But Og did not recover, and, although he did not exhibit any of the usual symptoms of despairing love, as loss of appetite, or flesh, a lacklustre eye, and disordered manner, still he became more gloomy and sullen than ever, and rarely exchanged a word with his brothers.
Nearly eight months had now flown since he had beheld Lilias, and still her image was constantly before him, and the witchery she had practised upon him by her fascinations and allurements had not lost a jot of its power. He was still as much under her sway as if she had been with him all the time.
One evening, while he was taking a solitary walk upon the ramparts, and thinking of Lilias, he saw Xit hastening towards him, and would have avoided him, but the dwarf stopped him, saying,—
“Give thee good e’en, Og. I was looking for thee. I bring thee good news.”
“Out of my way,” rejoined the giant, gruffly. “I am in no humour for jesting.”
“I know thou art become as surly as a bear with a sore head,” replied Xit; “but thou hadst best not provoke a quarrel with me, or thou wilt rue it.”
“Pass on,” roared Og, “and exercise thy wit at the expense of those who are amused by it—my brothers for example. But meddle not with me. I am dangerous.”
“Big words do not terrify me,” rejoined Xit, with a mocking laugh. “Furious as thou art, I can tame thee with a word. I have but to pronounce the name of ‘Lilias Ringwood,’ and thou wilt straight become as gentle as a lamb. Ha ha! ha! Was I not right?”
“Hast thou aught to tell me concerning Lilias?” cried Og, suddenly becoming as meek as the animal to which he had been likened. “If so, speak quickly!”
“Soh! thou art in the mood for converse now, and my jests do not appear tiresome to thee,” rejoined Xit; “but I will not gratify thee. Thou art dull company. I will go to thy brothers.”