"And learning?"
"The inscribed knowledge of the ancients."
"What says my bright Dane to that?"
Olvir started up at the question, and saluted the king.
"I am over-new in this game to take active part, sire," he said. "I do not even know its rules."
"Another time, then, lad. You will soon learn our ways. We will now follow the lessons set for the day. Worad was to question Alcuin on dialectics."
As the young Frank rose to confront the master, Olvir sat down again beside Fastrada, and fell to musing, heedless alike of the learned disputants and of his fair benchmate.
In the midst of his revery, he was roused by Fastrada, who, under cover of Alcuin's voice, leaned over and whispered softly: "Look, my hero friend. Here comes one whom I doubt if you can name. Though she has not yet taken the veil, Gisela has all but made a nun of her."
"How? Ah!"
Rothada had come in by the queen's entrance, and was already close at hand, gliding silently over the rushes. It was little wonder that Olvir, after the first quick start of recognition, sat staring at the king's daughter, with lips parted and black eyes glistening. He did not see the Rothada for whom he had looked. That gay, bright-eyed child-maid was gone, and in her stead was a maiden no less lissome than the little vala, but taller, and grave with habitual meditation. The slight pallor of her face, together with the spirituality of its look, gave to her features an ethereal--almost unearthly--beauty.