Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came Roger and touched him on the shoulder.
"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."
"Why, then--eat," said Beltane.
Now while they set about building a fire, Beltane went aside and wandering slow and thoughtful, presently came to a broad glade or ride, and stretching himself out 'neath a tree, lay there staring up at the leafy canopy, pondering upon Sir Pertolepe his sins, and the marvellous ways of God. Lying thus, he was aware of the slow, plodding hoof-strokes of a horse drawing near, of the twang of a lute, with a voice sweet and melodious intoning a chant; and the tune was plaintive and the words likewise, being these:-"Alack and woe That love is so Akin to pain! That to my heart The bitter smart Returns again, Alack and woe!"
Glancing up therefore, Beltane presently espied a knight who bestrode a great and goodly war-horse; a youthful knight and debonair, slender and shapely in his bright mail and surcoat of flame-coloured samite. His broad shield hung behind his shoulder, balanced by a long lance whose gay banderol fluttered wanton to the soft-breathing air; above his mail-coif he wore a small bright-polished bascinet, while, at his high-peaked saddle-bow his ponderous war-helm swung, together with broad-bladed battle-axe. Now as he paced along in this right gallant estate, his roving glance, by hap, lighted on Beltane, whereupon, checking his powerful horse, he plucked daintily at the strings of his lute, delicate-fingered, and brake into song anew:-"Ah, woe is me That I should be A lonely wight! That in mankind No joy I find By day or night, Ah, woe is me!"
Thereafter he sighed amain and smote his bosom, and smiling upon Beltane sad-eyed, spake: "Most excellent, tall, and sweet young sir, I, who Love's lorn pilgrim am, do give thee woeful greeting and entreat now the courtesy of thy pity."
"And wherefore pity, sir?" quoth Beltane, sitting up.
"For reason of a lady's silver laughter. A notable reason this; for, mark me, ye lovers, an thy lady flout thee one hour, grieve not--she shall be kind the next; an she scorn thee to-day, despair nothing--she shall love thee to-morrow; but, an she laugh and laugh--ah, then poor lover, Venus pity thee! Then languish hope, and tender heart be rent, for love and laughter can ne'er be kin. Wherefore a woeful wight am I, foredone and all distraught for love. Behold here, the blazon on my shield--lo! a riven heart proper (direfully aflame) upon a field vert. The heart, methinks, is aptly wrought and popped, and the flame in sooth flame-like! Here beneath, behold my motto, 'Ardeo' which signifieth 'I burn.' Other device have I laid by for the nonce, what time my pilgrimage shall be accompt."