"Mayhap that bit of flint shall chase you round Wessex in vain, and meanwhile the ogre will have devoured me." But she set her white hand on my arm for a moment, as if in thanks.
Then she started and looked at me in the face wonderingly.

She felt the steel.
"Wilfrid," she whispered, "why do you wear mail under your tunic ?" I told her plainly; otherwise it would have surely seemed that it was a niddering sort of habit of mine, and unworthy of a warrior in a king's friendly hall.

And there was no laughter in her fair face as she heard, but fear for me.

Like Erling, she seemed to see peril around us.
"Listen," she said.

"The princess dreams that she is to be wedded, and that even before the altar her bridal robes grow black and the flowers of her wreath fall withered, while the strown blooms under her feet turn to ashes on her path." "More dreams!" I said bitterly.