"Roger—comrade, give to me thy belt!"
Now at this Roger looked up, wondering.
"My belt?" quoth he, "what would ye, Giles?"
"Cut away thy last notch, Roger—thy belt shall go smooth-edged henceforth and thy soul clean, methinks."
"But I meant to slay thee, Giles."
"But spared me, Roger, spared me to life and—love, my Rogerkin. O friend, give me thy belt!"
So Roger gave him the belt, wherefrom Giles forthwith cut the last notch, which done, they together, like mischievous lads, turned to look where their lord rode far ahead; and beholding him all unconscious and lost in thought, they sighed their relief and mounting, went on together.
Now did Roger oft glance at Giles who kept his face averted and held his peace, whereat Roger grew uneasy, fidgeted in his saddle, fumbled with the reins, and at last spake:
"Giles!"
"Aye, Roger!"