"When doth thy watch end, Giles?"
"It ended an hour agone, but to what end? Being a lover I sleep little and pine much, and this is a fair good place and solitary, so will I pine awhile and likewise mope and languish, alack!"
So presently, as Beltane descended the stair, he heard the archer break forth again in doleful song.
Across the wide market-square went Beltane, with brow o'ercast and head low-bowed until he came to one of the many doors of the great minster; there paused he to remove bascinet and mail-coif, and thus bareheaded, entered the cathedral's echoing dimness. The new-risen sun made a glory of the great east window, and with his eyes uplifted to this many-coloured glory, Beltane, soft-treading, crossed dim aisle and whispering transept; but, as he mounted the broad steps of the sanctuary he paused with breath in check, for he heard a sound--a soft sound like the flutter of wings or the rustle of silken draperies. Now as he stood thus, his broad, mail-clad shoulders and golden hair bathed in the refulgence of the great window, it seemed to him that from somewhere near there breathed a sigh, tremulous and very soft, and thereafter was the quick, light tread of feet, and silence.
A while stood Beltane scarce breathing, then, slow and reverent, he approached the high altar; and ever as he went was a fragrance, wonder-sweet, that grew stronger and stronger until he was come behind the high altar where was his mother's grave. And lo! upon that long, white stone lay flowers a-bloom, roses and lilies whose dewy loveliness filled the place with their pure and fragrant sweetness. So looked he round about and upon these flowers with grateful wonder, and sinking to his knees, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer.
But presently, as he knelt thus, he was roused by the clank of steel and a shuffling step, wherefore he arose and crossing to the shadows of the choir, sat him down within the deeper gloom to wait until his disturber should be gone. Slowly these halting steps advanced, feet that stumbled oft; near they came and nearer, until Beltane perceived a tall figure whose armour gleamed dully and whose shoulders were bowed like one that is feeble or very weary.
"Yolande!" said a voice, a hoarse voice but very tender, "Yolande, beloved!" And on the word the voice broke and ended upon a great sob, swift followed by another and yet another, the fierce sobbing of a man.
Then Beltane clenched his hands and rose up, for behold! this man was Sir Benedict. But now, and very suddenly, Sir Benedict was upon his knees, and bent and kissed that white, smooth stone whereon as yet was no inscription.