"Not so—dear blood of all the saints! Must I be mewed up within an accursed bed on such a day and all by reason of a small axe-stroke? Malediction, no!"
"She is wondrous gentle with the sick, Benedict—"
"She is a very woman, Beltane, and therefore gentle, a noble lady sweet of soul and body! To die for such were joyful privilege, methinks, aye, verily!" and Sir Benedict, forgetful of his line, drooped his head and sighed.
"And thou didst know her well—long years agone, Benedict?"
"Aye, long—years—agone!"
"Very well, Benedict?"
"Very well."
"She was 'Yolande' then, Benedict?"
"Aye," quoth Sir Benedict, lifting his head with a start and looking at
Beltane askance, "and to-day she is the lady Abbess Veronica!"
"That shall surely dose thee again and—"