But yon dark maiden! I would give much to bend that high head, and it would be worth much contest to subdue that spirit. She is of a bad traitor’s blood, that is tainted for many a day, but she is so sturdy in her hate that it were a prize to get her love.”
When Olaf rose to leave, his smile was for Freda, but his last look was on Gudrun’s dark, unbent head.
That night said the Lady Aastrid to Earl Sigvalde: “Our lord the king hath visited us while the maidens sat spinning, and I think the winter is over with him. The fire of memory is dying out, and he is turning to the spring sunlight without, and I believe, my lord, that our fair Freda, Earl Gormo’s winsome maiden, will be the especial sunbeam he will seek.”
“So! so! my lady,” the earl answered; “it were a good thing. Better and truer blood than Gormo’s is not in Norway. The maiden thou dost say is winsome?”
“Aye, as sweet as the violets of the Kiolen, and as fit to fill a man’s life with fragrance.”
“And looked he not on Ironbeard’s dark daughter?”
“Only in anger and reproof, for she would sing some heathen saga, and our Olaf would not hear it; so he turned to Freda and smiled upon her as she sang.”
Earl Sigvalde seemed relieved. “It is well he hath not been snared by the base brood of Ironbeard.” They then sat to their evening meal.
