It was Sigurd's turn to be offended. "I had thought better of you, Alwin
of England, than to suppose that you would cherish hatred against a
woman who has offered to be your friend."

"Hatred?" For a moment Alwin did not understand him; then he added: "By
Saint George, that is so! I had altogether forgotten that it was my
intention to hate her! I swear to you, Sigurd, I have not thought of the
matter these two weeks."

"Which causes me to suspect that you have been thinking very hard of
something else," Rolf suggested.

But Alwin closed his lips and kept his eyes on Editha's approaching
figure.

The little bondmaid came up to them, dropped as graceful a curtsey as
she could manage with the pitching of the vessel, and said timidly: "If
it please you, my lord Alwin, my mistress desires to speak with you at
once."

"Hail to the prophet!" laughed Sigurd, pretending to rumple the locks
that he had so carefully smoothed.

"Now Heaven grant that I am a false prophet in the rest of my
foretelling," Alwin murmured to himself, as he followed the girl
forward. "If I am forced to tell her the truth, I think it likely she
will scratch my eyes out."

She did not look dangerous when he came up to her. She was sitting on a