ier of glowing coals. He leaped
to greet such splendid ladies with a profusion of salaams and a mouthful
of pretty speeches that brought some of the color back to Elfgiva's
cheeks.

"Do not have me in contempt, Tata," she admonished with a laugh of some
unsteadiness. "It is not certain that I am going to belie you to the
guards, or that I have lost faith in your sign. Let me sharpen my weapon
for some space among these precious things, and it may be that I shall
go hence panting for the field."

"Ah, gracious lady, you must needs buy my whole stock," the merchant
cried with ingratiating smiles, "for I can never endure to sell to
another what I have once seen near your face."

Elfgiva laughed beautifully then, and the Danish girl took a fresh grip
upon her patience. Certainly the jewelled bugs, the golden snakes, the
strands of amber and jet and pearl, seemed to act as tonics upon the
Northampton lady. If she had not traded away, at the first two stalls,
every ornament in her possession, she would have investigated each booth
in the square. She came out in bubbling spirits to the waiting horses
and the half-frozen guards.

"This Cheapside is a very fairy garden," she prattled, lingering with
her foot in the hand of the kneeling groom. "Everything in beds and
rows as they were herbs,--milk down this lane, soap down that, jewels,
fabrics--" She turned with a sudden inspiration. "Maidens, would not
this be a merry thought? To find out where the fabrics are kept and try
some cloth of gold against these pearls?"

As the servile murmur answered, Randalin's brow darkened. Cloth of
gold and pearls,--when a wolf was tearing at her heart! She spoke
desperately, "I wish that the way to the fabrics might lie past the
King's House, lady."

The King's wife sent her a glance, half resentful, half questioning.
"Why do you say that?"

"Because if Canute could see you as you look now, with your cheeks
a-flower and that ermine, like snow, upon your hair, there is nothing in
the world he could refuse you."

Elfgiva's mouth curved bewitchingly. "You speak as though you had jewels
to sell. What fine manners they have, these London merchants! Tell me,
Candida, Leonorine, does she speak the truth? On your crosses, has not
the cold reddened my nose? Or pinched the bloom off my lips?"

If the murmur that answered lacked any heartiness, their mistress
did not perceive it, for every man within earshot swelled it with
reassurance,--think