n, and I knew not what
to say or do. She could not be left in the way of our Saxons if
they came on the morrow, and I could not take her to Poole. And so,
lest I should terrify her altogether, I made up my mind even as she
looked to me for an answer.

"I think your father is kept in Wareham in some way. Does he look
for you there?"

"Ay, surely," she answered; but there was a note as of some new
fear in her voice. "Has aught befallen him? Have the Saxons come?"

"All is well in Wareham yet," I answered. "Now we will take you to
your father. But we are strangers, as you may see."

Then I called to Kolgrim, who was listening open eyed to all this,
and backed away from the door a little.

"What is this madness, master?" he whispered hoarsely.

"No madness at all. Ten minutes' ride to Wareham with the maiden,
give her to the fisherman to take to her friends, and then ride
away--that is all. Then we shall be in Poole long before any look
for us, for we are in luck's way."

Kolgrim laughed.

"Strange dangers must I run with you, master; but that is what one
might look for with Ranald of the Sword."

Then I got off the horse, which was very strong and seemed quiet,
and went to the maiden again.

"It will be best for you to come with us, lady," I said "we will
see you safely to Wareham."

The light fell on my arms now, and they were splendid enough, being
Harald Fairhair's gift, which I had put on for the fight, seeing
that the men loved to see their king go bravely, and being,
moreover, nowise loth to do so myself. She seemed to take
heart--for she was well nigh weeping now--when she saw that I was
not some wandering soldier of the great host.

"My horses, two of them should be here," she said. "I bade the
thralls leave them when they fled."

So she thought not that we had loosed them, and did not know her
own in the moonlight. Maybe she had no knowledge as to which of
many had been left, and I was glad of that, for so her fear was
less.

"You must ride with us," I said, "and I would ask you to come
quickly; even now the host is leaving Wareham."

"Ay, is that so? Then my father is busy," she said, and then she
faltered a little, and looked at me questioningly. "I cannot go
without my nurse, and she is very sick. I think she sleeps now. Men
feared her sickness so that we brought her here from the town. But
indeed there is nought to fear; there is no fever or aught that
another might take from her."

The