Though she shook her head, Randalin’s manner was full of suppressed excitement as she advanced. “Not of her, lady, yet tidings, great tidings! The King has sent—” “His Marshal again? I will not see him.” “Nay, the Marshal but accompanies the messenger. In truth, lady, it is my belief that the token has accomplished its mission. The message is brought by Thorkel Jarl, as this has not been done before.” “Earl Thorkel?” Elfgiva cried. “By the Saints, it can be nothing less than the token!” She dropped down upon the rustic seat that stood under the green canopy of the old apple tree and sat there a long time, staring at the grass, her cheeks paling and flushing by turns. Presently, she drew a deep breath of relief. “I was foolish to fret myself over Teboen. Since she is clever enough to bring this to pass, she is clever enough to take care of herself. Without doubt it was the Danish wizard, and he informed her of some new herb, and she has gone to fetch it.” After a while, an enchanting smile touched her lips. “Surely, a rose garden is a fitting place to receive the ambassadors of a lover,” she said, and straightened herself on her rustic throne, sweeping her draperies into more graceful folds. “Bring them to me here, ladybird. Candida, fetch hither the lace veil from my bower, and call the other maids as you go, and all the pages you can find. Since Teboen is not by, I want all of you behind me. I cannot help it that the Tall One always gives me the feeling of a lamb before a wolf.” Even had the likeness never occurred to her before, it would not have been strange if she had thought of it to-day as, followed by the Marshal and preceded by their fair usher, the old warrior came across the grass to the little court under the apple tree. The keenness of the hooded eyes that looked out at her from his grizzled locks, the gleam of the white teeth between his bearded lips as he greeted her, was unmistakably wolfish. She relapsed into a kind of lamb-like tremor as she invited them to be seated and commanded the attendance of her cup-bearer. When she caught sight of the misery of discomfort in Sebert’s frank face, she lost her voice entirely and waited in utter silence while they drank their wine. Yet Thorkel’s manner was unwontedly genial when at last he broached his errand. “You lack the eagerness that is to be expected, lady,” he said as he gave his mouth a last polish with the delicate napkin. “How comes it that you have not guessed I bring you a message from the King?” She answered doubtfully that the King had not behaved to her so that his messages were apt to be anticipated with much pleasure. “But it has never occurred that I brought you this kind of news before,” he tempted her. “Will it not interest you to hear that at last the Palace is ready for a Queen?” That startled her a little out of her wariness, crying the last two words after him with an eagerness of inflection that was as pathetic as though her heart were concerned.