heir lord the
sun, and, through the drear winter, wait his coming with wide-stretched,
yearning arms, crying aloud to him in every shuddering blast the tale
of their great longing. And, after some while, he comes, and at his advent
they clothe themselves anew in all their beauty, and with his warm breath
thrilling through each fibre, put forth their buds, singing through
all their myriad leaves the song of their rejoicing. Something the like
of this, messire, is the love a woman beareth to a man, the which, until
he hath felt it trembling in his heart, he hath not known the joy of
living."

But Beltane answered, smiling a little as one that gloried in his
freedom:

"No woman hath ever touched my heart, yet have I lived nor found it
lonely, hitherto."

But hereupon, resting her white fingers on his arm, she leaned nearer
to him so that he felt her breath warm upon his cheek, and there stole
to him the faint, sweet perfume of her hair.

"Beware, O scorner of women! for I tell thee that ere much time hath
passed thou shalt know love--aye, in such fashion as few men know--
wherefore I say--beware, Beltane!"

But Beltane the strong, the mighty, shook his head and smiled.

"Nay," quoth he, "a man's heart may be set on other things, flowers may
seem to him fairer than the fairest women, and the wind in trees
sweeter to him than their voices."

Now as she hearkened, the Duchess Helen grew angry, yet straightway,
she dissembled, looking upon him 'neath drooping lashes. Soft and
tender-eyed and sighing, she answered:

"Ah, Beltane! how unworthy are such things of a man's love! For if he
pluck them, that he may lay these flowers upon his heart, lo! they fade
and wither, and their beauty and fragrance is but a memory. Ah,
Beltane, when next ye sing, choose you a worthier theme."

"Of what shall I sing?" said Beltane.

Very soft she answered, and with eyes abased:

"Think on what I have told thee, and sing--of love."

And so she sighed, and looked on him once, then wheeled her palfrey,
and was gone up the glade; but Beltane, as he watched her go, was
seized of a sudden impulse and over-took her, running.

"Beseech thee," cried he, barring her path, "tell me thy name!"

Then Helen the Beautiful, the wilful, laughed and swerved her palfrey,
minded to leave him so; but Beltane sprang and caught the bridle.

"Tell me thy name," said he again.

"Let me go!"

"Thy name, tell me thy name."

But the Duchess laughed a