"Would that it might so be!" answered Olvir, and his dark eyes grew dim.
"How then?" demanded Karl. But even as the words left his lips, the door-hangings parted, and Rothada darted across the room, blind to all else than her lover.
"Fly, hero!" she cried. "The courtyard swarms with the warriors; they come to take you! Fly! In the passage wait those who 'll lead you to freedom. Ah, Holy Mother!--too late!"
The passage without resounded with the tread and din of armed men jostling together in their haste. All eyes were fixed on the doorway as Gerold and Liutrad sprang into view. The Swabian paused at once, and stood hesitating, his face white and drawn with despair. But Liutrad strode across the room, tucking up his robe as he went. On the wall hung his great axe. He plucked it down, and turned about, with flaming eyes, as Count Worad rushed into the king's chamber, in the lead of a score of warriors.
But then the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful: "Stay your hand, viking-priest! And you, Count of Metz, take away your men. There's now no need of them."
"Father!" cried Rothada. "You smile! He is no longer outlaw!"
Karl drew her to him, and stood stroking her soft tresses, while the wondering warriors filed out of the king's chamber. When Worad, crestfallen and bewildered, had followed his men, Karl bent over his daughter.
"Do you, then, love him so much?" he murmured.
"More than life! God be praised, you 've listened to him!"
"I shall not soon forget how near I came to losing my Dane hawk,--and he flown hither to warn me of deadly peril! Let the traitors give thanks to Heaven for unmerited mercy. They will have a mild judge."