Between her entreaties for mercy, the little maid was shrieking with
pain; now, at sight of Randalin, she redoubled her struggles so that the belt
by which her mistress grasped her burst and left her free to dart forward and
fling herself behind the Danish girl.
"Help me, help me!" she gasped; as Elfgiva swooped upon both of them, her
streaming hair taking on a resemblance to bristling fur, her eyes showing more
of opal's fire than of heaven's blue.
"Come not betwixt, or I will treat you in a like manner," the mistress panted.
"Do you understand the evil she has wrought? She has broken the wing off my
gold fly, besides tearing the hair half out of my head. It is not to be borne
with!"
But the Valkyria's fear of Elfgiva's tongue did not extend to Elfgiva's hands.
Catching the dimpled wrists, she held them off with perfect coolness, as she
said soothingly, "Now you tire yourself much, lady; and you will tire yourself
more if you consent to the entertainment I came hither to propose." She
laughed, a little excitedly, as a thought struck her. "It may even be that you
will not blame her for this, but rather take it as a sign that my advice is
good."
To say "sign" to Elfgiva was something like saying "cream" to a cat. Gradually
she ceased trying to free her hands, to gaze at her captor. "What do you mean
by that? Or have you any meaning except only trying for an excuse to get this
hussy off from punishment?"
"No, in truth, for I thought of it before I knew that trouble had happened to
her," Randalin answered; and now she knew that it was safe to release the
wrists.
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