"I have kept you long, daughter," Howel said, taking her hand, "but
I have been hearing good news. Here is Oswald of Wessex, a king's
thane, but more than that to us, for he is the adopted son of your
own godfather, Owen of Cornwall, and he brings the best of tidings
of him."
Now the maiden's face flushed with pleasure, and she held out her
hand to me in frank welcome. Yet I saw a little wondering look on
her face as she let her eyes linger on mine for a moment, and that
puzzled me.
"You are most welcome, Thane," she said. "It is a wonderful thing
that here I should learn that my lost godfather yet lives. You will
come to Pembroke with us, and tell me of him there?"
Then Howel laughed as if he had a jest that would not keep, and he
cried: "Why, Nona, that is a mighty pretty speech, but surely one
asks a sick man of his health first."
She blushed a little, and glanced again at me.
"Surely the thane is not hurt?" she said.
"Yesterday he was, and that sorely. What was it, Thane?--Slipped
shoulder, broken thigh, and broken jaw? All of which a certain
maiden pitied most heartily, even to lending a blanket to the poor
man."
Then Nona blushed red, and I made haste to get rid of some of the
thanks that were heartfelt enough if they came unreadily to my
lips, and Howel laughed at both of us.
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