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Rh appealed to her keen appetite, Ingrid, in spite of the recent tragedy, grew merry and triumphant. Gudrun was troubled over the news.

“Ah! my Gudrun, sit thou here at the head of the table!” cried her mother. “I would tell thee what were fit to give thee the best of appetites. But first,” pouring out a horn of wine and lifting it to her lips, “I drink to the health of Queen Gudrun of Norway! Ah! girl, that were a pledge to sweeten the bitterest ale, even the harsh drink of the Danes. This very morn King Olaf did proclaim his betrothal to thee. I stood in the inner room and heard and saw, though I was not seen. He spoke to the earls of his council. I watched them as they drank in his tidings as it were a very bitter draught. I thought my Lord Thorgills would choke upon it, and my Lady Aastrid—ha, ha, ha! It were a sight to see her. It seemed as if she thought Olaf Tryggevesson were possessed of the seven devils that their White Christ drove out of the Jew in His day, and I wot she thinks thou art equal to the seven. Her favorite maiden, Freda, the pale, white daughter of Jarl Gormo, is dying. She hath blinded her life in the glare of the sea-king, and hath not the eagle in her sight, like thee. So she will sooner see the sepulchre than the queen’s bower. And in despite of them all, thou, my Gudrun wilt be queen. Aye, in despite of Olaf himself, for I doubt not that with my magic power thou hast, too, in thy blood, some of the magic of thy heathen