smile as she set it in my hand,
and she waited with head turned away until I gave it back to her,
as if she looked at Owen rather than any one else. Then it was only
a short word of farewell that she said to me, and yet it did seem
that her eyes were less grave than she would seem in face as she
turned back to the other ladies on the hall steps.

Then Owen unhelmed and turned his horse to the gates, and after him
we went clattering down the street. In a minute or two Thorgils
came alongside me.

"So that was the lady of the vow, surely. Well, you may be excused
for making it, though indeed it is rash to bind oneself--nay, but
it seems that this is one of those matters whereon I must hold my
tongue!"

For I had spurred my horse a little impatiently, and he understood
well enough. I did not altogether care that this stranger should
talk of my affairs--more particularly as they did not seem to be
going at all rightly. So he said no more of them, but began to talk
of himself gaily, while Owen rode alone at our head, as he would
sometimes if his thoughts were busy.

Presently he reined up and came alongside us, taking his part in
our talk in all cheerfulness. And from that time I had little
thought but of the pleasantness of the ride in the sharp winter air
and under the bright sun with him toward the new court which I had
often longed to see, with its strange ways, in the ancient
British-Roman palace that he had so often told me of.

So we rode along the ancient and grass-grown Roman road that lies
on the Polden ridge, hardly travelled save by a few chapmen, since
the old town they called Uxella was lost in the days of my
forefathers. The road had no ending now, as one may say, for beyond
the turning to the bridge across the Parrett for which we were
making it passed to nought but fen and mere where once had been the
city. All the wide waters on either side of the hills were hard
frozen, and southward, across to where we could see the blue hill
of ancient Camelot, the ice flashed black and steely under the red
low sun of midwinter. Before us the Quantocks lay purple and
deepest brown where the woods hid the snow that covered them. Over
us, too, went the long strings of wild geese, clanging in their
flight in search of open water--and it was the wolf month again,
and even so had they fled on that day when Owen found me in the
snow.

And therewith we fell into talk of Eastdean, and dimly enough I
recalled it all. I