“Sir Benedict!” cried Beltane, “methought thee asleep:  what do ye so far from camp and bed?”

“I fish, lad, I fish—­I ply a tentative angle.  Nay—­save thy breath, I have caught me nothing yet, save thoughts.  Thoughts do flock a many, but as to fish—­they do but sniff my bait and flirt it with their wanton tails, plague take ’em!  But what o’ fish?  ’Tis not for fish alone that man fisheth, for fishing begetteth thought and thought, dreams—­and to dream is oft-times sweet!”

“But—­Benedict, what of the Abbess?”

“The Abbess?  Ha, the Abbess, Beltane!  Sweet soul, she sleepeth.  At noon each day needs must she sleep since even she is mortal and mortals must sleep now and then.  The Abbess?  Come sit ye, lad, what time I tickle the noses of these pestilent fish.  Sit ye here beside me and tell me, how think ye of this noble and most sweet lady?”

“That, for thy truancy, she will incontinent mix thee another sleeping draught, Benedict.”

“Ha—­then I’ll never drink it!” quoth Sir Benedict, settling his shoulder against Beltane and frowning at his line.  “Am I a babe, forsooth, to be dosed to slumber?  Ha, by the foul fiend his black dam, ne’er will I drink it, lad!”

“Then will she smile on thee, sad-eyed, and set it to thy lip, and woo thee soft-voiced, so shalt thou swallow it every drop—­”

“Not so—­dear blood of all the saints!  Must I be mewed up within an accursed bed on such a day and all by reason of a small axe-stroke?  Malediction, no!”

“She is wondrous gentle with the sick, Benedict—­”

“She is a very woman, Beltane, and therefore gentle, a noble lady sweet of soul and body!  To die for such were joyful privilege, methinks, aye, verily!” and Sir Benedict, forgetful of his line, drooped his head and sighed.

“And thou didst know her well—­long years agone, Benedict?”

“Aye, long—­years—­agone!”

“Very well, Benedict?”

“Very well.”

“She was ‘Yolande’ then, Benedict?”

“Aye,” quoth Sir Benedict, lifting his head with a start and looking at Beltane askance, “and to-day she is the lady Abbess Veronica!”

“That shall surely dose thee again and—­”

“Ha! bones and body o’ me, not so!  For here sit I, and here angle I, fish or no fish, thunder o’ God, yes!  Aye, verily, here will I sit till I have caught me a fish, or weary and go o’ my own free will—­by Beelzebub I vow, by Bel and the Dragon I swear it!  And furthermore—­”

Sir Benedict paused, tilted his head and glancing up, beheld the lady Abbess within a yard of them.  Gracious she stood in her long white habit and shook her stately head in grave rebuke, but beholding his abashed look and how the rod sagged in his loosened hold, her lips parted of a sudden and her teeth gleamed in a smile wondrous young and pleasant to see.

“O Benedict!” said she, “O child most disobedient!  O sir knight!  Is this thy chivalry, noble lord—­to steal away for that a poor soul must needs sleep, being, alas! so very mortal?”