A darkness, full of a great quietude, a grateful stillness, slumberous and restful; yet, little by little, upon this all-pervading silence, a sound crept, soft, but distressful to one who fain would sleep; a sound that grew, a sharp noise and querulous. And now, in the blackness, a glimmer, a furtive gleam, a faint glow that grew brighter and yet more bright, hurtful to eyes long used to deeps of gloom; but, with the noise, ever this light grew--from gleam to glow and from glow to dazzling glare; and so, at last, Beltane opened unwilling eyes--eyes that blinked and smarted as they beheld a leaping flame where a fire of twigs crackled merrily against a purple void beyond; beholding all of which, Beltane forthwith shut his eyes again. But those soft deeps wherein he had found so sweet oblivion, that great and blessed quietude were altogether vanished and beyond him to regain; wherefore Beltane felt himself aggrieved and sorrowed within himself, and so, presently oped his reluctant eyes and fell to watching the play of wanton spark and flame. None the less he knew himself yet aggrieved, also he felt a sudden loneliness, wherefore (as was become his custom of late) he called on one ever heedful and swift to answer his call.
"Fidelis!" he called, "Fidelis!" Yet came there no one, and Beltane wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away. So, troubling not to move, he called again: "Fidelis--art sleeping, my Fidelis?"
Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.
"Master!" he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, "O, master, art awake at last?--dost know Roger--thy man,--dost know thy Roger, lord?"
"Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger," says Beltane, yet aggrieved and querulous, "but I called not thee. Send me Fidelis--where tarries Fidelis?"
"Master, I know not. He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here. Thereafter went he afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according to his word."
Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black Roger's pitiful face with eyes of wonder.
"Why, Roger!" quoth he, "Why, Roger--?"
"Thou hast been very nigh to death, master. A mad-man I found thee, in sooth--foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and magic. Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth--and strove and fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend. So here hast thou lain on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and--"