"I drink to that hero," replied Fastrada; and over the brim of her crystal goblet her eyes again beamed upon Olvir.
Great as was his self-control, the young man looked hastily away. But then his lip curled in scorn of his weakness, and he exclaimed, "We drink to my sword-brother. May he find favor in the eyes of the queen's fairest maiden!"
"The fair to the fair," rejoined Fastrada, with adroit play on the word. "The fair count will win a flaxen bride. But among the dark maidens I know one who has made choice of a dark-faced hero."
At the open confession Olvir panted, and his eyes glistened with the love which he could no longer restrain. Yet he held firm to his purpose.
"The dark maiden is a foolish maiden," he answered. "She should choose the blue-eyed hero,--a warrior of kingly blood. His great heart overflows with love for the maiden,--he, the king's kin, who need but speak, and honors will be heaped upon him. But the dark warrior, who is he?--a heathen outlander; a stranger in the land; a wanderer!"
"No, Olvir!" interrupted Roland, hoarsely; "you are no stranger, but my true brother. Listen, Fastrada! For no short day you have known that I loved you, and you have never frowned upon my wooing. Yet now I see that you turn to my brother. May the Holy Mother grant that you do not scorn his love the same! Give him the happiness which I thought should be mine."
"And which I 'll not take from you," rejoined Olvir. "Shall I cut the heart from the breast of my brother?"
"That the maiden already has done. I blame neither her nor my loyal brother. You have wooed for me, and failed; now you can woo for yourself without blame."
"He may win the same answer, lord count," said Fastrada, proudly.
The retort passed unheeded. The foster-brothers were gazing into each other's eyes. Soon, however, Roland turned away, that his friend might not perceive the grief which he could no longer hide. Olvir divined the cause of the movement, and he also sank back on his couch, to stare moodily before him.