And with the cry, lo! a hurry of feet running swift and light, a rustle of flying garments, and there, flushed and panting, stood the witch—­ the witch Mellent that was the lady Winfrida.  Now, beholding Beltane, her eyes grew wide with swift and sudden fear—­she quailed, and sank to her knees before him; and when Sir Jocelyn, smitten to mute wonder, would have raised her, she brake forth into bitter weeping and crouched away.

“Nay, touch me not my lord, lest thou repent hereafter—­for now do I see that happiness is not for me—­now must I say such words as shall slay thy love for me, so touch me not.”

“Ha, never say so!” cried Sir Jocelyn, “not touch thee? art not mine own beloved Mellent?”

“Nay, I am the lady Winfrida—­”

“Thou—­Winfrida the rich and proud—­in these rags?  Thou, Winfrida the Fair?—­thy raven hair—­”

“O, my hair, my lord? ’twas gold, ’tis black and shall be gold again, but I am that same Winfrida.”

“But—­but I have seen Winfrida betimes in Mortain ere now.”

“Nay, then, didst but look at her, my lord, for thine eyes saw only the noble Helen’s beauty.  Alas! that ever I was born, for that I am that Winfrida who, for ambition’s sake and wicked pride, did a most vile thing—­O my lord Beltane, as thou art strong, be pitiful—­as thou art deeply wronged, be greatly merciful.”

“How—­how—­mean you?” said Beltane, slow-speaking and breathing deep.

“Lord—­’twas I—­O, how may I tell it?  My lord Beltane, upon thy wedding night did I, with traitorous hand, infuse a potent drug within the loving-cup, whereby our lady Duchess fell into a swoon nigh unto death.  And—­while she lay thus, I took from her the marriage-robe—­the gown of blue and silver.  Thereafter came I, with my henchman Ulf the Strong and—­found thee sleeping in the chapel.  So Ulf—­at my command—­smote thee and—­bound thee fast, and, ere the dawn, I brought thee—­to Garthlaxton—­O my lord!”

“Thou—?  It was—­thou?”

“I do confess it, my lord Beltane—­traitor to thee, and base traitor to her—­”

“Why, verily—­here was treachery—­” quoth Beltane speaking slow and soft, “truly here—­methinks—­was treachery—­and wherefore?”

“O my lord, must I—­tell this?”

“I do ask thee.”

Then did Winfrida shrink within herself, and crouched yet further from Sir Jocelyn as though his eyes had hurt her.

“Lord,” she whispered, “I was—­jealous!  Duke Ivo wooed me long ere he loved the Duchess Helen, so was I jealous.  Yet was I proud also, for I would suffer not his love until he had made me wife.  And, upon a day, he, laughing, bade me bring him captive this mighty man that defied his power—­that burned gibbets and wrought such deeds as no other man dared, swearing that, an I did so, he would wed with me forthright.  And I was young, and mad with jealousy and—­in those days—­I knew love not at all.  But O, upon a day, I found