord Beltane, why dost thou steal away thus? An it be thy will to leave me to perish alone here in the wilderness, first break thy fast, and suffer me to bind up thy hurt, so shalt thou ride hence in comfort." Now stood Beltane motionless and silent, nor turned nor dared he look upon Sir Fidelis, but bowed his head in bitter shame, and, therewith, knew a great remorse.
"Ah, Fidelis," said he at last, "thy rebuke stingeth deep, for it is just, since I indeed did purpose thee a most vile thing! How vile a thing, then, am I—"