To all of them Randalin yielded silently,--silently accepting the cup which
was nearest, in order to gain time by sipping its contents. She realized that
only a manner of perfect unconcern could carry her through, yet she felt
herself shaking with excitement.
Rothgar sat up on the great skin with a gesture of some cordiality. "Hail to
you, Fridtjof Frodesson!" he said. "Your escape is a thing that gladdens me. I
did not like the thought of starving you, and I hope your father will overlook
the unfriendliness of it."
The Scar-Cheek, who had been scanning her critically where she stood before
them, drinking, gave a pitying grunt. "By the crooked horn, boy, you must have
had naught but ill luck since the time of Scoerstan! No more meat is on you
than a raven could eat; and the night I was in the Englishman's hall, you had
the appearance of having been under a lash. Your guardian spirit must have
gone astray."
Though she managed to keep her eyes upon her cup, Randalin could not hinder a
wave of burning color from over-running her face. Seeing it, Rothgar held up
his handless left arm for silence.
"You act in a mannerless way, Snorri Gudbrandsson, when you remind a
high-spirited youth that he has been disgraced in his mind. Yet do not let
that prevent your joy, my Bold One. To make up for the injury I have been to
you, I will give you a revenge on the Englishman that shall wipe out
everything you have endured from him.
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