Randalin did not see when he passed her, for her eyes were on the King as he
stood looking after his foster-brother.
"Ah, God, what a terrible world hast Thou made!" she murmured, as she put up
her hands to ease the swelling agony in her throat. "No longer will I try to
live in it. I will go to the Sisters and remain with them always."
Through the doors opening before the Jotun there came in a sudden buzz of
laughing voices, while a breeze brought through the window a ringing of bells
and a clarioning of approaching horns. Upon the girl in the shadow and the
King on the dais, the sounds fell like the dissolving of a spell. She ran
swiftly to the little door behind the tapestry and let herself out unseen,
unheard. The King mounted the throne he had won and sat there in regal state,
facing the throng of splendid courtiers trooping in to give him their wedding
greetings.
Chapter XXXII
In Time's Morning
He wins who woos.
Ha'vama'l.
The hot glare of a July sun was on the stones of the Watling Street and July
winds were driving hosts of battling dust-clouds along the highway, but in the
herb garden of Saint Mildred's cool shadows lay over the dew-beaded grass and
all was restfulness and peace. The voice of the girl who was following Sister
Wynfreda from mint clump to parsley bed, from fennel to rue, was not much
louder than the droning of the bees in the lavender.
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