With the cold November sunshine a hum of voices was coming
in, now brightened by peals of laughter, again blurred by the thud of falling
quoits. Over the Jotun's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of gorgeous nobles and
fair-haired women scattered in graceful groups about a sunny old garden, green
in the very face of winter, thanks to the protecting shelter of the gray
walls.
Only a glimpse,--for even as he looked, Rothgar caught his cloak and pulled
him ahead. "Yonder door is a better place to look through; already it is open,
and the shadow inside is thick enough to hide us."
Pricked as he was by a dozen spurs, Sebert offered no resistance. In a moment,
they stood just out of reach of the square of light which fell through the
open doorway. Framed in carved stone, the quaint old garden with its gravelled
paths, its weedless turfs and its background of ivy-hung walls, lay before
them like a picture.
In the longest of the oval spaces, a group of maidens and warriors were
gathered to watch a wonderful flower-faced woman play at quoits under the
instruction of a noble tutor. At every one of her graceful blunders her
laughter rang out in fairy music, which was sweetly echoed by her maids; but
the men appeared to see nothing but her beauty as she poised herself lightly
before them like some shining azure bird on tiptoe for flight.
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