So rode they through bosky dell and dingle, until the sun, having climbed the meridian, sank slowly westwards; and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:
"Think you we are safe at last, my lord?"
"Fidelis," saith Beltane, "Yest're'en did'st thou name me selfish, to-day, a babe, and, moreover, by thy disobedience hast made my schemes of no avail--thus am I wroth with thee."
"Yet doth the sun shine, my lord," said Sir Fidelis, small of voice.
"Ha--think you my anger so light a thing, forsooth?"
"By thy evil conduct are we fugitives in the wilderness!"
"Yet is it a wondrous fair place, messire, and we unharmed--which is well, and we are--together, which is--also well."
"And with but one beast to bear us twain!"
"Yet he beareth us strong and nobly, messire!"
"Fidelis, I would I ne'er had seen thee."
"Thou dost not see me--now, lord--content you, therefore," saith Fidelis softly, whereat Beltane must needs twist in the saddle, yet saw no more than a mailed arm and shoulder.
"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the middle of any other man than I."
"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine for solitude?"
"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"
"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be full long a-growing old--"
"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do raven--"
"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"
"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou, forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore here?"
"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."
"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou wilt!"
Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he:
"Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that mindeth me of bitter days."
"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."
Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis, head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved to wistful smile.