side a drunken warrior, who held
her hands and strove to pull her lips down to his wine-stained mouth.
In imagination Randalin felt again Norman's arm around her waist, and a
wild pity was quickened in her. This was worse than drudgery, worse
than blows! For the credit of Danish warriors, it was well that Sister
Wynfreda could not see this.

Again her own words raised a startling apparition. What had been the
Sister's last cry of warning? "It is not their cruelty I fear for you.
Child, listen! It is not their blows--" Could it be possible that this
was what--

Like a merciless answer came a scream from the girl,--a short piercing
cry of horror and loathing and agonized appeal as she was drawn down
upon the leering face. At that cry, childhood's blind trust died forever
in Randalin. As she rode past the pair, with clenched hands and flashing
eyes, she knew without reasoning that tortures would not tear from her
the secret of her disguise.

When the sentinel before the tent challenged her roughly, it was her
tongue, not her brain, that answered him.

"I have war news for the King."

In a twinkling he had dropped his spear, plucked her from her saddle,
and was marching her toward the entrance by her collar.

"In the Troll's name, get in to the Chief, and let nothing hinder you!"
he growled. "From your snail's pace I got the idea that you had come
a-begging. Get in, and set your tongue wagging as speedily as you can!
Why do you draw back? I tell you to make haste!"

Before she could so much as catch her breath, he had raised the
tent-flap, pushed her bodily through the entrance, and dropped the linen
door behind her.

Chapter IV. When Royal Blood Is Young Blood

The mind only knows
What lies near the heart;
That alone is conscious of our affections.
No disease is worse
To a sensible man
Than not to be content with himself.
Ha'vama'l.

Three richly dressed warriors, clinking golden goblets across a
table,--so much Randalin caught in her first glance. On the spot where
the sentinel had released her she stopped, stock-still, and with eyes
bent on the ground tremblingly awaited the royal attention.

Clink-clank,--the golden goblet lips continued their noisy kissing. The
hum of the low-toned voices droned on without interruption. Minute after
minute dragged by. She ventured to shift her weight and steal an upward
glance.

Her first thought was that a king's tent was very l