"The king takes the little vala on such a war-faring! and you, of all the queen's maidens, are chosen to go-- By Loki, there are tales of Pepin's son! Were I sure-- Ah! that boding of the witch,--her own mother!"
"You speak in riddles," said Fastrada, sharply. "What of my mother's boding?"
"No good word to you and me," replied Olvir; and he told briefly of the meeting with the old count and his witch wife. As he spoke, his scorn of spells and evil bodings came back to him, and he cast off the doubt which had fallen upon his heart. But when, smiling at his foolish fear and jealousy, he glanced down at the maiden, he caught a glimpse of her eyes, green and narrow-lidded as her father's. They were still green when the girl met his look full-faced, and asked in a sibilant voice: "You are sure--my mother--she said a king--one grey of eye?"
"And I am neither!" muttered Olvir. "Yet were she twice your mother, I 'd laugh at such witchery."
But Fastrada turned from her lover's smiling look. She paused, and gazed down at the weed-grown ash-heap at her feet, her eyes again narrowed to a line.
A sudden chill fell upon Olvir. If the maiden truly loved him, why should she stand pondering that wild foretelling? Half angered, he glanced away, and his eye was caught by a glinting in the grass. He went ahead, and found the missing brooch.
"Here is your clasp, daughter of Rudulf," he said coldly.
Heedless of his tone, Fastrada took the ornament, and stared fixedly at the garnets with which it was studded.
"The queen's gems are far more precious," she murmured, half aloud.
"I will win you the like, maiden," answered Olvir, quickly, but his frown deepened.
For a while Fastrada made no response. Her eyes were still downcast, and her face was dark with doubt and inward struggle.
"_Ai_--my mother," she at last whispered; "not often do her bodings fall amiss! Yet once I knew the fiends to fail her-- Ah, if--"
The words faltered on the girl's lips, and she glanced up furtively at her lover. But at sight of his look she started back with a stifled cry.
Olvir's face was white as new ivory, and his eyes glittered like an angry snake's.
"So, witch-daughter," he lisped softly as a young child, "this is your Frank love. It is a merry game to play fast and loose,--a merry game! It seems that I fared to Rhine Stream on my lord king's errand,--both as to father and daughter. 'A king, grey of eye'--and he has chosen you to go as mate for--his daughter. So; the game is played! We will accept your mother's boding; we will trust to her fiends."