"Thou? Ah, not so, beloved. I must tread me this path alone. As for thee--haste, haste and get thee to Mortain and safety, and there wait for me--pray for me, O my love!"
"Beltane--Beltane," she sighed, "dost love me indeed--and yet would send me from thee?"
"Aye," he groaned, "needs must it be so."
"Beltane," she murmured, "Beltane, thou shalt be Duke within the week, despite Black Ivo."
"Duke--I? Of Pentavalon?"
"Of Mortain!" she whispered, "an thou wilt wed me, my lord."
"Nay," stammered Beltane, "nay, outcast am I, my friends very few--to wed thee thus, therefore, were shame--"
"To wed me thus," said she, "should be my joy, and thy joy, and Pentavalon's salvation, mayhap. O, see you not, Beltane? Thou should'st be henceforth my lord, my knight-at-arms to lead my powers 'gainst Duke Ivo, teaching Mortain to cringe no more to a usurper--to free Pentavalon from her sorrows--ah, see you not, Beltane?"
"Helen!" he murmured, "O Helen, poor am I--a beggar--"
"Beltane," she whispered, "an thou wed this lonely maid within the forest, then will I be beggar with thee; but, an thou take to wife the Duchess, then shalt thou be my Duke, lord of me and of Mortain, with her ten thousand lances in thy train."
"Thou would'st give me so much," he sighed at last, "so much, my Helen?"
"Nay," said she, with red lips curved and tender, "for this wide world to me is naught without thee, Beltane. And I do need thy mighty arm--to shelter me, Beltane, since Ivo hath defied me, threatening Mortain with fire and sword. So when he cometh, instead of a woman he shall find a man to withstand him, whose sword is swift and strong to smite and who doeth such deeds as no man ever did; so shalt thou be my love, my lord, my champion. Wilt not refuse me the shelter of thy strength, Beltane?"
Now of a sudden Beltane lifted his head and seized her in his arms and held her close.
Quoth he: "So be it, my Helen. To wife will I take thee so soon as may be, to hold thee ever in love and reverence, to serve thee ever, to live for thee and for thee to die an needs be."
But now strode Godric forward, with hands outstretched in eager protest.
"Lady," he cried, "O dear lady bethink thee, now, bethink thee, thy choice is a perilous choice--"
"Yet is it my choice, Godric."
"But, O, dear my mistress--"
"O my faithful Godric, look now upon lord Beltane, my well-beloved who shall be Duke of Mortain ere the moon change. Salute thy lord, Godric!"