Such love as his
frank self-love could concede was called forth by an ardent
admiration for this supreme stranger. More admiration than love
was in his passion, and therefore he was free from a lover's
hesitancy and delicate reserve and doubts. Frankly and boldly he
courted her favour by looks and tones, and an address that came of
natural ease, needless of skill by practice.
Nor was she a woman to be wooed otherwise. Tender whispers and
sighs would never gain her ear; but her eyes would brighten and
shine if she heard of a brave feat, and her prompt hand in
sympathy fall swiftly on the axe-haft and clasp it hard. That
movement ever fired Sweyn's admiration anew; he watched for it,
strove to elicit it, and glowed when it came. Wonderful and
beautiful was that wrist, slender and steel-strong; also the
smooth shapely hand, that curved so fast and firm, ready to deal
instant death.
Desiring to feel the pressure of these hands, this bold lover
schemed with palpable directness, proposing that she should hear
how their hunting songs were sung, with a chorus that signalled
hands to be clasped. So his splendid voice gave the verses, and,
as the chorus was taken up, he claimed her hands, and, even
through the easy grip, felt, as he desired, the strength that was
latent, and the vigour that quickened the very fingertips, as the
song fired her, and her voice was caught out of her by the
rhythmic swell, and rang clear on the top of the closing surge.
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