“Guard the stair-foot, Winter!” and he ran up.
Two women cowered upon the floor, shrieking and praying with hands clasped over their heads. He saw that the arms of one of them were of the most exquisite whiteness, and judging her to be the lady, bent over her. “Lady! you are safe. I will protect you. I am Hereward.”
She sprang up, and threw herself with a scream into his arms.
“Hereward! Hereward! Save me. I am—”
“Alftruda!” said Hereward.
It was Alftruda; if possible more beautiful than ever.
“I have got you!” she cried. “I am safe now. Take me away,—out of this horrible place! Take me into the woods,—anywhere. Only do not let me be burnt here,—stifled like a rat. Give me air! Give me water!” And she clung to him so madly, that Hereward, as he held her in his arms, and gazed on her extraordinary beauty, forgot Torfrida for the second time.
But there was no time to indulge in evil thoughts, even had any crossed his mind. He caught her in his arms, and commanding the maid to follow, hurried down the stair.
Winter and the Siwards were defending the foot with swinging blades. The savages were howling round like curs about a bull; and when Hereward appeared above with the women, there was a loud yell of rage and envy.
He should not have the women to himself,—they would share the plunder equally,—was shouted in half a dozen barbarous dialects.