"Now it is time for me to
remember that there is one thing I have not been altogether truthful about,
through forgetting,--about the Danes we have seen. I recall now that last
winter Teboen often saw one when she was gathering herbs in the wood. She
spoke with him of the magic things she brews to make Elfgiva sleep, and he
gave her herbs which she thought so useful that she has been fretful because
she has not seen him since--"
Unconsciously, the young soldier's hands tightened on her shoulders until she
winced. "You know with certainty that she has never seen him since?" he
demanded,--" that Danes had naught to do with the last token Elfgiva sent
through the scullion? You can swear to it?"
"Certainly, if they speak the truth, I know it," she answered wonderingly.
"How should Danes--why, Sebert, what ails you?"
For he had let go her shoulders as abruptly as he had seized them, and walked
away to the window that looked out upon the rain-washed garden. After a
moment's hesitation, she stole after him. "Sebert, my love, what is it?
Trouble is in your mind, there is little use to deny it. Dearwyn says it
concerns me, but I know that it is no less than the King. Dear one, it seems
strange that you cannot disclose your mind to me as well as to--Fridtjof."
It was the first time, in their brief meetings together, that she had spoken
that name, and his smile answered.
Pages:
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328