"I am Beltane the Smith."
For a space she sat grave and silent, then looked at him with eyes that laughed 'neath level brows to see the wonder in his gaze. But anon she falls a-sighing, and braided a tress of hair 'twixt white fingers ere she spoke:
"'Tis said of thee that thou art a hermit and live alone within these solitudes. And yet—meseemeth—thine eyes are not a hermit's eyes, messire!"
Quoth Beltane, with flushing cheek and eyes abased:
"Yet do I live alone, lady."
"Nor are thy ways and speech the ways of common smith, messire."
"Yet smith am I in sooth, lady, and therewithal content."
Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous, and shook her head, and sighed.
"Alas, messire, methinks then perchance it may be true that thou, for all thy youth, and despite thine eyes, art a mocker of love, a despiser of women? And yet—nay—sure 'tis not so?"
Then did Beltane the strong come nigh to fear, by reason of her fair womanhood, and looked from her to earth, from earth to sky, and, when he would have answered, fell a-stammering, abashed by her wondrous beauty.