Part 31 (1/2)
”Helen!” said he, ”O my Helen, what madness is this? Thou art she I love--doth not thine heart tell thee so?” and fain would he have caught her to him.
”Ah--touch me not!” she cried, and steel flickered in her hand.
”This--to me?” quoth he, and laughed short and bitter, and catching her wrist, shook the dagger from her grasp and set his foot upon it.
”And hath it come to this--'twixt thee and me?” he sighed.
”O,” she panted, ”I have loved thee nor shamed to show thee my love.
Yet because my love is so great, so, methinks, an need be I might hate thee more than any man!” Then, quick-breathing, flushed and trembling, she turned and sped away, leaving Beltane heavy-hearted, and with the dagger gleaming beneath his foot.
CHAPTER XXIII
OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
Beltane, leaning forth of his lattice, stared upon the moon with doleful eyes, heavy with sense of wrong and big with self-pity.
”I have dreamed a wondrous fair dream,” said he within himself, ”but all dreams must end, so is my dream vanished quite and I awake, and being awake, now will I arise and go upon my duty!” Then turned he to his bed that stood beside the window and forthwith began to arm himself; but with every lace he drew, with every strap he buckled, he sighed amain and his self-pity waxed the mightier. He bethought him of his father's sayings anent the love of women, and in his mind condemned them all as fickle and light-minded. And in a while, being armed from head to foot, in glistening coif and hauberk and with sword girt about his middle, he came back to the lattice and leaned him there to stare again upon the moon, to wait until the manor should be wrapped in sleep and to grieve for himself with every breath he drew.
Being thus so profoundly occupied and, moreover, his head being thrust without the window, he heard nought of the tap upon his chamber door nor of the whispered sound of his name. Thus he started to feel a touch upon his arm, and turning, beheld the d.u.c.h.ess.
She wore a simple robe that fell about her body's round loveliness in sweetly revealing folds; her hair, all unbraided, was caught up 'neath a jewelled fillet in careless fas.h.i.+on, but--O surely, surely, never had she looked so fair, so sweet and tender, so soft and desirable as now, the tear-drops yet agleam upon her drooping lashes and her bosom yet heaving with recent grief.
”And--thou art armed, my lord?”
”I ride for Thrasfordham-within-Bourne this night, my lady.”
”But I am come to thee--humbly--craving thy forgiveness, Beltane.”
”Nought have I to forgive thee, lady--save that thou art woman!”
”Thou would'st not have me--a man, messire?”
”'Twould be less hard to leave thee.”
”Thou art--leaving me then, Beltane?”
”Yea, indeed, my lady. The woes of Pentavalon call to me with a thousand tongues: I must away--pray G.o.d I have not tarried too long!”
”But art yet weak of thy wound, Beltane. I pray thee tarry--a little longer. Ah, my lord, let not two lives go empty because of the arts of a false friend, for well do I know that Winfrida, seeing me coming to thee in the garden, kissed thee of set purpose, that, beholding, I might grieve.”
”Is this indeed so, my lady?”
”She did confess it but now.”
”Said she so indeed?”
”Aye, my lord, after I had--pulled her hair--a little. But O, my Beltane, even when I thought thee base, I loved thee! Ah, go not from me, stay but until to-morrow, and then shalt thou wed me for thine own!