ile the fiery beauty of his face shone like a star in
the dusk of the windowless cell. Days in the saddle and nights in the
council had pared away every superfluous curve from cheek and chin,
until there was not one line left that did not tell of impatient energy;
and every spark of his burning soul seemed centred in his brilliant
eyes. At the sight of him, the girl's heart started and shook like a
harp-string under the touch of the master; and Rothgar, the stolid, the
stern, who had come to upbraid, bowed reverently as he grasped the hand
his leader stretched out.

"King, I would not have kept away had I guessed that my sword would be
useful to you. It was my belief that you were entertaining yourself with
getting property in Mercia, else would I have left all to come to you."

Canute half pressed the huge paw and then half spurned it. "It was in
my mind to give you a great scolding when I got you again. I thought
you had drunk sea-water and blood out of a magic horn and forgotten me
utterly. You must have gotten yourself fitted out for the rest of your
life since at last you were willing to leave."

"Lord," Rothgar began, "I have come back to you as poor as I went--"

But the King interrupted him, as at that moment, in the figure
hesitating at the door, he recognized his missing ward. "Say not so,
when you have brought back the bright blade we mourned as lost!" He
put out his other hand with a gleam of pleasure in his changeful eyes.
"Welcome to you, Fridtjof the Bold! I should like to believe that you
are as glad to return to me as I am glad to receive you."

As she stood there watching him, Randalin had been undergoing a strange
transformation. For four months she had almost forgotten his existence,
he had been little more than an empty name, while she gave every energy
of mind and heart to the things about her. But now, behold! One sight
of his life-full face, one moment in his dominating presence, and those
months were swept into the land of dreams. His deeds alone appeared
vital; he alone seemed real. She, the Etheling himself, were but as
shadows depending upon his sun-like career. If he should choose to shine
upon them, what dark evil could come nigh? It was in all sincerity that
she bent her knee as she took his hand. "Lord," she cried impulsively,
"I have brought you back a loyal heart! I have been very close to the
English King, and he is unworthy to hold your sword."

Canute gave a sudden laugh; but it