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Rh maiden who may have no other thought than thy love.”

It was a cry wrung from Gudrun by the nobleness of Olaf, and it was the last spark of nobility in her soul. “Only let me leave thy kingdom,” she pleaded again. The remembrance of her vow to her mother, in sight of Olaf’s tenderness, unnerved her; and she seemed to desire but one thing, to hide herself from the king. Had he wooed her like a conqueror, seeking only to subdue her proud spirit, it might only have added fuel to her hatred; but this loving, gentle Olaf was so different from the man she had been taught to hate, that all her womanhood rebelled against the iniquity of returning treachery for true affection.

“No! no! my Gudrun! thou shalt not leave my kingdom. I, its king, would feel that all its light left with thee.”

Gudrun sorrowfully shook her head and pleaded the more to leave.

“Then must I play the king in place of the lover, and tell thee it is my royal will to wed thee.”

“Stay!” Gudrun cried out haughtily. “That mayest thou not do. It were better for thee, King Olaf, to go to sea in the rottenest viking ship of thy fleet, in the wildest storm of the North Sea, than to command the daughter of Ironbeard to be thy wife.”

Olaf smiled. “Thou too, little maid? Thou