'Good people, all is well! the runaways are slain, and Face-of-G.o.d is come back with us; give place a little, that we may come into our house.'

Then the throng set up a shout, and made way a little, so that Hall- face and Gold-mane and the others could get to the door. And they entered into the Hall, and saw much folk therein; and men were sitting at table, for supper was not yet over. But when they saw the new-comers they mostly rose up from the board and stood silent to hear the tale, for they had been talking many together each to each, so that the Hall was full of confused noise.

So Hall-face again cried out: 'Men in this hall, good is the tidings. The runaways are slain; and it was Face-of-G.o.d who slew them as he came back safe from the waste.'

Then they shouted for joy, and the brethren and Stone-face with them (for he had entered with them from the street) went up on to the dais, while the others of the Hue-and-cry gat them seats where they might at the endlong tables.

But when Face-of-G.o.d came up on to the dais, there sat Iron-face looking down on the thronged Hall with a ruddy cheerful countenance, and beside him sat the Bride; for he had caused her to be brought thither when he had heard of the tidings of battle. She was daintily clad in a flame-coloured kirtle embroidered with gold about the bosom and sleeves, and there was a fillet of golden roses on her ruddy hair. Her eyes shone bright and eager, and the pommels of her cheeks were flushed and red contrary to their wont. Needs must Gold-mane sit by her, and when he came close to her he knew not what to do, but he put forth his hand to her, yet with a troubled countenance; for he feared her grief mingled with her beauty: as for her, she wavered in her mind whether she should forbear to touch him or not; but she saw that men about were looking at them, and especially was Iron-face looking on her: therefore she stood up and took Gold-mane's hand and kissed his face as she had been wont to do, and by then was her face as white as paper; and her anguish pierced his heart, so that he well-nigh groaned for grief of her. But Iron-face looked on her and said kindly:

'Kinswoman, thou art pale; thou hast feared for thy mate amidst all these tidings of war, and still fearest for him. But pluck up a heart; for the man is a deft warrior for all his fair face, which thou lovest as a woman should, and his hands may yet save his head.

And if he be slain, yet are there other men of the kindred, and the earth will not be a desert to thee even then.'

She looked at Iron-face, and the colour was come back to her face somewhat, and she said:

'It is true; I have feared for him; for he goeth into perilous places. But for thee, thou art kind, and I thank thee for it.'

And therewith she kissed Iron-face and sat down in her place, and strove to overmaster her grief, that her face might not be changed by it; for now were thoughts of battle, and valiant hopes arising in men's hearts; and it seemed to her too grievous if she should mar that feast on the eve of battle.

But Iron-face kissed and embraced his son and said: 'Art thou late come from the waste? Hast thou seen new things? We look to have a notable tale from thee; though here also have been tidings, and it is not unlike that we shall presently have new work on our hands.'

'Father,' quoth Face-of-G.o.d, 'I deem that when thou hast heard my tale thou wilt think no less of it than that there are valiant folk to be holpen, poor folk to be delivered, and evil folk to be swept from off the face of the earth.'

'It is well, son,' said Iron-face. 'I see that thy tale is long; let it alone for to-night. To-morrow shall we hold a Gate-thing, and then shall we hear all that thou hast to tell. Now eat thy meat and drink a bowl of wine, and comfort thy troth-plight maiden.'

So Gold-mane sat down by the Bride, and ate and drank as he needs must; but he was ill at ease and he durst not speak to her. For, on the one hand, he thought concerning his love for the Sun-beam, and how sweet and good a thing it was that she should take him by the hand and lead him into n.o.ble deeds and great fame, caressing him so softly and sweetly the while; and, on the other hand, there sat the Bride beside him, sorrowful and angry, begrudging all that sweetness of love, as though it were something foul and unseemly; and heavy on him lay the weight of that grudge, for he was a man of a friendly heart.

Stone-face sat outward from him on the other side of the Bride; and he leaned across her towards Gold-mane and said:

'Fair shall be thy tale to-morrow, if thou tellest us all thine adventure. Or wilt thou tell us less than all?'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'In good time shalt thou know it all, foster- father; but it is not unlike that by the time that thou hast heard it, there shall be so many other things to tell of, that my tale shall seem of little account to thee--even as the saw saith that one nail driveth out the other.'

'Yea,' said Stone-face, 'but one tale belike shall be knit up with the others, as it fareth with the figures that come one after other on the weaver's cloth; though one maketh not the other, yet one cometh of the other.'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'Wise art thou now, foster-father, but thou shalt be wiser yet in this matter by then a month hath worn: and to-morrow shalt thou know enough to set thine hands a-work.'

So the talk fell between them; and the night wore, and the men of Burgdale feasted in their ancient hall with merry hearts, little weighed down by thought of the battle that might be and the trouble to come; for they were valorous and kindly folk.

