Several days passed. Athelwold had succeeded in his purpose; the king
had evidently been cured of his fancy for Elfrida. The way was open for
the next step in his deftly-laid scheme. He took it by turning the
conversation, in a later interview, upon the Devon maiden.

"I have been thinking over your remark, that I should woo and win
Elfrida myself," he said. "It seems to me not a bad idea. I must confess
that the birth and fortune of the lady added no beauty to her in my
eyes, as it seems to have done in those of others; yet I cannot but
think that the woman would make a suitable match for me. She is an
earl's daughter, and she will inherit great wealth; these are advantages
which fairly compensate some lack of beauty. I have decided, therefore,
sire, if I can gain your approbation, to ask Olgar for his daughter's
hand. I fancy I can gain her consent if I have his."

"I shall certainly not stand in your way," said the king, pleased with
the opportunity to advance his favorite's fortunes. "By all means do as
you propose. I will give you letters to the earl and his lady,
recommending the match. You must trust to yourself to make your way with
the maiden."

"I think she is not quite displeased with me," answered Athelwold.

What followed few words may tell. The passion of love in Athelwold's
heart had driven out all considerations of honor and duty, of the good
faith he owed the king, and of the danger of his false and treacherous
course. Warm with hope, he returned with a lover's haste to Devonshire,
where he gained the approval of the earl and countess, won the hand and
seemingly the heart of their beautiful daughter, and was speedily united
to the lady of his love, and became for the time being the happiest man