lengths of shining fairness. The hair of the shorter one, though, was finer;
and no red tainted the purity of its gold. When one came to look at it, it was
like a royal cloak. Perhaps he might be the King! She wished he would raise
his face from his hands, that she might see it. Then she noticed that his
shoulders lacked the breadth of his companion's by as much as a palm's width;
and her mind wavered. Surely so great a king as Canute must be broader-
shouldered than any of his subjects! This youth was hardly brawny at all; as
Vikings went, he was even slender. She turned her attention to the other man.
He was big enough, certainly; the fist that he was waving in the air was like
nothing so much as a sledge-hammer, and there was a likeness to the Jotuns in
his florid coarse-featured face.

As she watched it, Randalin felt a coldness creep over her. His great jaws
were like the jowl of a mastiff. His thick-lipped mouth--what was it that made
that so terrible, even in smiling? Watching it with the fascination of terror,
it occurred to her to endow him with the appetite of the drunken warrior at
the table outside the tent. Suppose, just as they stood now, he should take
the fancy to turn and kiss her lips; would anything stop him? In the drawing
of a breath, her overwrought nerves had painted the picture so clearly that
she was sick with horror. Sister Wynfreda's red-hot iron would not keep him
back, instinct told her. That sacrifice of beauty had not been simple-minded;
it had been the one alternative. The girl's light-hearted boldness went from
her in a gasp. Her shaking limbs gave way beneath her, so that she sank on the
nearest bench and cowered there, panting.

Though the men were too intent to notice her, in some sub-conscious way her
moving seemed to rouse them. Their discussion had been growing gradually
louder; now the bearded man and the young Jotun rose suddenly and faced their
companion, whose voice became audible in an obstinate mutter,--