the trees nor heard the merry chatter of the brook. But later, upon his
bed he lay awake full long and must needs remember yet another Helen,
with the same wondrous hair and eyes of mystery, for whose sake men had
died and a noble city burned; and, hereupon, his heart grew strangely
heavy and cold with an unknown dread.

Days came and went, and labouring at the forge or lying out in the
sunshine gazing wistfully beyond the swaying tree-tops, Beltane would
oft start and turn his head, fancying the rustle of her garments in
his ears, or her voice calling to him from some flowery thicket; and
the wind in the trees whispered "Helen!" and the brook sang of Helen,
and Helen was in his thoughts continually.

Thus my Beltane forgot his loves the flowers, and sang no more the
wonders of the forest-lands.

And oft-times the Duchess, seated in state within her great hall of
Mortain looking down upon her knights and nobles, would sigh, for none
was there so noble of form nor so comely as Beltane the Smith. Hereupon
her white brow would grow troubled and, turning from them all, she
would gaze with deep, unfathomable eyes, away across the valley to
where, amid the mystery of the trees, Beltane had his lonely dwelling.

Wherefore it was, that, looking up one evening from where he sat busied
with brush and colours upon a border of wondrous design, Beltane beheld
her of whom he was dreaming; and she, standing tall and fair before
him, saw that in his look the which set her heart a-fluttering at her
white breast most strangely; yet, fearing she should betray aught of
it, she laughed gaily and mocked him, as is the way of women, saying: