Gorgeously attired pages, hardly more warlike
than the women, made a blooming hedge around them, while a sufficiently strong
guard of men-at-arms protected them from actual harm, but from impudent
comment and ribald jest there was no defence. Their hoods were pulled down as
before a storm, their mantles drawn up above their chins; and all but two of
them appeared to be trying to shrink into their gilded saddles.
The two who rode at their head, however, looked to be of a different mettle.
Indeed, in the quality of her courage, each appeared to differ from the other,
though muffling folds blotted out anything like individuality. The shorter of
the two, while she rode with gracefully drooping head, had left her face
practically uncovered, seemingly unconscious of the half slighting, half
pitying admiration elicited by its pathetic beauty. The other, who showed no
more than the tip of her nose, held her head bravely erect, while, even
through her wrappings, the straightness of her back breathed haughtiness.
Yet it was not to the pensive fair one that a timid companion appealed for
comfort, when a temporary damming of the stream pressed those who led, back
upon those who followed. She stretched out an en-treating hand toward the girl
with the haughtily carried head.
"Randalin! What will he do--the King--when he finds that we have fooled Ulf
Jarl, and come hither against his command?"
The Danish girl laughed recklessly.
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