How Beltane Dreamed In The Wild-Wood

Now in a while, he started to feel a hand among his hair, and the hand was wondrous light and very gentle; wherefore, wondering, he raised his head, but behold, the sun was gone and the shadows deepening to night. Yet even so, he stared and thrilled 'twixt wonder and fear to see Sir Fidelis bending over him.

"Fidelis!" he murmured, "and is it thee in truth,--or do I dream?"

"Dear my lord, 'tis I indeed. How long hast lain thus? I did but now wake from my swoon. Is it thy hurt?--suffer me to look."

"Nay, 'tis of none account, but I did dream thee--dead--Fidelis!"

"Ah, messire, thy hurt bleedeth apace--the steel hath gone deep! Sit you thus, thy back against the tree--so. Within my wallet I have a salve--wait you here." So, whiles Beltane stared dreamily upon the twilit river, Sir Fidelis hasted up the bank and was back again, the wallet by his side, whence he took a phial and goblet and mixed therein a draught which dreamy Beltane perforce must swallow, and thereafter the dreamy languor fell from him, what time Sir Fidelis fell to bathing and bandaging the ugly gash that showed beneath his knee. Now as he watched these busy, skilful fingers he knew a sudden, uneasy qualm, and forthwith spake his thought aloud: "Thy hands are wondrous--small and slender, Sir Fidelis!"

"Belike, messire, they shall grow bigger some day."

"Yet are they wondrous fair--and soft--and white, Fidelis!"