Candida shook the cloak she had grasped. “But you expect that he will be angry! You told Elfgiva not to undertake the journey because of it. And you were able to say the soothest about his temper.” “I was obliged to tell her that to be honest,” Randalin answered, and again there was a little wildness in her laugh, “but I should have gone stone-mad if she had not come.” Yet, as her horse commenced to bear her forward once more, she consented to speak more encouragingly across the widening space. “If his humor is right, it may be that nothing disagreeable will happen. She is very fair to look at,—it may be that his mind will change at the sight of her. Think that you will sleep in the Palace to-night.” Catching this last phrase, as her Valkyria came abreast of her, Elfgiva spoke pettishly: “You see fit to sing a different tune from what you did when you tried to hinder me from this undertaking. I should have brighter hopes if I had not given ear to your advice to send a messenger ahead. If I could have come upon him before he had time to work himself into a hostile temper—” Her attention wandered as a couple of tipsy soldiers elbowed themselves between the guards only to catch a nearer glimpse of her face, after which they allowed themselves to be thrust back, shouting drunken toasts to her beauty. “Is it your wish that I help you to lower your hood, lady?” the Danish girl made offer. Elfgiva’s half smile deepened into a laugh. “Not so, not so!” she said. “What! Have you seen so much of war and battle axes that you have forgotten the ways that are pleasing to men? Yet methinks you must needs have taken notice that, always before he goes into battle, a soldier tests the sharpness of his weapon. It is to that end that I endure the gaze of these serfs,—to test the power of my face.” “It would not be unadvisable for you to whet your wits as well,” Frode’s daughter muttered scornfully, and somewhat rashly, since Elfgiva’s wits had been sharp enough to guess the significance of her hand-maiden’s interview with the young English noble, and the knowledge had given her a weapon which she was skilful in using. “Has the sharpness of your mind brought you so much success then, my sweet?” she inquired with her faultless smile; and had the satisfaction of seeing her rebel shrink into silence like a child before a rod. The crowding of the highway became more noticeable as they neared the point where the Watling Street swerved from its old course, toward the ford and the little Isle of Thorns, to bend eastward toward the New Gate. Some obstruction at the forking of the roads impeded their progress almost to a walk. After a brief experience of it, Elfgiva spoke impatiently to the nearest soldier. “Why does it become more crowded when two paths open before us? Why does it not happen that some of these cattle turn down the old way?”