"Ne'er have I seen one in blue cloak!" said Roger, "and this do I swear!"
"None the less," said Beltane, rising, "I will seek him there myself."
"At moonrise, lord?" questioned Giles.
"Aye," said Beltane grimly; "at moonrise!" and scowling he turned away.
"Aha!" quoth Giles, nudging Roger with roguish elbow, "it worketh,
Roger, it worketh!"
"Aye, Giles, it worketh so well that an my master get his hands on this singing fellow—then woe betide this singing fellow, say I."
CHAPTER LXVII
TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
The moon was already filling the night with her soft splendour when Beltane, coming to a certain wall, swung himself up, and, being there, paused to breathe the sweet perfume of the flowers whose languorous fragrance wrought in him a yearning deep and passionate, and ever as love-longing grew, bitterness and anger were forgot. Very still was it within this sheltered garden, where, fraught by the moon's soft magic, all things did seem to find them added beauties.
But, even as he paused thus, he heard a step approaching, a man's tread, quick and light yet assured, and he beheld one shrouded in a long cloak of blue, a tall figure that hasted through the garden and vanished behind the tall yew hedge.