"Now their gods help Lugur and Yolara," she whispered; "for come what may, whether the Silent Ones be strong or weak, if he dies, surely shall I fall upon them and I will slay those two--yea, though I, too perish!" "Yolara and Lugur shall both die." Olaf's eyes were burning.

"But Lugur is mine to slay." That pity I had seen before in Lakla's eyes when she looked upon the Norseman banished the white wrath from them.

She turned, half hurriedly, as though to escape his gaze.
"Walk with us," she said to me, "unless you are still weak." I shook my head, gave a last look at O'Keefe; there was nothing I could do; I stepped beside her.

She thrust a white arm into mine protectingly, the wonderfully moulded hand with its long, tapering fingers catching about my wrist; my heart glowed toward her.
"Your medicine is potent, handmaiden," I answered.

"And the touch of your hand would give me strength enough, even had I not drunk it," I added in Larry's best manner.
Her eyes danced, trouble flying.
"Now, that was well spoken for such a man of wisdom as Rador tells me you are," she laughed; and a little pang shot through me.