, before the end should really
come. Clutching the broken chain, she drew herself up bravely, her
words coming in uneven breathfuls. "I want not that recompense, lord. I
want--nothing you have to give. Little shall you think of the debt,--or
think that in helping you, I repaid you for your hospitality, your--"

Her voice broke as the memory of that time passed over her like bitter
waters, and she was obliged to stand silent before him, steadying
her lip with her teeth, until the waters had fallen. She had a faint
consciousness that he was speaking to her, but she did not understand
what he said, she did not care. Her only wish was for words that should
send him away so that she might be free to sink down beside the old well
and press her burning face against its smooth coldness and finish dying
there.

"It was the King who sent for you, that he might know whether I had
spoken the truth concerning my disguise--" she said when at last
her voice returned. "Now, by coming, you have helped me against his
anger,--let that settle all debt between us. I thank you much and--and
I bid you farewell." Again Elfgiva's schooling came to her mind and she
swayed before him in a courtesy. She even bent her lips into a little
smile so that he should not be sorry for her and stay to tell her so.
She did not know that her cheeks were as white as her kerchief, that her
eyes were dark wells of unshed tears. She knew only that at last he
was bowing, he was turning, in a moment more he would be gone--But just
short of that point he stopped, and all motion around her appeared
to stop, as a noise down the corridor blotted out every sound in the
garden,--the noise of a great body of people rousing the echoes with
jubilant shouting.

"The King! The King!" could be heard again and again, and after it a
burst of deafening cheers that drowned the rest.

Elfgiva dropped the gilded quoits to wring her hands. "Is it the
English, my lord?" she implored of Eric of Norway. "Is it the English
attacking us? Shall we be killed?"

"Think you that Danes cheer like that when they are expecting death?"
the Norseman reassured her with a hearty laugh. "It is good news,--great
news since the whole mob has thought it safe to bring it. Hark! Can you
hear what it is that they add after the King's name?"

Listening, everyone stood motionless as the babel came nearer with
a swiftness which spoke much for the speed of the shouters. Only
Randalin's little red shoe b