"
Still kneeling for the white fingers to pat and pull at her head-dress,
Randalin looked up wonderingly. "Is it your belief that King Canute will not
carry out his intention, lady, that you say 'when the peace is over'? I know
for certain that it is expected to last forever."
"Forever?" The lady's voice was an echo of sweet mockery. "Take half a kingdom
when a whole lies almost within his reach? Now I will not deny that the King
is sometimes boyish of mood, but rarely that foolish." She seemed to toss the
idea from her with the leaves she shook from her robe as she rose and moved
back a step to see the wreath from a new point. "Turn your head this way,
child. Yes, there is still one thing wanting on this side; berries if I have
them, or grasses if I have not,--here are more berries! Oh, yes, I declare
that I expect to be very merry through your spirits! You shall have the rule
over my pages and devise games and junketings without end."
Humming gayly, she began to weave in the bright berries; and it struck
Randalin that here was a good opportunity to make the plea she had in her
mind. She said gravely, "I shall be thankful if you are able to manage it,
lady, so that I may go back with you."
Pausing in her work, Elfgiva looked down in surprise. "Now what should
prevent?" she asked.
The girl colored a little as she answered: "It was in the King's mind once,
lady, that a good way to dispose of Randalin, Frode's daughter, would be to
marry her to the son of Lodbrok.
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