"Art easy, Fidelis?"
"Aye, lord!"
"Wilt not take hold upon my belt, as yesterday?"
"Methinks I am better thus."
"Nay then, shalt have stirrups and saddle, for I am fain to walk."
"And re-open thy wound, messire? Nay, let be—I ride easily thus."
"Art angered with me, Fidelis?"
"Nay, lord, I do but pity thee!"
"And wherefore?"
"For thy so great loneliness—in all thy world is none but Beltane, and he is very woeful and dreameth ever of his wrongs—"