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--"
"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!"
So, perforce, came old Godric to fall upon his knee before Beltane, to take his hand and swear the oath of fealty.
"Lord Beltane," said he, "son art thou of a mighty Duke; God send Mortain find in thee such another!"
Thereafter Godric rose and pointed up to the zenith.
"Behold, my lady," said he, "it groweth to noon and there is danger hereabouts--more danger e'en than I had dreamed. Let us therefore haste over into Mortain--to thy Manor of Blaen."
"But Godric, see you not my lord is faint of his wound, and Blaen is far, methinks."
"Not so, lady, 'tis scarce six hours' journey to the north, nay, I do know of lonely bridle-paths that shall bring us sooner."
"To Blaen?" mused the Duchess. "Winfrida is there--and yet--and yet-- aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my Beltane, and there shalt thou--wed with me--an it be so thy pleasure in sooth, my lord."
So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.
Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.
"O loved Mortain!" she sighed, "O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and flowers. 'Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful, who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet Mortain!"
By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset. And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.