staked
my life upon her truthfulness. It is not allowed me to take revenge on
her for her treachery, but I think I need not spare you, as you got the
profit of her falseness."

The Etheling's sword was out while the other was still speaking. "By
Saint Mary, do you imagine that I am fearful of you? Never in my life
was I more thirsty for fighting."

But Rothgar pushed the blade aside with his naked palm. "Not here, where
she could come between. Besides, the King wants a thrust at you first.
Nor have you yet greeted Randalin, Frode's daughter." His hand, which
was itching for a sword, began to tear the fur from his cloak, and his
lips curved in a grin that had in it little of mirth. "Certainly you
would not rob the maiden of the pleasure of seeing the one she has taken
so much trouble for?" he mocked.

On the verge of an angry retort, Sebert paused to regard him, a
suspicion darting spark-like through his mind. Did the Jotun's words
smack of jealousy? It was true that it needed not that to explain
their bitterness, and yet--What more natural than that the King's
foster-brother should love the King's ward? If it was so, it was small
wonder the girl had said that he would slay her when he discovered her
unfaithfulness. Unfaithfulness! Sebert started. Had she not in that very
word acknowledged a bond? Not only did he love her, but she must have
returned his affections. The spark of suspicion flared into a flame.
That would solve so many riddles. For one, her presence in the Danish
camp,--for surely, as a chieftain's daughter, she would have been sent
on to the care of the Lady of Northampton! Was it not thoroughly in
accordance with her elfish wildness to have chosen man's attire and the
roughness of camp-life in order to remain near her lover? Her lover! The
young noble's lips curled as he glanced at the warrior beside him,
at the coarse face under the unkempt locks, at the huge body in its
trap-pings of stained gaudiness. Involuntarily, he looked again at the
group by the well. She was very winsome in her smiling, and the graceful
lines of her trailing robes, their delicacy and soft richness, threw
about her all the glamour of rank and state. He clenched his hands at
the thought of such treasures thrown down for brutal feet to trample on;
and his heart grew hot with anger against her, anger and scorn that were
almost loathing, that she who looked so fine should be so poor,
so--But he did not finish his thought, for on i