All night long Gerold searched Attigny for his outlawed friend, but found no trace of him. At dawn he returned to the palace, weary and all but overcome with the burden of his grief. He was too disheartened even to speak to Rothada's Frisian maid, who stood by the outer gate. He would have passed by her, had she not signed to him.
"What is it, Berga?" he asked dully, when he had followed her into a secluded nook.
"You droop like an outspent hound, lord count. Take cheer. I can put you on the trail."
"How! you know--"
"They slipped out, only a little since,--she and your mate, the big Dane priest."
"To meet Count Olvir!"
"It is merry for lovers to ride in the greenwood."
"My thanks!" muttered Gerold, and he rushed into the palace courtyard.
His horse was dripping with sweat when, a mile up the Aisne bank, he raced to meet the three riders who came cantering through the groves. It was a happy little party. He could see the blush of love and joy which had brought back the roses to Rothada's white cheeks, and her joyous laughter rang clear in the still air. How could he mar their happiness?
But now they were racing forward to meet him, Zora in the lead. A little more, and he was on the dewy turf beside Olvir, gripping his arms. After the first outburst of gladness, however, his face darkened with the shadow of his message.