tattered gown, bareheaded and bare of foot, whose eyes were bright and
quick, despite the snow of hair and beard, and in whose gentle face and
humble mien was yet a high and noble look at odds with his lowly guise
and tattered vesture; at sight of whom the grim-faced stranger, of a
sudden, bowed his grizzled head and sank upon his knee.

"Lord!" he said, and kissed the hermit's long, coarse robe. Whereon the
hermit bent and touched him with a gentle hand.

"_Benedicite_, my son!" said he. "Go you, and leave us together a
while."

Forthwith the stranger rose from his knee and went out into the glory
of the morning. Then the hermit came to Beltane and set his two hands
upon his mighty shoulders and spake to him very gently, on this wise:

"Thou knowest, my Beltane, how all thy days I have taught thee to love
all fair, and sweet, and noble things, for they are of God. 'Twere a
fair thought, now, to live out thy life here, within these calm, leafy
solitudes--but better death by the sword for some high, unselfish
purpose, than to live out a life of ease, safe and cloistered all thy
days. To live for thine own ends--'tis human; to die for some great
cause, for liberty, or for another's good--that, my son, were God-like.
And there was a Man of Sorrows Whose word was this, that He came
'not to bring peace on this earth, but a sword.' For good cannot
outface evil but strife must needs follow. Behold now here another
sword, my Beltane; keep it henceforth so long as thou keep honour." So
saying, Ambrose the Hermit took from beneath his habit that for which
Beltane had yearned, that same great blade whereon whose steel was
graven the legend: