beat hopefully as the jar sounded nearer and nearer. When the
snorting nostrils seemed at the Black One's very flank, at the risk of
her neck she turned her head.

Looking, she understood why a steed had been given her which should
carry her out of Elfgiva's reach, for the horseman who was even now
stretching his gauntleted hand toward her rein was the King himself. No
one followed, and the forest around them was silent as a vault. At last,
he was free to speak his mind.

Under the drag of his hand, the horse came slowly to a halt and stood
panting and trembling in the middle of a little dell. For a while, she
could do no more than cling to the saddle-bow, sick with dizziness.

Still holding her rein, her royal guardian sat regarding her critically.
"Now it seems to me that your boasting is less than before," he said.
"And you were mistaken in supposing that I would have given this animal
to you if I had not known you could ride him." When she made no reply,
he shook the rein impatiently. "Is it still the horse that makes
you heavy in your breathing? Or perhaps you scarcely dare to face my
justice? I warn you that I shall not take it well if you begin to weep."

A spark was drawn out of her by that. With an effort, she raised her
head and shot him a glance from bright angry eyes. "No such intention
have I, Lord King. Certainly I do not fear your justice. Why should I?"

"Since I have little time to spend upon your freaks, I will tell you
why," he said sternly. "Because you have betrayed one of my people for
the sake of an Englishman."

With surprise, her glance wavered. "I did not know you knew that," she
said slowly. But, as he expected her to droop, she bristled instead.
"Nor was it to be expected, Lord King, that you would be the one to
blame me for using craft."

His eyes kindled; if she had stopped there it might have gone hard with
her, but she spoke on swiftly, her head indignantly erect. "If Rothgar
Lodbroksson thinks he should have indemnity because he was too stupid
to see through a trick, let him have Avalcomb, when you get it back from
the English, and feel that he has got more than he deserves; but your
anger--" she broke off abruptly and sat with her lips pressed tight as
though keeping back a sob. "In the beginning, I got great kindness at
your hands, Lord King," she said at last, "and your anger--hurts me!"

On the point of softening, the King's face hardened, and he averted his
head. "You value