"My thanks to the good wisher," replied Olvir, and he stepped between the curtains.
He found himself in a large chamber, half lighted by the moonbeams which streamed through the high, casemented window. Where the rays struck upon the opposite wall, the grotesque figures of the tapestry-hangings stood out with such startling distinctness that Olvir stepped back and grasped the hilt of Al-hatif beneath his robe. But then a slender figure glided out into the moonlight from the shadow beside the window, and he ran forward to clasp his betrothed in his arms.
"Little vala,--little vala!" was all he could say, for the words choked in his throat at sight of her tears.
For a while she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and wept as though her heart would break; and he held her to him, unable to put into words the tenderness and compassion which filled his whole being. At last, however, she dried her tear-wet face on his robe, and looked up with a pitiable attempt to be brave.
"My hero, my hero!" she whispered.
"Little vala! Has the witch's daughter sucked your blood, that you look so white and wasted? May Hel, Loki's daughter, wither the red lips of that werwolf! May she--"
"Cease--oh, cease, Olvir! Curses ever come home to the sender. This may be the last time we shall meet here on earth. Let there be no wormwood with the bitter-sweet."
"No, Rothada, this is not our last meeting here on the fair earth."
"Will you then give way to my father? Liutrad said--"
"He said aright. I will not sell my soul, though it be for your father's kingdom. Yet, before God and man, you are my betrothed wife. I have won you by service such as few have given the king, and--we love each other. Your father gave pledge he would send for me, and he broke troth. It is hopeless--nothing can turn his course while the witch's daughter drives--it is hopeless to appeal to him."