But the gentle trees ceased mourning over their own coming sorrow in
wonder at the sight, and bending their heads together, seemed to
whisper one to the other saying:

"He is gone, Beltane the Smith is gone!"



CHAPTER V

WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT


Deep, deep within the green twilight of the woods Ambrose the Hermit
had builded him a hut; had built and framed it of rude stones and
thatched it with grass and mosses. And from the door of the hut he had
formed likewise a path strewn thick with jagged stones and sharp
flints, a cruel track, the which, winding away through the green, led
to where upon a gentle eminence stood a wooden cross most artfully
wrought and carven by the hermit's skilled and loving fingers.

Morning and evening, winter and summer it was his custom ever to tread
this painful way, wetting the stones with the blood of his atonement.

Now upon a certain rosy dawn, ere yet the sun was up, Beltane standing
amid the leaves, saw the hermit issue forth of the hut and, with bowed
head and folded hands, set out upon his appointed way. The cruel stones
grew red beneath his feet yet he faltered not nor stayed until, being
come to the cross, he kneeled there and, with gaunt arms upraised,