"Helen," said he, "O my 'Helen the Beautiful'--our wars be ended, our time of waiting is done, I thank God! So am I here to claim thee, beloved. Art glad to be in mine arms--glad I am come to--make thee mine own at last, Helen?"
"I had died without thee, Beltane--I would not live without thee now, my Beltane. See, my lord, I--O how may I speak if thus you seal my lips, Beltane? And prithee how may I show thee this gown I wear for thee if thou wilt hold me so--so very close, Beltane?"
And in a while as the moon rose she brought him into that bower he well remembered and bade him admire the beauty of her many flowers, and he, viewing her loveliness alway, praised the flowers exceeding much yet beheld them not at all, wherefore she chid him, and yet chiding, yielded him her scarlet mouth. Thus walked they in the fragrant garden until Genevra found them and sweet-voiced bid them in to sup. But the Duchess took Genevra's slender hands and looked within her shy, sweet eyes.
"Art happy, sweet maid?" she questioned.
"O dear my lady, methinks in all this big world is none more happy than thy grateful Genevra."
"Then haste thee back to thy happiness, dear Genevra, to-morrow we will see thee wed."
And presently came they within a small chamber and here Beltane did off his armour, and here they supped together, though now the lady Helen spake little and ate less, and oft her swift-flushing cheek rebuked the worshipping passion of his eyes; insomuch that presently she arose and going into the great chamber beyond, came back, and kneeling at his feet, showed him a file.
"Beltane," said she, "thou didst, upon a time, tell poor Fidelis wherefore thy shameful fetters yet bound thy wrists--so now will thy wife loose them from thee."
Then, while Beltane, speaking not, watched her downbent head and busy hands, she filed off his fetters one by one, and kissing them, set them aside.
But when she would have risen he prevented her, and with reverent fingers touched the coiled and braided glory of her hair.
"O Helen," he whispered, "loose me down thy hair."
"Nay, dear Beltane--"
"My hands are so big and clumsy--"
"Thy hands are my hands!" and she caught and kissed them.
"Let down for me thy hair, beloved, I pray thee!"
"Forsooth my lord and so I will--but--not yet."
"But the--the hour groweth late, Helen!"
"Nay--indeed--'tis early yet, my lord--nay, as thou wilt, my Beltane, only suffer that I--I leave thee a while, I pray."
"Must I bide here alone, sweet wife?"