ifted:

"Now glory be to God, Who, in His mercy, hath made of thee a man, my
Beltane, clean of soul and innocent, yet strong of arm to lift and
succour the distressed, and therefore it is that you to-day must leave
me, my well-beloved, for there be those whose need of thee is greater
even than mine."

"Nay, dear my father, how may this be?"

Now hereupon Ambrose the Hermit stood awhile with bent head, and spake
not, only he sighed full oft and wrung his hands.

"I thought but of myself!" he groaned, "great sorrow is oft-times
greatly selfish. Alas, my son--twenty weary years have I lived here
suing God's forgiveness, and for twenty bitter years Pentavalon hath
groaned 'neath shameful wrong--and death in many hateful shapes. O God
have mercy on a sinner who thought but on himself! List, my son, O
list! On a day, as I kneeled before yon cross, came one in knightly
armour and upon his face, 'neath the links of his camail, I saw a great
scar--the scar this hand had wrought. And, even as I knew Sir Benedict,
in that same moment he knew me, and gave a joyous cry and came and fell
upon his knee and kissed my hand, as of old. Thereafter we talked, and
he told me many a woeful tale of Pentavalon and of its misery. How,
when I was gone, rose bitter fight and faction, barons and knights
striving together which should be Duke. In the midst of the which
disorders came one, from beyond seas, whom men called Ivo, who by might
of sword and cunning tongue made himself Duke in my place. Sir Benedict
told of a fierce and iron rule, of the pillage and ravishment of town
and city, of outrage and injustice, of rack and flame and gibbet--of a
people groaning 'neath a thousand cruel wrongs. Then, indeed, did I see
that my one great sin a thousand other sins had bred, and was I full of
bitter sorrow and anguish. And, in my anguish, I thought on thee, and
sent to thee Sir Benedict, and watched thee wrestle, and at stroke of
sword, and praised God for thy goodly might and strength. For O, dear
my son, meseemeth that God hath raised thee up to succour these
afflicted, to shield the weak and helpless--hath made thee great and
mightier than most to smite Evil that it may flee before thee. So in
thee shall my youth be renewed, and my sins, peradventure, purged
away."

"Father!" said Beltane rising, his blue eyes wide, his strong hands
a-tremble, "O my father!" Then Ambrose clasped those quivering hands and
kissed those wide and troubled eyes an