Without knowing how or
why he knew it, he knew that she had never squandered her love on the Jotun,
neither had she come here to meet any Dane of the host. He knew her for his
dream-love, sweet and true and fine; and he stepped out of the shadow and
knelt before her, raising the hem of her cloak to his lips.
"Most gentle lady, will you give a beggar alms?" he said with tender
lightness.
The sound of his voice was like a stone cast into still water. The rapt peace
of her look was broken into an eddy of conflicting emotions. Amazement was
there and a swift joy, which gave way almost before it could be named to
something approaching dread, and that in turn yielded place to wide-eyed
wonder. With her hands clasped tightly over her breast, she stood looking down
at him.
"My lord?" she faltered.
As one who spreads out his store, he held out his palms toward her. "Randalin,
I have sought you to add to the payment of my debt the one thing that in my
blindness I held back,--I have come to add my true love to the rest I lay
before you."
As a flower toward the sun, she seemed to sway toward him, then drew back, her
sweet mouth trembling softly. "I--I want not your pity," she said brokenly.
Still kneeling before her, he possessed himself of her hands and drew them
down to his lips.
"Is it thus, on his knee, that one offers pity?" he said.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315