He had seized upon a dish of rosy apples and was devouring them, shredding the floor and her dress with pip and core. His eyes, narrowed with the relish of the fruit, glanced sideways upon her--half-contemptuously, half-suspiciously. He knew it was through this woman, and not through her foster-brother, that the alliance with the Kymry had been formed. To his stern Saxon mind it seemed a meaningless prelude to the business in hand, thus to bandy what seemed to him baby speeches. Ethne’s beauty also was not altogether to his liking; her small and slender proportions, the blue-black of her hair, and the ivory pallor of her skin were far removed from his ideal of womanly beauty; and to him her delicate manner and bird-like appetite were unnatural. He glanced from her to the scene below, at the Saxon women--large, fair, and feasting bravely. His Thor and Odin religion of terror supplied him with a host of elves and sprites--pale, dark-haired, bright-eyed--and he could not dissociate the thought of them from this small, dark woman at his side. Instinctively, he said a charm to himself, and muttered incantations between each mouthful. As to Ethne, she was experiencing some disappointment in this meeting between herself and the great Ethelbert of Kent. She looked on him with more favour than he on her. He had not yet grown coarse from overfeeding and drinking; and his figure had the majesty of the gods, to whom he traced his origin. His long hair and golden beard sparkled, almost as brightly as the massive crown upon his head. Much of his dress was of a splendour Ethne had seldom seen surpassed; but through the openings of his upper garments she could see that, under rich robes embroidered and jewelled, he wore the close-fitting dress of sheep-skin that was the garb of the meanest serf; the thongs, which bound the sandals together, were pointed with jewels and gold, and gold formed every fastening of his garments. CHAPTER XVII. ETHNE’S ERROR. Cormac’s seat at the banquet had been placed at some distance from Ethne. This he thought strange, for Ethne, so anxious to identify herself with him, generally insisted on sitting beside him; it was her custom to lavish attention upon him, but now she showed herself indifferent to his presence. He could not overhear her conversation with Ethelbert, had he wished--he had no desire to do so. He trusted to her to make all necessary arrangements--his whole mind for the time was given to love and Elgiva. It had been a disappointment when Ethne, meeting him at the entrance to the hall, had told him that Elgiva would not appear at the feast. He marvelled greatly why she had absented herself and why the old hound Gelert had not stayed with her.