And leasing pay with lying.
Ha'vama'l.

When the curtain had fallen behind his advisers, the young King threw himself
back upon his rude high-seat and rested motionless among its cushions, his
head hanging heavily upon his breast.

Crouching on her bench near the door, Randalin watched him as a fly caught in
a web watches the approaching spider. She had forgotten her errand; she had
forgotten her disguise; she had forgotten where she was; her one conscious
emotion was fear. Her eyes followed his roving glance from spear to banner,
from floor to ceiling, in terrible anticipation. It approached her; it turned
aside; it passed above her, hesitated, sank, touched her! Ashen-white, she
staggered to her feet and faced him.

A lithe boyish figure with wide boyish eyes and a tanned boyish face,--Canute
gazed incredulously; rubbed his eyes and looked again.

"In the Troll's name, who are you?" he ejaculated. "How came you here?"

The pale lips moved, but no sound came from them.

Their fruitless twitching seemed to irritate him. He made a petulant gesture
toward the half-filled goblet. "Why do you stand there making mouths? Drink
that and get a man's voice into your throat, if you have anything to say to
me."

"A man's voice!" The girl stared at him. "A _man_'s voice?" Then, like
lungfuls of fresh air, it entered into her that she was not really the naked
fledgeling she felt herself. She was in the toils, surely, but there was a