heart was warning enough. Gyda advanced to the front of the platform. Her brother stood beside her, and around them was a throng of bards, warriors, Oolahans, and physicians of the king’s household.
There was a murmur of admiration at the vision of beauty in whose honor they had assembled. The waves of praise passing on to Gyda’s hearing, brought a crimson flush to her face, like a delicate rose taking on a richer tint.
“By the Sign of the White Christ, it is she!” muttered the Norseman. The words were lost to Eogan, whose hearing and sight were concentrated upon the platform.
The bards, at a sign from King Kavaran, sang their greeting to the knights, and the monarch rose and gave them the hundred thousand welcomes of the Celts.
Then gravely he treated of the cause of the gathering. He spoke of how the wise men had told him that the rivalry among the young chieftains for his sister’s favor had turned their thoughts from warlike studies, and so to-day she would choose one from among them, and let the others be at peace to pursue their course of knightly tasks.
While her brother was speaking, Gyda had looked over the assemblage, with an anxious gaze, as if seeking an absent face. At last, her glance fell upon the spot where Eogan and the Norseman were standing. The anxiety faded. A smile of satisfaction rested upon her lips, and a new light came into her eyes.
