The blood was
ebbing from Elfgiva's face, and it could be seen that she was forced to keep
moistening her lips with her tongue. Nearer--now they were in front of the
entrance-- All at once, the lady thrust a spur into her horse as he was
slackening his pace in obedience to her tightened rein.
"To the goldsmiths' first," she ordered. "On our way back--" Her words were
lost on the frosty wind.
The master of the first booth in the row of wretched little stalls was humped
with steaming breath over a brazier of glowing coals. He leaped to greet such
splendid ladies with a profusion of salaams and a mouthful of pretty speeches
that brought some of the color back to Elfgiva's cheeks.
"Do not have me in contempt, Tata," she admonished with a laugh of some
unsteadiness. "It is not certain that I am going to belie you to the guards,
or that I have lost faith in your sign. Let me sharpen my weapon for some
space among these precious things, and it may be that I shall go hence panting
for the field."
"Ah, gracious lady, you must needs buy my whole stock," the merchant cried
with ingratiating smiles, "for I can never endure to sell to another what I
have once seen near your face."
Elfgiva laughed beautifully then, and the Danish girl took a fresh grip upon
her patience. Certainly the jewelled bugs, the golden snakes, the strands of
amber and jet and pearl, seemed to act as tonics upon the Northampton lady.
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