Standing there, watching the young noble advance, it seemed to Randalin that there was not room between her heart-beats for her breathing. How soon would he look up and know her? How would his face change when he did? His color now was a match for the warriors’ cloaks, and there was none of his usual ease in his manner when at last he bowed before the King. Presently it occurred to her to suspect that he had already recognized her,—perhaps from the doorway,—and in her rush of relief at the idea of the shock being over, she found even an impulse of playfulness. Borrowing one of Elfgiva’s graces, she swept back her rustling draperies in a ceremonious courtesy before him. Again he bent in his bow of stiff embarrassment; but he did not meet her glance even then, returning his gaze, soldier-like, to the King. Suppose he were going to treat her with the haughtiness she had seen him show Hildelitha or the old monk when they had displeased him! At the mere thought of it, she shrank and dropped her eyes to the coral chain that she was twining between her fingers. The awkwardness of the pause seemed to afford Canute a kind of mischievous amusement, for all the courtesy in which he veiled it. His voice was almost too cheerful as he addressed the Etheling. “Now as always it can be told about my men that they stretch out their hands to greet strangers,” he said, “but I ask you not to judge all Danish hospitality from this reception, Lord of Ivarsdale. Since Frode’s daughter has told me who you are, I take it for granted that they were wrong, and that you came here with no worse intention than to obey her invitation.” His glance sharpened a little as he pronounced those last words, and the girl’s hands clasped each other more tightly as she perceived the snare in the phrase. If the Etheling should answer unheedingly or obscurely, so that it should not be made quite clear to the King— But it appeared that the Etheling was equally anxious that Canute should not believe him the lover of Frode’s daughter. His reply was distinct to bluntness: “Part of your guess is as wrong as part of it is right, King of the Danes. Certainly I came here with no thought of evil toward you, but neither had I any thought soever of the Lady Randalin, of whose existence I was ignorant. I answered the call of Fridtjof Frodesson, to whom I owe and I pay all the service which lies in my power,—as it is likely you know.” Did his voice soften as he recalled his debt? Randalin ventured to steal a glance at his face,—then her own clouded with puzzlement. No haughtiness was in it, but a kind of impatient pain, and now he winced under the smart and stirred restlessly in his place. The lightness of the King’s voice grated on her ear. “Then I think you must have got surprised, if this is true, which seems impossible.” The Etheling answered almost impatiently, “If your mind feels doubt of it, Lord Canute, you have but to ask your foster-brother, who conducted me hither.”