Though far from satisfied, Olvir made no further protest. Saluting the queen, he at once fell back with Rothada to their former position in the rear. Surely Gerold should know. If he gave assurance of safety, why need an outlander doubt? And it was very pleasant to glide on into the forest depths, side by side with the little vala. Having done his part, he could now put away all thought of mishap, and give himself over to joy.
Constant practice with Olvir through all the happy days of Yule had gained for Rothada a skate-stroke which in lightness and grace all but equalled that of Hildegarde herself. With the light staff-spear balanced in her left hand, and scarf and cloak floating back from her shoulders, the king's daughter skimmed over the ice-street with all the airy freedom of a bird. But for the glint of the upcurving skate-runners as her slender foot peeped from beneath her skirt, Olvir might well have fancied that her flight was winged. Life and love had driven the last trace of cloister pallor from her rounding cheeks, and beamed from her eyes with the tender radiance of perfect trust and joy.
The loveliness of his princess set every fibre of Olvir's being atingle with rapture. His black eyes gazed down adoringly upon her lissome body and dainty foot; upon the glossy braids which lay entwined with bright ribbons down her heaving bosom; upon the flower-like face beneath its jewelled cap; most of all, upon the soft eyes, half-veiled by the tresses wind-blown across the white forehead.
Mile after mile, the forest glided past in an endless maze of gnarled trunks and leafless branches; but, like the queen, the lovers were lost to all sense of time and distance. Gradually the space between them had lessened. Now Rothada's hand was upon Olvir's shoulder; his arm was clasped about her waist, and he was softly chanting to her of the fells and fiords, of the salmon leaping in the torrents, and the crimson glow of the midnight sun.
When at last Hildegarde gave the word to turn, the lovers halted with the others, and stood before them without altering their pose. Neither would have become aware of Hildegarde's look of surprise or of Liutrad's and Gerold's smiles, had not young Karl cried out in boyish glee: "See, mother, Rothada and Count Olvir! Sister will wed our lord father's bright Dane hawk, and he 'll never fly away to his frost-white eyry."
"The dear Christ grant that such may be the outcome, child," replied Hildegarde; and she gazed, with a tender smile, at Rothada's downbent head. "Now that your sister gives proof of her love, all should go well. Count Olvir has only to accept baptism."
"Baptism, dear dame! Should you not rather say, the yoke of priestly rule?"
"Olvir, Olvir! put aside your stubborn pride! You little know how hard it is for our lord to give his sweet maiden into another's keeping. If, then, he holds you in such friendship, should you not be willing to bend to Christ?"
"That I already do, Dame Hildegarde," replied Olvir, gravely. "But let us spare ourselves now. We are afield, and should give ourselves over to joy."
"Lord Olvir speaks well, mother," exclaimed Pepin, flourishing his javelin. "Lead on again! We may yet chance upon an elk or bear."