ss of her hair was equally unconnected with Northern dreams of
beautiful maidens. "Dark-haired women, like slaves, black and bad," was
the proverb of the Danish camps. Some fair-tressed ancestor back in the
past must have qualified his blood from the veins of an Irish captive;
in no other way could one account for those locks, and for her eyes that
were of the grayish blue of iris petals.

The eyes were a little staring this morning, as though still stretched
wide with the horror of the things they had looked upon; and all the
glowing red blood had ebbed away from the brown cheeks.

She said in a low voice, "My father... Fridtjof..." then stopped to draw
a long hard breath through her set teeth.

For the moment Sister Wynfreda was not a nun but a woman,--a woman
with a great yearning tenderness that might have been a beautiful
mother-love. She ran to the girl and caught her tremblingly by the
hands, feeling up her arms to her shoulders and about her face, as if to
make sure that she was really unharmed.

"Praise the Lord that you are delivered whole to me!" she breathed.
"Gram told us--that they had taken you."

Gazing at her out of horror-filled eyes, Randalin stood quite still in
her embrace. Her story came from her in jerks, and each fragment seemed
to leave her breathless, though she spoke slowly.

"I broke away," she said. "They stood around me in a ring. Norman
Leofwinesson said he would carry me before a priest and marry me, so
that Avalcomb might be his lawfully, whichever king got the victory. I
said by no means would I wed him; sooner would I slay him. All thought
that a great jest and laughed. While they were shouting I slipped
between them and got up the stairs into a chamber, where I bolted the
door and would not open to them, though they pounded their fists sore
and cursed at me. After a while the pounding became an exertion to them,
and one began to talk about the mead that was waiting below. And after
that they whispered together for a space. At last they began to laugh
and jeer, and called to me that they would go down and drink my wedding
toast before they broke in the door and fetched me; and then they betook
themselves to feasting."

Sister Wynfreda bent her head to murmur a prayer: "God forgive me if I
have lacked charity in my judgment on the Pagans! If they who have seen
the light can do such deeds, what can be expected of those who yet labor
under the curse of darkness?"

"I do not under