their barley beer, to stand
in little groups, muttering in one another's ears. An old bowman took
his weapon down from the wall and set silently to work to restring it.

In the quiet, the tap of the man's feet upon the steps was audible long
before he reached the waiting roomful. Every eye fastened itself upon
the curtained doorway.

Swinging back, the arras disclosed a face full of amazement. "Lord," the
man said, "it is Danes! None know how many or how they came there. And
their chief has sent you a messenger."

"Danes!" For the first time in the history of Ivarsdale, the word was
spoken with an accent of relief.

The page turned from the fire with a cry of bitter rejoicing: "If it is
Canute, I will go to him!"

In the revulsion of his feelings, the Etheling laughed outright. "Since
it is not Edmund, I care not if it be the Evil One himself; and it
cannot be he, for Canute is in Mercia." He rose and faced them cheerily.
"Lay aside your uneasiness, friends; it is likely only such another
band as we put to flight last month, that hopes to surprise us into some
weakness. Let the signal fires blaze to warn the churls, while we amuse
ourselves with the messenger. To-morrow we will chase them so far over
the hills that they will never find their way back again."

Beckoning to Morcard, he began to consult him concerning the most
effective arrangement of the sentinels; and there was a muffled clatter
of weapons as men went to and fro with hasty steps. At a word from the
steward, the women went softly from the room and up the winding stairs
to their quarters, the rustling of their dresses coming back with
ghostly stealthiness.

When all was ready the messenger was brought in between guards. Wrapped
in dirty sheepskins, he swaggered to the centre of the room, and the
light that fell on his tanned face showed a scar running the full length
of his cheek. With his first glance, the Lord of Ivarsdale uttered an
exclamation.

"Now, by Saint Mary, I have seen you before, fellow! Were you not the
leader of the band we drove away last month?"

The Scar-Cheek laughed impudently. "I will not conceal it; yet I did not
know that my beauty was so showy. The chief was wise to send Brown-Cloak
to do the spying."

"Brown-Cloak! The beggar?" was cried all down the hall.

But the messenger's eyes had fallen on the black-haired boy, who stood
staring at him from the fireside. His wide mouth opened in astonishment.
"The King's ward?