n the
saddle--for his pain was very sore--and would have fallen but for the
ready arms of Sir Fidelis. Thereafter, with much labour, Beltane got
him to earth, and Fidelis brought him where, beneath the steep, was a
shallow cave carpeted with soft moss, very excellent suited to their
need. Here Beltane laid him down, watching a little cataract that
rippled o'er the rocky bank near by, where ferns and lichens grew; what
time Sir Fidelis came and went, and, having set fire a-going whereby to
cook their supper, brought an armful of fragrant heather to set 'neath
Beltane's weary head. Then, having given him to drink of the cordial,
fell to work bathing and bandaging his wound, sighing often to see it
so swollen and angry.

"Fidelis," quoth Beltane, "methinks there is some magic in thy touch,
for now is my pain abated--hast a wondrous gentle hand--"

"'Tis the cordial giveth thee respite, lord--"

"Nay, 'tis thy hand, methinks. Sure no man e'er was blest with truer
friend than thou, my Fidelis; brave art thou, yet tender as any woman,
and rather would I have thy love than the love of any man or woman
soever, henceforth, dear my friend. Nay, wherefore hang thy head?
without thee I had died many times ere this; without thy voice to cheer
me in these solitudes, thy strength and skill to aid me, I had fallen
into madness and death. Wherefore I do love thee, Fidelis, and fain
would have thee go beside me ever--so great is become my need of thee."

"Ah, Beltane, thou dost know I will ne'er desert thee!"

"So henceforth am I content--and yet--"

"Well, my lord?"

"To-morrow, perchance, shall see the end of this our solitude and close
comradeship--to-morrow we should reach Hundleby Fen. So, Fidelis,
promise me, if thou, at any time hereafter should see me harsh, or
proud, or selfish--do thou mind me of these days of our love and
companionship. Wilt promise me?"

"Aye, lord!" spake Sir Fidelis, low-bending to his task; and thereafter
sighed, and bowed him lower yet.

"Wherefore dost thou sigh?"

"For that I feel as if--ah, Beltane!--as if this night should be the
end of our love and comradeship!"

"Nought but death shall do this, methinks."

"Why then," said Fidelis as he rose, "an it must be, fain would I have
death."

But when Beltane would have questioned him further he smiled sad and
wistful and went forth to the fire. Up rose the moon, a thing of glory
filling the warm, stilly night with a soft and radiant splend