"I wish one only. Tell me, little vala, would you say no if the king, your father, gave you leave to sail down Rhine Stream with your sea-wolves?"
"If my father bade me go, dear hero--"
"Only one way could you go, child,--as bride of their count," broke in Fastrada, sharply.
"And so it shall be," rejoined Olvir.
Fastrada did not raise her eyes, but her jewelled buskin tapped softly on the dais.
"Foolish children!" she murmured. "You will spoil all when the future is brightest with promise. Would it not seem ungracious, Olvir, to so soon beg another favor? You have yet to fulfil the terms of your betrothal."
"But for this countship, I would go to him and ask that those terms be set aside. Yet you say true; I cannot tax his friendship. My mouth is closed."
"Trust me, Olvir. You will have a friend close to the king's ear. But bear in mind my dear lord's unwillingness to part with his little maid. It may be I can soon overcome that. If not, what is another year of waiting to true lovers? Have I not waited all these years for my king,--my king, 'grey of eye'? Rothada is still very young. I have seen two and twenty summers; she cannot count a score."
"She is none too young to wed, even by Northern custom," answered Olvir.
"True, and we will all pray that your betrothal may have a quick ending. Now send in the maidens from the antechamber, and say your farewells when there is none left to chatter over your parting. You shall have until the turn of the glass for your parting. No, Olvir; give me no thanks. Go quickly; the sweet moments are winged. But bear in mind, if it come to the worst, what is a year of waiting to true lovers?"