Derisive laughter went up from the band of King’s men. Their leader snapped his fingers. “That for your slippery devices! Is the Gainer so ill-advised as to imagine that he is dealing with a second Ethelred?” “I tell you to keep in mind,” the voice retorted, “that before the cock crows we shall be sworn brothers.” The Etheling’s anger leaped out like a flame; even in the starlight it could be seen how his face crimsoned. “No, as God lives!” he answered swiftly. “It is not to Edmund alone that the Gainer is loathful. Should he pass the King’s sword, a hundred blades wait for him, mine among them. Seek what he may seek, he shall not have peace of us. When I guide a wolf to my sheep-fold, I will show you the way to Edmund’s camp. Take yourself out of reach if you would not be sped with arrows.” A jeering laugh was the only answer, but the tramping of hoofs suggested that his advice was being taken. When the sound had faded quite away, the Lord of Ivarsdale breathed out the rest of his resentment in a hearty imprecation, and, turning, came on to his patient. His voice was as gentle as a woman’s as he dropped on his knee beside the slim figure. “What is your need, little fire-eater?” A memory of her haunting terror stirred in the girl. Shrinking from him, she made a desperate effort to push away his outstretched hand, threatening him in a broken whisper. “If you touch me—I will—kill you.” They were brave men, those Englishmen. The Etheling only smiled, and one of his warriors chuckled. With a touch as gentle as it was strong, he put aside her resisting hands and began swiftly to cut away the blood-stiffened hose. Darkness closed around Randalin again, darkness shot with zigzag lightnings of pain, and throbbing with pitiful moans. The idea took possession of her that she was once more on the battle-field, that it was the cries of the men who were falling around her which pierced the air, and their weapons that stabbed her as they fell. Then their hands clutched her in a dying grip. Horse-men loomed up before her and came nearer, and she could not get out of their path, though she struggled with all her force. The hoofs were almost upon her... Uttering a wild scream, she put forth all her strength in a last effort. “It will be like holding a young tiger, lord,” a harsh voice suddenly reached her ear. She came to herself to find that soldiers were lifting her up to the horseman, where he sat again in his saddle. She recognized the squareness of his shoulders; and she knew the gentleness of his touch as he slipped his free arm around her and drew her carefully into place, making of his stalwart body a support for her weakness. No strength was in her to struggle against him; only her wide bright eyes sought his, with the terror of a snared bird.