Go back therefore, unhindered, Lord of Ivarsdale, and live in peace
henceforth. I do not think it probable that I shall ever call you to my
friendship, but when the time comes that there is need of a brave and honest
man to serve the English people in serving me, I shall send for you. Beware
you that you do not neglect the summons of one whom you have acknowledged to
be your rightful King! Orvar, I want you to restore to him his weapon and see
him on his way in safety. Your life shall answer for any harm that comes to
him."
With one hand, he struck down the murmur that was rising; with the other he
made an urgent gesture of haste, which Orvar seemed to understand. Even while
he was returning to the Lord of Ivarsdale his sword, he seized him by the arm
and hurried him down the room, the Etheling walking like a man in a dream.
From the dusk of the rafters, the girl who loved him stretched out her hands
to him in tender fare-well, but there was no more of anguish in the gesture.
Gazing after him, the tears rose slowly to her eyes and rolled slowly down her
cheeks, but on her mouth was a little smile whose wondering joy mounted to
exaltation.
No need was there for her to hide either tear or smile, for no one of the
women about her was so much as conscious of her existence. The murmur below
was growing, despite the King's restraining hand; and now, crashing through it
in hideous discord, came a burst of jeering laughter from the Jotun.
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