ts heels came another, a
recollection that stayed his anger and changed his scorn to compunction.
However dear Rothgar might have been to her, he could be dear no longer,
or she would never have betrayed his trust and dared his hate to save
Ivarsdale Tower--and its master. Sebert winced and put up his hand to
shut out the vision as he realized at whose feet her heart lay now, like
a pitiful bruised flower.

Meanwhile, the son of Lodbrok had been drawing heavily on his scant
stock of patience. Suddenly, he ran out completely. Seizing the Etheling
by the shoulders, before he could raise finger in resistance, he
thrust him through the open doorway into the garden, a target for every
startled glance. After which, he himself stalked grimly on to await him
at the city gate.

Chapter XXII. How The Lord of Ivarsdale Paid His Debt

To his friend
A man should be a friend,
And gifts with gifts requite.
Ha'vama'l.

A moment, it was to Randalin, Frode's daughter, as if the heavens had
let fall a star at her feet. Then her wonder changed to exultation, as
she realized that it was not chance but because of her bidding that the
man she loved stood before her. Only because she had asked it, he
had come through pitfalls and death-traps, and now faced, alone, the
gathered might of his foes. Glorying in his deed, she stood shining
sun-like upon him until the red cloaks of the advancing warriors came
between like scarlet clouds.

"Who are you?.... What is your errand?.... How came you here?" she
heard them demand. And, after a pause, in disbelieving chorus, "Rothgar
Lodbroksson! .... Does that sound likely?.... Where is he, then?" "You
are trying to lie out of something--" "You are an English spy! Seize
him! Bind him!"

The scarlet cloaks drew together into a swaying mass; a dozen blades
glittered in the sun. With a gasp, she came out of her trance to catch
at the royal mantle.

"Lord King, you promised to give him safety!" The seriousness which had
darkened Canute's face at the intrusion vanished off it as breath-mist
off a mirror. "Is it only your Englishman?" he asked, between a laugh
and a frown.

She grudged the time the words took. "Yes, yes! Pray be as quick as you
can!"

He did not seem bitten by her haste, but he took a step forward,
clanging his gold-bound scabbard against the stone well-curbing to make
himself heard. "Unhand the Lord of Ivarsdale, my chiefs," he ordered.
As they sent