What a scattering of the
beads if the cord should be cut!
Under the elms of the east bank, the daughter of Frode stood and watched the
boats set out; and the hands that hung at her side opened and shut as though
they were gasping for breath. For a moment she tortured herself with the
thought that she knew not which side to pray for, since the victory of either
would mean her beloved's undoing; then she forgot Sebert's future in her own
present. Turning, she found herself facing a wall of stalwart bodies, a sea of
coarse faces, and discovered, with a sudden tightening of her muscles, that
all the eyes which were not following the boat were centred curiously upon
herself.
Before she could take a step, the nearest warrior thrust out a hand and caught
her by her black locks. "Stop a little, my Bold One," he said gruffly. "Now
that you have a moment to spare from the high-born folk, it is the wish of us
churls to hear some of your news."
A score of heavy voices seconded the demand, and the wall gradually curved
into a circle around her. They were good-natured enough,--even the grasp on
her hair was roughly playful,--but her heart seemed to stop in her as a
swimmer's might the first instant he lost sight of land and beheld only
towering billows looming around him. She darted one swift glance at her knife,
and another at an old willow-tree that overhung the bank, some thirty yards
away.
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