therein, for until a man hath loved and joyed and sorrowed with his
fellows, he knoweth nought of life."

"Perchance, my son, this is but the tide of youthful blood that tingles
in thy veins? Or is it that thou hast looked of late within a woman's
eyes?"

Then Beltane kneeled him at the feet of Ambrose and hid his face
betwixt his knees, as he had been wont to do whiles yet a little child.

"Father," he murmured, "thou hast said." Now looking down upon this
golden head, Ambrose sighed and drew the long curls through his fingers
with a wondrous gentleness.

"Tell me of thy love, Beltane," said he.

Forthwith, starting to his feet, Beltane answered:

"'Tis many long and weary months, my father, and yet doth seem but
yesterday. She came to me riding upon a milk-white steed. At first
methought her of the fairy kind thither drawn by my poor singing, yet,
when I looked on her again, I knew her to be woman. And she was fair--
O very fair, my father. I may not tell her beauty for 'twas compounded
of all beauteous things, of the snow of lilies, the breath of flowers,
the gleam of stars on moving waters, the music of streams, the
murmur of wind in trees--I cannot tell thee more but that there is a
flame doth hide within her hair, and for her eyes--O methinks 'tis for
her eyes I do love her most--love her? Aye, my body doth burn and
thrill with love--alas, poor fool, alas it should be so! But, for that
she is proud and of an high estate, for that I am I, a poor worker of