"
Proudly as became an odal-woman, she followed the page when he came at last to
call her to the royal presence. The great stone hall in which the King awaited
the arrival of his Norman bride was the same room in which he had feasted the
night before, but tables and dishes now were gone, gold-weighted tapestries
hung once more over the door by which Eric of Norway had made his entrance,
and a rich-hued rug from an Eastern loom lay over the spot where she had seen
the axe rise and fall. Crossing the threshold, the commonplaceness of it all
clashed so discordantly with the scene in her memory that for an instant she
grew faint and clung to the curtains between which she was passing. That death
should leave so little trace, that the spot which one night was occupied by a
headsman, the next, should hold a bride, made her fancy reel with horror even
while she pulled herself together sternly.
"This is life as in truth it is," she said. "It is well that I understand at
last how terrible everything really is, and how little anything matters."
Forcing herself to tread the rug with steady step, she came where the King
stood by an open window. He was as changed as the room, though in honor of his
bride he wore again state robes of silk and cloth-of-gold, for the fire of the
Northern lights was gone out of his face, leaving it dull and lustreless.
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