Rothada glanced up at him quickly, and then her eyes fell to her novice's dress.
"Lord Olvir speaks of my troth," she answered in a low but clear voice. "If he doubts it, let him look at these pearls about my throat,--the pearls which he gave me in the Southland."
"And yet, Rothada, many as were my messages to you, never once through all those years did you send answer."
"You remembered me, Lord Olvir!" cried the girl, and she gazed up into her lover's eyes, her face radiant.
"Remember!" repeated Olvir. "And, could I have forgotten, were not my sea-wolves at hand to keep me in mind? I never once sent you greeting and pledge of my faith but your grim worshippers begged leave to add their gifts. Yet when year after year passed by without answering word from you, they, like myself, grew weary of sending. If the little vala's heart had been so chilled by her cloister-dwelling that she chose to forget those who loved her, we could not love her the less, but we would cease to fret her with the tokens of our love."
"Which never came! Oh, Olvir, there's been a bitter mistake! I never once had word or token that you or those grim warriors held me in kind memory. The months dragged by,--the weary years,--and no word from Vascon Land. Then I thought you 'd all forgotten me, and in my sorrow I turned for comfort to our Lord Christ. In Him I found peace, and I longed to give myself to Him, as Gisela begged me; but I could not, for I had promised to wait your coming."
"Loki!" muttered Olvir, and he struck his thigh. "Not all my sendings could have gone astray by chance. There's been a plot against me! Your holy Abbess Gisela-- But what odds? Little vala, little may, if you still doubt my troth, look at what lies about my throat."
Rothada raised her eyes to the strand of glossy hair, whose ends, severed by the rock in the gorge of Roncesvalles, had been rejoined by a golden clasp. At sight of the token, she uttered a cry of naive delight, and her eyes beamed up into Olvir's full of tender trust. Her beauty, pearl-like in its soft, pure lustre, filled him with such longing that he could no longer restrain himself.
"Dearest!" he cried, and, kneeling to her, he clasped her hand and held it to his lips.
Smiling and blushing, Rothada sought to draw away. But when she found she could not escape, she thrust her fingers into her lover's hair, and, tugging playfully at the bright locks, burst out in her old-time, merry laugh.