A while longer, Canute’s keen eyes weighed him; then their sky was cleared of the last cloud. The best expression of which his brilliant face was capable was on it as he turned and held out his hand to the girl beside him. “Shall we pledge our friendship anew, Frode’s daughter?” was all he said; but she knew from his look that he had taken her under his shield for all time to come; and it was something to know, now when her world seemed falling about her. For an instant, as she yielded her trembling fingers to his palm, her groping spirit turned and clung to him, craving his sympathy. It seemed that he divined the appeal, for with the hand that pressed hers he drew her forward a step. “Is it not your wish to speak to the Lord of Ivarsdale yourself and thank him for keeping his troth with Fridtjof?” he said kindly; and without waiting for an answer, moved away and joined a group of those who had been his companions before the interruption. At last she stood face to face with the man she loved, face to face, and alone. And still he neither spoke to her nor looked at her! So strange and terrible was it all that it gave her resolution to speak and end it. Her Viking blood could not color her cheeks, but her Viking courage found her a whisper in which to offer her plea for the “sun-browned boy-bred wench.” “Lord, it is difficult to know whether or not to expect your friendship, for—for I have heard what your mind feels toward most matters—and you see now what I have done—” Did he wince again? She paused in astonishment. It could not be that he was surprised,—was it displeasure? Her words came a little more swiftly, a tremor of passionate pleading thrilling through them. “You need not think that I did it willingly, lord. Very roughly has fortune handled me. The reason I first came into camp-life was that I trusted someone too much, knowing no more of the world than my father’s house. And after the bonds were laid on me, it was not easy to rule matters. The helplessness of a woman is before the eyes of all people—” His words broke through hers: “No more, I beseech you!” His voice was broken and unsteady as she had never known it. “Who am I that I should blame you? Do not think me so—so despisable! If unknowingly I have done you any wrong when I owe you—” He paused and she guessed that it had swept over him afresh how much he did owe her. Perhaps also how much he had promised to pay? “There will be no recompense that you can ask at my hands which I shall not be glad to give,” he had said; and she had checked him, bidding him wait to see if he would have more than pity. If he should have no more! She dared not look at him but she felt that he opened his lips to speak, then turned away, stifling a groan. It seemed to her that her breath ceased while she waited, and her hands tightened on the coral chain so that suddenly it burst and scattered the beads like rosy symbols of her hopes. If he should have no more!