The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet. Stumbling, he turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse Mars.
"To Mortain shalt thou ride to-night—I pray thee mount!" cried he,
"Come—mount, I say!"
Standing tall and proud before him she sighed and spake deep-sorrowing:
"Then will I leave thee—an it must be so. But, in days to come, mayhap, thou shalt grieve for this hour, Beltane, nor shall all thy sighs nor all thy tears avail to bring it back again. Thou hast shamed me oft, yet for all thy bitter scorns I do forgive thee, aye, even the anguish of my breaking heart, for that my love doth rise beyond my pain; and so, dear my lord—fare thee well!"
So she mounted, whereat the mettled charger must needs rear, and
Beltane, staggering aside, catch at a tree and lean there.
"Art sick, Beltane?" she cried in sudden fear—"how may I leave thee thus—art sick!"
"Aye, Helen, for thy beauty. The devil is here, and I am here, so here is no place for thee—so get thee gone, spur—spur! for despising thee in my heart yet would I have thee stay: yet, an thou stay needs must I slay thee ere the dawn and myself thereafter!"
Thus spake he, his voice loud, his speech quick and fevered.
"Indeed, thou'rt sick, my lord—nor do I fear thee, thou noble son of noble father!"
"My father! Forsooth he liveth in Holy Cross Thicket within Mortain; he bade me beware of women and the ways of women. So do I know thee witch, thou golden Helen. Ha! must Troy burn again—I loved thee once, but love is dead long since and turned corrupt—so get thee hence, Helen the Wilful!"