CHAPTER XXIV. FACE-OF-G.o.d GIVETH THAT TOKEN TO THE BRIDE

Now on the morrow, when Face-of-G.o.d arose and other men with him, and the Hall was astir and there was no little throng therein, the Bride came up to him; for she had slept in the House of the Face by the bidding of the Alderman; and she spake to him before all men, and bade him come forth with her into the garden, because she would speak to him apart. He yeasaid her, though with a heavy heart; and to the folk about that seemed meet and due, since those twain were deemed to be troth-plight, and they smiled kindly on them as they went out of the Hall together.

So they came into the garden, where the pear-trees were blossoming over the spring lilies, and the cherries were showering their flowers on the deep green gra.s.s, and everything smelled sweetly on the warm windless spring morning.

She led the way, going before him till they came by a smooth gra.s.s path between the berry bushes, to a square s.p.a.ce of gra.s.s about which were barberry trees, their first tender leaves bright green in the sun against the dry yellowish twigs. There was a sundial amidmost of the gra.s.s, and betwixt the garden-boughs one could see the long grey roof of the ancient hall; and sweet familiar sounds of the nesting birds and men and women going on their errands were all about in the scented air. She turned about at the sundial and faced Face-of-G.o.d, her hand lightly laid on the scored bra.s.s, and spake with no anger in her voice:

'I ask thee if thou hast brought me the token whereon thou shalt swear to give me that gift.'

'Yea,' said he; and therewith drew the ring from his bosom, and held it out to her. She reached out her hand to him slowly and took it, and their fingers met as she did so, and he noted that her hand was warm and firm and wholesome as he well remembered it.

She said: 'Whence hadst thou this fair finger-ring?'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'My friend there in the mountain-valley drew it from off her finger for thee, and bade me bear thee a message.'

Her face flushed red: 'Yea,' she said, 'and doth she send me a message? Then doth she know of me, and ye have talked of me together. Well, give the message!'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'She saith, that thou shalt bear in mind, That to- morrow is a new day.'

'Yea,' she said, 'for her it is so, and for thee; but not for me.

But now I have brought thee here that thou mightest swear thine oath to me; lay thine hand on this ring and on this brazen plate whereby the sun measures the hours of the day for happy folk, and swear by the spring-tide of the year and all glad things that find a mate, and by the G.o.d of the Earth that rejoiceth in the life of man.'

Then he laid his hand on the finger-ring as it lay on the dial-plate and said:

'By the spring-tide and the live things that long to multiply their kind; by the G.o.d of the Earth that rejoiceth in the life of man, I swear to give to my kinswoman the Bride the second man-child that I beget; to be hers, to leave or cherish, to love or hate, as her will may bid her.' Then he looked on her soberly and said: 'It is duly sworn; is it enough?'

'Yea,' she said; but he saw how the tears ran out of her eyes and wetted the bosom of her kirtle, and she hung her head for shame of her grief. And Gold-mane was all abashed, and had no word to say; for he knew that no word of his might comfort her; and he deemed it ill done to stay there and behold her sorrow; and he knew not how to get him gone, and be glad elsewhere, and leave her alone.

Then, as if she had read his thought, she looked up at him and said smiling a little amidst of her tears:

'I bid thee stay by me till the flood is over; for I have yet a word to say to thee.'

So he stood there gazing down on the gra.s.s in his turn, and not daring to raise his eyes to her face, and the minutes seemed long to him: till at last she said in a voice scarcely yet clear of weeping:

'Wilt thou say anything to me, and tell me what thou hast done, and why, and what thou deemest will come of it?'

He said: 'I will tell the truth as I know it, because thou askest it of me, and not because I would excuse myself before thee. What have I done? Yesterday I plighted my troth to wed the woman that I met last autumn in the wood. And why? I wot not why, but that I longed for her. Yet I must tell thee that it seemed to me, and yet seemeth, that I might do no otherwise--that there was nothing else in the world for me to do. What do I deem will come of it, sayest thou?

This, that we shall be happy together, she and I, till the day of our death.'

She said: 'And even so long shall I be sorry: so far are we sundered now. Alas! who looked for it? And whither shall I turn to now?'

Said Gold-mane: 'She bade me tell thee that to-morrow is a new day: meseemeth I know her meaning.'

'No word of hers hath any meaning to me,' said the Bride.

'Nay,' said he, 'but hast thou not heard these rumours of war that are in the Dale? Shall not these things avail thee? Much may grow out of them; and thou with the mighty heart, so faithful and compa.s.sionate!'

She said: 'What sayest thou? What may grow out of them? Yea, I have heard those rumours as a man sick to death heareth men talk of their business down in the street while he lieth on his bed; and already he hath done with it all, and hath no world to mend or mar.

For me nought shall grow out of it. What meanest thou?'

Said Gold-mane: 'Is there nought in the fellowship of Folks, and the aiding of the valiant, and the deliverance of the hapless?'

'Nay,' she said, 'there is nought to me. I cannot think of it to-day nor yet to-morrow belike. Yet true it is that I may mingle in it, though thinking nought of it. But this shall not avail me.'

She was silent a little, but presently spake and said: 'Thou sayest right; it is not thou that hast done this, but the woman who sent me the ring and the message of an old saw. O that she should be born to sunder us! How hath it befallen that I am now so little to thee and she so much?'