point. Imitating him, she
stood leaning on her sword, making futile gasps after her lost breath.

A grin slowly wrinkled his face as he watched her. "It appears that one
who is no bigger around than a willow twig may be capable of a berserk
rage," he said. "Do you not feel it that you are wounded?"

Following his eyes down to her hand, she found blood trickling from her
sleeve. Oh, and pain! Now that she had wakened to it--pain! pricking,
stinging, stabbing. Dropping her sword, she caught at her wrist.

"How did it happen? I thought a pin had pricked me!"

Roaring with laughter, he caught her under the arms and tossed her in
the air.

"A pin!" he shouted. "A pin! That is Frode himself! A beard on your
chin, and you also will be a feeder of wolves! For that you shall have a
share in the battle. I swear it by the hilt of the Hanger!"

For the moment, the girl forgot her wound and hung limp in the great
hands. "The battle?" she gasped. "I--I fight?"

Roaring afresh, the Jotun gave her another jubilant toss. "You
blustering field-mouse! Showing your teeth already? Who knows? If you
meet a blind Englishman without a weapon, you may even kill him. Here,"
he tumbled her roughly to the ground, "tie up your pin-scratch and then
come after me. I must go up yonder to Canute, under the oak tree. If you
are too tired to wield the sword, tie your hand to the hilt, and no man
shall have a better will to do harm to the English. Frode the Dane will
experience great pride when he looks out of Valhalla to-day." Putting
out one great hand, he patted her soft curls as though she were some
shaggy dog, then hurried out to his chief.

It was a respite to be alone, and she accepted it gratefully, sinking
among the cushions with closed eyes and a hand on her throbbing wrist.
But it was only a respite; she never for a moment lost sight of that.
The battle must be faced, and faced boldly. One word of reluctance would
be the surest betrayal of her secret. And betrayal meant Rothgar! She
shivered as she fancied she still felt his greasy touch upon her hair.
To become his property that he might even kiss! With a gasp of relief,
she turned her thoughts back to the battle.

After all, it was not unthinkable. Her riding would never betray her;
and in the confusion, who would notice whether or not she used her
sword? She did grow a little cold as the possibility of being killed
occurred to her; but even that darkness gave birth to a light. Bein