Then he rode
over my father's body into the castle." She stopped uncertainly to glance at
her listener.
The brightness of his eyes startled her, though they were not turned in her
direction. They were blazing down into the cup that he was turning and
pinching between his fingers. He said, half as though to himself: "Vermin!
What would I give if I might take them in my teeth and shake them like the
filth-fed rats they are! Ten hundred such do not reach the value of one finger
of a warrior like Frode! I knew that the fetters of Thorkel's craftiness would
pinch me some-where--" He broke off and flung the goblet from him, burying his
hands in his yellow hair. "How I hate them!" he breathed between his teeth.
"How I hate their smooth-tongued Jarl, and all their treacherous hides! Oh,
for the day when I no longer need their aid; when I am free to strike!" The
joy of his face was a terrible thing to hold in one's memory.
Perhaps he saw its awfulness reflected in the wide blue eyes, for he checked
himself abruptly. When he spoke again, he had himself well in hand.
"I act like a fool to let you hear my ravings. Poor cub! it is likely you will
call me a worse name when you find out how I am hindered! Yet go on and tell
me the rest. How comes it that you escaped unharmed?"
With Gram's experience to follow, it was not hard to frame that answer.
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