"Never
did I think that darkness could be so unpleasant,--when one is listening
for sounds and fears to put out a hand lest it touch something alive!
But I got past the door and through the guard-room, where the Englishmen
were snoring so loud that they would not have heard if I had stamped. In
a niche in the wall outside I found Almstein the steward hiding, full
of fear. I made him follow me out of the postern and around to the
gate where...my father...and...Fridtjof..." Her voice broke, but she
struggled on. "The English dogs had left them there... My father's face
was...wounded...and the moon made his hair all silver round it, so that
the blood looked to be black blots... And Fridtjof's sword was in his
hand... Always he had wished to go into battle, though he was no more
than fourteen winters old... There was a smile on his lips... I made
Almstein dig two graves. He is a cowardly fellow, and it is likely
that he would have left them there till the English were gone. I kissed
Fridtjof's mouth...and...and I laid...my father's cloak...over...over
his...face."

It was useless trying to go on; a deep sob shut off her voice and
threatened to rend her when she tried to hold it back. Sister Wynfreda
strove with gentle arms to draw her down upon her breast.

"Suffer the tears to come, my daughter," she urged her tenderly, "or
sooner or later they must."

Randalin pulled away almost roughly, dashing the drops from her eyes.

"They shall not!" she cried brokenly. "They shall not! Am I a
weak-minded English woman that I should shed tears because my kin are
murdered? I will shed blood to avenge them; that is befitting a Danish
girl. I will not weep,--as though there were shame to wash out! They
died with great glory, like warriors. I will fix it in my mind that I am
a kinswoman of warriors. I will not weep."

The older woman shrank a little. To ears attuned to the silence of the
grave, such an outburst was little less than terrifying; she was at
a loss how to soothe the girl. To gain a respite, she stole away and
renewed the wounded man's bandages.

After a moment Randalin rose and followed, buckling her cloak as she
went.

"Since I am become this man's lord, I think it right for me to see how
he fares before I leave him," she explained. Once more she spoke gently,
though the fire of her pride had quite dried her tears.

"Before you leave him?" The form in the faded robes turned inquiringly
toward the erect young figu