|
Liornung's brow was drawn and his face was dark. When the others spurred their horses towards the swamp, he lingered a few moments longer, and his eyes were fixed on the spot where the two maids had stood. What foul creature had taken them he could not say, but anger rose up within him against the scoundrels, and his fist opened and closed, and he sat tense and stern.
"Curse them!" he muttered. "Curse them!" Upon the last word his voice broke, and his hand went to his eyes to stem the tears that threatened to rise. If anything had happened to the maids there would be such a play of anger and sorrow that had never been heard in song, and the Ballad would be written to wrench the heart of man with grief, and inflame it with anger.
His heels came against the sides of his steed, and the bay horse sprang forward in nervous tension, swift and prancing at the sense of his anger. Liornung rode to the group and onwards towards the swamp.
|