chin, from the
clean-cut fine-tempered mouth to the clear true eyes. One by one she
noted them, and shade by shade her strained look of fear relaxed.
Slowly she forgot her dread; and forgetting, her mind wandered to other
things,--to memories of her father, and of the happy evenings by the
fire when she had nestled safe in his arms,--safe and sheltered and
beloved. With eyes still turned up toward his face, her lids drooped and
fell; and her head sank upon his breast and lay there, in the peace of
perfect faith.

Chapter IX. The Young Lord of Ivarsdale

Brand is kindled from brand
Till it is burnt out;
Fire is kindled from fire;
A man gets knowledge By talk with a man,
But becomes wilful by self-conceit.
Ha'vama'l.

Tap--tap, tap--tap, like dripping water dripping slowly. Drop by drop
the sound filtered through the thick wrappings of Randalin's slumber,
till she knew it for the beat of horses' hoofs, and stirred and opened
her eyes.

The silver shimmer of starlight falling through purple deeps had given
way to the ruddy glare of a camp fire, and she was lying just beyond its
heat, cloak-wrapped, on a bed of leaves. Above her, interlacing beech
boughs made an arching roof, under which the shadows clustered as
swallows under eaves. Before her, green tree-lanes opened out like
corridors. As far as the fireglow could reach, they were flooded with
golden light; where it stopped, they were closed across by darkness
as by gray-black doors. Within the sylvan alcove, some four-score
battle-stained warriors were taking their ease after a hard day. Some of
them were engaged in the ghastly business of bandaging wounds, and some
were already asleep; but the greater number lounged in the firelight,
drinking and feasting on strips of venison which serfs had cooked in the
flames.

Through the fog of her drowsiness Randalin recognized them slowly.
Yonder was the Englishman who had found her in the bushes. Beyond him,
across the fire, the soldiers who had lifted her up to the horse-man.
Here, just in front of her, was the leader himself. Her gaze settled
upon him dreamily.

He had finished his meal, if meal it could be called, and was making
some attempt at a toilet. While one serf knelt beside him, scrubbing
at his muddy riding-boots with a wisp of wet grass, another held a
gilt shield up for a mirror, and before this the Etheling was carefully
parting his shining hair. His captive's eyes were no