"Hark! in the whisper of the wind
Love calleth thee away,
Each leaf a small, soft voice doth find,
Each pretty bird doth cry in kind,
O heart, haste north to-day."
Beltane sat up broad awake, for Blaen lay to the north, and in Blaen—
But Giles was singing on:
"Youth is quick to speed away,
But love abideth ever.
Fortune, though she smile to-day,
Fickle is and will not stay,
But true-love changeth never.
"The world doth change, as change it must,
But true-love changeth never.
Proud ambition is but dust,
The bow doth break, the sword doth rust,
But love abideth ever."
Beltane was leaning half out of the casement, of the which fact who so unconscious as Giles, busily furbishing armour and bascinet.
"Giles!" he cried, "O Giles—rouse ye, man!"
"How, lord—art awake so early?" questioned Giles, looking up innocent of eye.
"Was it not for this thou didst sing, rogue Giles? Go now, bid Roger have three horses saddled, for within the hour we ride hence."
"To Mortain, lord?" questioned Giles eagerly.
"Aye, Giles, to Mortain—north to Blaen; where else should we ride to-day?"