“My father, I tell thee these woods be full of love and her.  She looketh at me from the flowers and stealeth to me in their fragrance; the very brooks do babble of her beauty; each leaf doth find a little voice to whisper of her, and everywhere is love and love and love—­so needs must I away.”

“And think you so to escape this love, my Beltane, and the pain of it?”

“Nay my father, that were thing impossible for it doth fill the universe, so must I needs remember it with every breath I draw, but in the griefs and sorrows of others I may, perchance, learn to bear mine own, silent and patiently, as a man should.”

Then Ambrose sighed, and beckoning Beltane to his knee, laid his hands upon his shoulders and looked deep within his eyes.

“Beltane my son,” said he, “I have known thee from thy youth up and well do I know thou canst not lie, for thy heart is pure as yet and uncorrupt.  But now is the thing I feared come upon thee—­ah, Beltane, hast thou forgot all I have told thee of women and the ways of women, how that their white bodies are filled with all manner of wantonness, their hands strong in lures and enticements?  A woman in her beauty is a fair thing to the eyes of a man, yet I tell thee Beltane, they be snares of the devil, setting father ’gainst son and—­brother ’gainst brother, whereby come unnatural murders and bloody wars.”

“And yet, needs must I love her still, my father!”

“Aye, ’tis so,” sighed Ambrose, “’tis ever so, and as for thee, well do I know the blood within thee for a hot, wild blood—­and thou art young, and so it is I fear for thee.”

But, looking up, Beltane shook his head and answered: 

“Holy father, thou art wise and wondrous learned in the reading of books and in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, yet methinks this love is a thing no book can teach thee, a truth a man must needs find out for himself.”  “And think you I know nought of love, Beltane, the pain and joy of it—­and the shame?  Thou seest me a poor old man and feeble, bent with years and suffering, one who but waiteth for the time when my grievous sin shall be atoned for and God, in His sweet clemency, shall ease me of this burden of life.  Yet do I tell thee there was a time when this frail body was strong and tall, well-nigh, as thine own, when this white hair was thick and black, and these dim eyes bold and fearless even as thine.”

“Ah, Beltane, well do I know women and the ways of women!  Come, sit you beside me and, because thou art fain to go into the world and play thy man’s part, so now will I tell thee that the which I had thought to bear with me to the grave.”

Then Ambrose the Hermit, leaning his head upon his hand, began to speak on this wise: