"When the horse-flesh is passed to him he will be obliged to refuse, and that will betray him," the other answered.

But Eric did not see when Leif shook his head at the bearer of the forbidden meat; and that danger passed.

Rolf murmured approvingly in Sigurd's ear: "He is wise to lie low as long as possible. It is a great thing to get a good foothold before the whirlwind overtakes one."

Sigurd shook his head in his goblet. "When you wish to disarm a serpent, it is best to provoke him into striking at once, and so draw the poison out of his fangs."

Under the shelter of some twanging chords, Alwin whispered up to them: "If you could sit here and see Kark's face, you would think of a dog that is going to bite. And he keeps watching the door. What is it that he expects to come through it?"

Neither could say. They also took to watching the entrance.

Meanwhile the feasting went merrily on. The table was piled with what were considered the daintiest of dishes,—reindeer tongues, fish, broiled veal, horse-steaks, roast birds, shining white pork; wine by the jugful, besides vats of beer and casks of mead; curds, and loaves of rye bread, mounds of butter, and mountains of cheese. Toasts and compliments flew back and forth. Alwin was kept leaping to supply his master's goblet, so many wished the honor of drinking with him. His news of Norway was listened to with breathless attention; his opinion was received with deference. Often it seemed to Alwin that he had only to speak to have his mission instantly accomplished. The English youth noticed, however, that amid all Leif's flowing eloquence there was no reference to the new faith.

The feast waxed merrier and noisier. One of the fiddlers began to shout a ballad, to the accompaniment of the harp. It happened to be the "Song of the Dwarf-Cursed Sword." Sigurd swallowed a curd the wrong way when the words struck his ear; even Valbrand looked sideways at his chief. But Leif's face was immovable; and only his followers noticed that he did not join in the applause that followed the song. Some of the crew let out sighs of impatience. They could fight,—it was their pleasure next after drinking,—but these waits of diplomacy were almost too much for them. It was fortunate that some trick-dogs were brought in at this point. Watching their antics, the spectators forgot impatience in boisterous delight.

While they were cheering the dog that had jumped highest over his pole, and pounding on the table to express their approval, through chinks in the uproar there came from outside a sound of voices, and horses neighing.

"It is Thorwald, home from hunting!" Sigurd said eagerly, looking toward the door. In a moment he was proved correct, for the door had opened and admitted the sportsman and his companion.

Thorwald Ericsson was as unlike his brother Leif as the guardsman was different from some of the plain farmers around him. He was long and lean and wiry, and his thin lips were set in cruel lines. His dress was shabby, and out of all decent order. Patches of fur had been torn out of his cloak; he was muddy up to his knees, and there was blood on his tunic and on his hands. He stood staring at the gay company in surprise, blinking in the sudden light, until his gaze en-countered Leif, when he cried out joyously and hastened forward to seize his hand.

Alwin drew away in disgust from the touch of his ill-smelling garments. As he did so, his eye fell upon Kark, who had laid hold of Thorwald's companion and was talking rapidly in his ear.

The new-comer was not an amiable-looking man. Above his gigantic body was a lowering face that showed a capacity for slyness or viciousness, whichever better served his turn. As Kark talked to him, his brow grew blacker and he plucked savagely at his knife-hilt. It dawned upon Alwin then that he must be Kark's father, the steward Thorhall of whom Valbrand had spoken.

"In which case it is likely that something is about to happen," he told himself, and tried to communicate the news to Sigurd. But Thorwald stood between them, still pressing Leif's hand.

When the hunter had passed on down the line of the crew, Thorhall came forward and greeted Leif with great civility. Only as he was retiring his eye appeared to fall upon Alwin for the first time; he stopped in pained surprise.

"What is this I see, chief? You have got another bowerman in place of my son, whom your father gave to you? It must be that Kark has done something which you dislike. Tell me what it is, and I will slay him with my own hand."

Again Valbrand looked sideways at his master, as if to remind him that he had warned him of this. Tyrker began to fumble at his beard with shaking hands, and to blink across at Eric. This time they had attracted the Red One's attention. His palm was curved around his ear that he might not lose a word; his eyes were fastened upon Leif.

The guardsman's face was as inscrutable as the side of his goblet. "If Kark had deserved to be slain, he would not be living now. He is less accomplished than this man, therefore I changed them."

The steward bent his head in apparent submission. "Now, as always, you are right. Rather than a boorish Odin-man, better is it to have a man of accomplishments,—even though he be a hound of a Christian." He turned away, as one quite innocent of the barb in his words.

An audible murmur passed down the line of Leif's men. No one doubted that this was Thorhall's trap to avenge the slights upon his son. Would the chief let this also pass by? Though their faces remained set to the front, their eyes slid around to watch him.

Leif drew himself up haughtily and also very quietly. "It is unadvisable for you to speak such words to me," he said. "I also am a Christian."

Flint had struck steel. Eric leaped to his feet in a blaze.

"Say that again!"

Thorwald and a dozen of the guests shook their heads frantically at him, but Leif repeated the declaration.

Crash! Down went Eric's goblet, to shiver into a thousand pieces on the table edge. With a furious curse he flung himself back in his chair, and leaned there, panting and glaring.

A hum of voices arose around the room. Men called out soothing words to the Red One and expostulations to Leif. Others felt furtively for their weapons. Some of the women turned pale and clung to each other. Helga arose, her beautiful face shining like a star, and left their ranks and came over and seated herself on Leif's foot-stool, though the voice of Thorhild rose high and shrill in scolding. Leif's men straightened themselves alertly, and fixed upon their master the eyes of expectant dogs. Thorwald hurried to his brother, and laid hands on his shoulders, and endeavored to argue with him.

Leif put him aside, as he arose and faced his father. Through the tumult his voice sounded quiet and strong, the quiet of perfect self-command, the strength of a fearless heart and an iron will.

"It is a great grief to me that you dislike what I have done; yet now I think it best to tell you the whole truth, that you cannot feel that I have acted underhanded in anything."

Eric gave vent to a sound between a growl and a snarl, and flounced in his chair. Thorhild made her son a gesture of entreaty. But Leif, looking back into the frowning faces, calmly continued:

"Olaf Trygvasson converted me to Christianity two winters ago, and I tell you truly that I was never so well helped as I have been since then. And not only am I a Christian, but every man who calls himself mine is also one, and will let blood-eagles be cut in his back rather than change his faith."

No sound came from Eric; but his mouth was half open, as though his rage were choking him, and his face was purple and twitched with passion. He had picked up the ugly little bronze battle-axe that leaned against his chair, and was hefting it and fingering it and shifting it from hand to hand. Gradually the eyes of all the company centred upon the gleaming wedge, following it up and down and back and forth, expecting, dreading.

"If he does not wish to go so far as to slay his own son, he has yet an easy mark in me," Alwin murmured, his eyes following the motions like snake-charmed birds. "If he raises it again like that, I think I shall dodge." Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see many movements of uneasiness among Leif's men.

Only Leif went on quietly: "You have always known that your gods must die, so it should not surprise you to be told now that they are dead; and it should gladden your hearts to know that One has been found who is both ever-living and willing to help. Therefore King Olaf has sent me to lay before you, that if you will accept this faith as the men of Trondhjem have done—"

Helga sprang aside with a shriek of warning. Eric's arm had shot up and back. With a bellow of rage, he leaped to his feet and hurled the axe at his son's head. Simultaneously came an oath from Valbrand and a roar from the crew; then a thundering blow, as the axe, missing the Lucky One by ever so small a space, buried itself deep in the wall behind him.

Instantly every man of the crew was on his feet, and there was clashing of weapons and a tumult of angry voices. Eric's men were not behindhand, and many of the guests drew swords to protect themselves. They were on the verge of a bloody scene, when again Leif's voice sounded above the uproar. He had drawn no weapon, nor swerved nor moved from his first position.

"Put up your swords!" he said to his men.

Those who caught the under-note in his voice hastened to obey, even while they protested.

He turned again to his father, and into his manner came that strange new gentleness that is known as courtesy, which set him above the raging Red One as a man is above a beast.

"It seems strange to me that the one who taught me the laws of hospitality should be the one to break them with me. Nevertheless, now that I have been frank with you, I will not anger you by speaking further of my mission. And since you do not wish to lodge us, I and my men will go back to my ship and sleep there until my errand is accomplished. Valbrand, do you go first, that the others may follow you in order."

The old warrior hesitated as he wheeled. "It is you who should go first, my chief. The heathens will murder you. We—"

"You will do as I command," Leif interrupted him distinctly; and after one glance at his face, they obeyed.

Nothing like this had ever been seen before. A hush of awe fell upon Eric's men and Eric's guests. One by one the crew filed out, with rumbling threats and scowling faces, but wordless and empty-handed. Alwin took advantage of his close attendance to be the last to go, but finally even he was forced to leave. Helga marched out beside him, her head held very high, her eyes dealing sharper stabs than her dagger, Leif's scarlet colors flying in her cheeks. Thorhild called to her, but she swept on, unheeding.

At the door, Alwin paused to look back. He would not be denied that. Leif still stood before his high-seat, holding Eric with his keen calm eyes as a man holds a mad dog at bay. Never had he looked grander. Alwin silently swore his oath of fealty anew.

That no one should accuse him of cowardice, the guardsman waited until the door had closed upon the last one of his men. Then, slowly, with the utmost composure, he walked out alone between the ranks of his enemies.

An involuntary murmur applauded him as he passed. Thorhild, torn as she was between anger and pride, was quick to catch its meaning and to use it. Whatever Leif's faith, she was still his mother. Taking her life in her hand, she bent over and whispered in Eric's ear.

The darkness of his face became midnight blackness,—then was suddenly rent apart as with lightning. He brought his fist down upon the table with a mighty crash.

"Stop! When did I say anything against lodging you? Do you think to throw shame upon my hospitality before my guests? I will have none of your religion,—I spit upon it. You are no longer my son,—I disown you. But you shall sleep under my roof and eat at my board so long as you remain in Greenland, you and your following. No man shall breathe a word against the hospitality of Eric of Brattahlid. Thorhall, light them to sleeping rooms!" His breath, which had been growing shorter and shorter, failed him utterly. He finished with a savage gesture, and threw himself back in his chair.

If Leif had consulted his pride, it is likely that that night Greenland would have seen the last of him. But foremost in his heart, before any consideration for himself, was the success of his mission. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted the offer courteously, and permitted Thorhall's obsequious attendance.

One can imagine the amazement of his followers when he came out to them, not only unharmed, but waited upon by the steward and a dozen torch-bearers.

"It is because he is the Lucky One," they whispered to each other. "His God helps him in everything. It is a faith to live and die for."

They followed him across the grassy courtyard to the foot of the steps leading up to his sleeping-room, and would not leave him until he had consented that Valbrand and Olver should go in with him for a bodyguard.

"And this boy also," he added, signing to Alwin.

As Alwin approached, Kark had the impudence to shoulder himself forward also.

"Chief, are you going to turn me out to lie with the swine in the kitchen?" he said boldly. "Remember that every time you have slept in this room before, I have lain across your threshold."

Leif's glance pierced him through and through. "Is it sense for a man to trust his slumbers to a dog that has bitten him once? Go lie in the kennel. If it were not for provoking Eric, you would not wait long to feel my blade." He turned and walked up the steps, with his hand on Alwin's shoulder.



CHAPTER XV

A WOLF-PACK IN LEASH

He utters too many Futile words Who is never silent; A garrulous tongue, If it be not checked, Sings often to its own harm. Ha'vama'l

Out in the courtyard the four juniors of Leif's train were resting in the shade of the great hall, after a vigorous ball-game. It was four weeks since the crew of the "Sea-Deer" had come into shore-quarters; and though the warmth of August was in the sunshine, the chill of dying summer was already in the shadow. Sigurd drew his cloak around him with a shiver.

"Br-r-r! The sweat drops are freezing on me. What a place this is!"

Rolf, leaning against the door-post, whittling, finished his snatch of song,

"'Hew'd we with the Hanger! It happed that when I young was East in Eyrya's channel Outpoured we blood for grim wolves,'"—

and looked down with his gentle smile. "If you mean that it is this doorstep that is not to your mind, you take too much trouble. We must leave it in a moment; do you not hear that?" He jerked his head toward the gateway, from which direction they suddenly caught the faint notes of hunters' horns. "It is Eric's men returning from their sport. In a little while they will be here, and we must try our luck elsewhere."

He straightened himself lazily, flicking the chips from his dress; but the other three sat doggedly unmoved.

Alwin said, testily: "I do not see why we must be kept jumping like frightened rabbits because Leif has ordered us to avoid quarrels. What trouble can we get into if we remain here without speaking, and give them plenty of room to pass by us into the hall?"

Rolf smiled amiably at the three scowling faces. "Certainly you are good mates to Ann the Simpleton, if you cannot tell any better than that what would happen? They would go a rod out of their way to bump into one of us. If they have been successful, their blood will be up so that they will wish to fight for pleasure. If they have failed, they will be murderous with anger. It took less than that to start the brawl in which Olver was slain,—which I dare say you have not forgotten."

Alwin winced, and Sigurd shivered with something besides the cold. It was not the bloody tumult of the fight that they remembered the most clearly; it was what came after it. True to his interpretation of hospitality, Eric had punished the murder of his guest's servant by lopping off, with his own sword, the right hand of the murderer; whereupon Leif had sworn to mete the same justice to any man of his who should slay a follower of Eric.

Slowly, as the blaring horns and trampling hoofs drew nearer, the three rose to their feet. Only Alwin struck the ground a savage blow with the bat he still held.

"By Saint George! it is unbearable that we should be forced to act in such a foolish way! Has Leif less spirit than a wood-goat? I do not see what he means by it."

"Nor I," echoed Sigurd.

"Nor I," growled Egil. "I believed he had some of Eric's temper in him."

"I do not see why, myself," Rolf admitted; "but I see something that seems to me of greater importance, and that is how he looked when he gave the order."

They followed him across the grassy enclosure, though they still grumbled.

"Where shall we go?"

"The stable also is full of Eric's men."

"Before long we shall be shoved off the land altogether. We will have to swim over to Biorn's dwarf-country."

"I propose that we go to the landing place," exclaimed Sigurd. "It may be that the ship which Valbrand sighted this morning is nearly here."

"I say nothing against that," Rolf assented.

They wheeled promptly toward a gate. But at that moment, Alwin caught sight of a blue-gowned figure watering linen in front of the women's-house.

"Do you go on without me," he said, drawing back. "I will follow in a moment."

Sigurd threw him a keen glance. "Is it your intention to do anything exciting, like quarrelling with Thorhall as you did last night? Let me stay and share it."

There was a little embarrassment in Alwin's laugh. "No such intention have I. I wish to see the hunters ride in."

The hunters were an imposing sight, as they swept into the court, and broke ranks with a cheer that brought heads to every door. White-robed thralls ran among the champing horses, unsaddling them; scarlet-cloaked sportsmen tumbled heaps of feathered slain out of their game-bags upon the grass; horns brayed, and hounds bayed and struggled in the leash. But Alwin forgot to notice it, he was hurrying so eagerly to where Helga, Gilli's daughter, walked between her strips of bleaching linen, sprinkling them with water from a bronze pan with a little broom of twigs.

The outline of her face was sharper and the roses glowed more faintly in her cheeks, but she welcomed him with her beautiful frank smile.

"I was hoping some of you would think it worth while to come over here. It is a great relief for me to speak to a man again. I am so tired of women and their endless gabble of brewing and spinning. Yesterday Freydis, Eric's daughter, drove over, and all the while she was here she talked of nothing but—"

"Eric's daughter?" Alwin repeated in surprise. "Not until now have I heard that Leif had a sister. Why is she never spoken of? Where does she live?"

