r afoot, with lance, battle-axe
or sword. Thus, see you messire, even a love-lorn lover hath
betimes his compensations, and the sward is soft underfoot, and level."
Saying which, the knight cocked a delicate eyebrow in questioning
fashion, and laid a slender finger to the pommel of his long sword.

"How," cried Beltane, "would'st fight with me?"

"Right gladly would I, messire--to break the monotony."

"I had rather hear thy song again."

"Ha, liked you it in sooth? 'Tis small thing of mine own."

"And 'tis brief!" nodded Beltane.

"Brief!" quoth the knight, "brief! not so, most notable youthful sir,
for even as love is long enduring so is my song, it being of an hundred
and seventy and eight cantos in all, dealing somewhat of the woes and
ills of a heart sore smitten (which heart is mine own also). Within my
song is much matter of hearts (in truth) and darts, of flames and
shames, of yearnings and burnings, the which this poor heart must needs
endure since it doth constant bleed and burn."

"Indeed, messire, I marvel that you be yet alive," said Beltane
gravely, whereat the young knight did pause to view him, dubious-eyed.
Quoth he:

"In sooth, most youthful and excellent sir, I have myself marvelled
thereat betimes, but, since alive am I, now do I declare unto you that
she for whom I sigh is the fairest, gentlest, noblest, most glorious
and most womanly of all women in the world alive--"

"Save one!" said Beltane.

"Save none, messire!" said the young knight, eager-eyed.

"One!" said Beltane.

"None!" quoth the knight, as, casting aside ponderous lance he vaulted
lightly from his saddle and drew his sword; but, seeing that Beltane
bore no shield, paused to lay his own tenderly aside, and so faced him
serene of brow and smiling of lip. "Sweet sir," said he gaily, "here
methinks is fair cause for argument; let us then discuss the matter
together for the comfort of our souls and to the glory of our ladies.
As to my name--" "'Tis Jocelyn," quoth Beltane.

"Ha!" exclaimed the knight, staring.

"That won a suit of triple mail at Dunismere joust, and wagered it
'gainst Black Ivo's roan stallion within Deepwold forest upon a time."

"Now, by Venus!" cried the knight, starting back, "here be manifest
sorcery! Ha! by the sweet blind boy, 'tis black magic!" and he crossed
himself devoutly. But Beltane, laughing, put back his hood of mail,
that his long, fair hair fell a-down rippling to his shoulders.

"Know