"To-day," sighed Beltane, frowning, "to-day she spurneth me! Kneeling at her feet e'en as I was she shrank away as I had leprous been!"
"Aye, lad, and then--didst woo as well as kneel to her, didst clasp her to thee, lift her proud head that needs must she give to thine her eyes--she is in sooth very woman--did you this, my Beltane?"
"Ah, dear Benedict, she that I love was not wont to shrink from me thus! 'Tis true I am unworthy--and yet, she spurned me--so is her love dead, methinks!"
"So art thou but youth, and foolish youth, and belike, foolish, hungry youth--so come, let us break our fast together."
"Not I, Benedict, for if love be dead, no mind have I to food."
"O lad--lad!" sighed Sir Benedict, "would I had one as fair and noble to love me in such sort!" And turning, he gazed sad-eyed towards Belsaye's great minster, and sighing, went his way.
And presently, as Beltane leaned thus, grieving and alone, cometh Giles that way, who, pausing beside him, peered down where the besiegers, but ill-sheltered by battered mantlet and palisades, strove amain to bring up one of their rams, since the causeway across the moat was well-nigh complete.
"Holy saints!" quoth Giles, "the rogues grow bold and venturesome, methinks!" So saying, he strung his powerful bow, and laying arrows to his hand fell to drawing and loosing amain. So swift shot he and with aim so true, that in a while the enemy gave over their attempt and betook them to cover what time their archers and cross-bowmen plied the wall with a storm of shafts and bolts.
Upon this Giles, laying by his bow, seated himself in corner well screened from harm, beckoning Beltane to do the like, since the enemy's missiles whizzed and whistled perilously near. But sighing, Beltane closed his vizor and heedless of flying bolt and arrow strode to the narrow stair that led up to the gate-tower and being come there sat him down beside the great mangonel. But lo! very soon Giles was there also and even as Beltane sighed, so sighed Giles.
"Heigho--a sorry world, brother!" quoth he, "a sorry world!" and forthwith fell to his archery, yet now, though his aim was true as ever, he sighed and murmured plaintively 'twixt every shot: "Alack, a sorry world!" So deep and oft were his sighs, so plaintive his groans, that Beltane, though plunged in bitter thought, must needs at length take heed of him.
"Giles," quoth he, looking up, "a heaven's name, what aileth thee, man?"
"'Tis my eyes, lord."
"Thine eyes are well enough, Giles, and see wondrous well to judge by thy shooting."