"
"Nay, lady," said Dalfin, with all courtesy, "I do not know him you
mean. I am only Dalfin, Prince of Maghera, of the northern
O'Neills."
Now, at that magnificent "only" I saw Bertric trying to stifle
somewhat like a grin beyond the shoulder of his charge.
"Lady," he said, "we are but mortal men. We are here to help you,
for the ship has not taken fire, and you are safe."
She gave a little gasp and sank back on the roll of canvas we had
set for a pillow, and her eyes closed. I put back the last timber
hastily, and came aft, getting out of sight behind the bedstead,
being in no wise willing to be hailed as Thor again. As for Dalfin,
he poured out another cup of the wine and gave it to Bertric, who
had signed to him for it.
"She will be herself directly," he said sagely. "Who was it that
she took me for?"
"Only a heathen god, and a worthy one," answered the Saxon, setting
the cup to the lips of the girl, and making her drink some of its
contents slowly. "Neither you nor Malcolm will ever be held quite
so highly again. Make the most of it."
I think that he meant the lady to hear him speak thus cheerfully,
and it is certain that she did so. A little wan smile flitted
across her face, and then she flushed red, and opened her eyes.
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