“Show me this maiden, that I may speak with her,” said Kenric.

And Aasta stood forth, looking very beautiful in a robe of white, and with her eyes downcast, and her hands clasped before her.

“Tell me your name and history,” said the young king.

“My name, my lord, is Aasta, and nothing else,” said she.  “I am a thrall to Sir Oscar Redmain, who claimed me as his bondmaid when I was but a little child, for it was upon his lands that I was found.  Whence I came I cannot tell; but men say that it was with the wild north winds that I was brought to Bute, from the regions of frost and snow.  Of my parentage I know naught, saving only that Elspeth Blackfell has oft declared that my parents were of noble station, and that they dwelt in the land of the Norsemen.”

“That you are of gentle blood I can well believe,” said Kenric softly, as he regarded her surpassing beauty.  “But do you then remember nothing of your earliest life?”

“All that yet lingers in my mind, my lord, is the memory of my mother,” said Aasta.  “She was wild and unruly as the winter storm, and cruel as an angry wolf.”

“And your father?”

“He was a viking, who, though he loved me passing well, was ever on the sea, roving and fighting in his great ship.”

“Whosoever you be, Aasta, and whencesoever you came,” said Kenric, “I now declare you to be free of your bondage.  For the space of a year and a day you shall remain upon Sir Oscar Redmain’s lands as his paid servant, but not as his thrall, and at the end of that time the Abbot of St. Blane’s shall give you in marriage to the brave man who will then claim you, and you shall be that man’s lawful wedded wife.”

Then, when Duncan Graham led the maid away, Kenric asked if there yet remained any man there present who had any claim to make, or grievance to be redressed; at which David Blair, a rich farmer of Scalpsie, called for judgment upon one who had done him a wrong.

“What is your suit?” asked the king.

“It is,” said the farmer, “that, ten days since, my watchdog was cruelly slain.  He was the best watchdog in all Bute, and never dared beast of prey or man of stealth come near my homestead but to his hurt.  But, since my dog has been slain, three gimmer sheep, and two ewe lambs, and four young goats have been carried off by the wolves.  And my good wife Marjory has lost seven of her best chickens, that have been taken by the foxes.”

“Who is the man that so cruelly slew your dog?” asked Kenric.

“It was young Allan Redmain of Kilmory, and him do I charge,” said the farmer.

“Allan Redmain!” exclaimed Kenric, in alarm at the thought of sitting in judgment upon his own friend.

Then he stirred uneasily in his seat, and bit his lips in trying to see a way of escape out of his difficulty.  He had sworn lasting friendship for Allan, and remembering the adventure of the day before, when Allan had risked his life for him, he could not bear the thought of giving sentence of punishment if it should be proved that Allan was guilty.  Thrown thus betwixt friendship and duty, he sat for many moments in silent thought, wishing that he was no longer a king who had bound himself to do justice to all men.  But at last he called aloud for Allan Redmain, and Allan promptly appeared, albeit with lowered head and guilty looks.