Helga shrugged impatiently. "She lives at Gardar with a witless man named Thorvard, whom she married for his wealth. She is a despisable creature. And the reason no one speaks of her is that if he did he would feel Thorhild's hands in his hair. There is great hatred between them. Yesterday they quarrelled before Freydis had been here any time at all. And I was about to say that I was glad of it, since it brought about Freydis' departure: all the time she was here she spoke of nothing save her ornaments and costly things. Oh, I do not see why Odin had the wish to create women! It would have been pleasanter if they had remained elm-trees."

Alwin regarded her with eyes of the warmest good-will. "It would become a heavy misfortune to me if you were an elm-tree,—though it is likely that I should speak with you then quite as often as I do now. Except at meals, I seldom see you. But I never pass your window that I do not remember that you are toiling within, and say to myself that I am sorry for your bad luck."

"I give you thanks," answered Helga, with her friendly smile. "Where have the other men gone? I wished to speak with Sigurd."

"They have gone to the landing-place, to watch for a ship that Valbrand sighted this morning from the rocks."

She cried out joyfully: "A ship in Einar's Fiord? Then it belongs to some chief of the settlement, who is returning from a Viking voyage! There will be a fine feast made to welcome him."

Alwin followed her doubtfully up the lane between the white patches. "Is it likely that that will do us any good? It is possible that Leif will not be invited."

The heat of her scorn was like to have dried the drops she was scattering. "You are out of your senses. Do you think men who trade among the Christians are so little-minded as Eric? Leif is known to be a man of renown, and the friend of Olaf Trygvasson. They will be proud to sit at table with him."

"It may be that he will refuse to feast with heathens."

"That is possible," Helga admitted. She emptied her pan with a little flirt of impatience, and sighed. "How tiresome everything is! To sit at a table where one is afraid to move lest there be a fight! I speak the truth when I say that this is the merriest diversion I have,—standing out here, watering linen, and watching who comes and goes. And now that my pan is empty, I must betake myself indoors again. Yonder is Valbrand beckoning you."

It is probable that Alwin would not have hurried to obey the summons, but with a nod and a smile Helga turned away, and there was nothing for him but to go forward to meet the steersman.

The old warrior regarded the young favorite with his usual apathy. "It is the wish of Leif that you attend upon him directly."

"Is he in his sleeping-room?"

"Yes."

It occurred to Alwin to wonder at this summons. His usual hour for reading came after Leif had retired for the night. If the chief had overheard the dispute with Thorhall! He lingered, meditating a question; but a second glance at Valbrand's battered face dissuaded him. He turned sharply on his heel, and strode across to the storehouse that had become Leif's headquarters.

A loft that could be reached only by a ladder-like outer stairway, and was without fireplace or stove or means of heating, does not appear inviting. But one has a keener sense of appreciation when he considers that the other alternative was a bed in the great hall, where the air was as foul as it was warm, and the room was shared with drunken men and spilled beer and bones and scraps left from feasting. Alwin had no inclination to hold his nose high in regard to his master's new lodgings. England itself offered nothing more comfortable.

When he had come up the long flight of steps and swung open the heavy door, he had even an impulse of admiration. This, the state guest-chamber, was not without softening details. It was large and high and weather-proof, and boasted three windows. The box-like straw-filled beds, that were built against the wall, were spread with snowy linen and covers of eiderdown. The long brass-bound chests that stood on either side the door were piled with furs until they offered the softest and warmest of resting-places. A score of Leif's rich dresses, hanging from a row of nails, covered the bare walls as with a gorgeous tapestry. The table was provided with graceful bronze water-pitchers and wash-basins of silver, and was littered over with silver scissors and gold-mounted combs and bright-hilted knives, and a medley of costly trinkets. Near the table stood a great carved arm-chair.

At the sight of the man who leaned against its flaming red cushions of eiderdown, Alwin forgot his admiration. The chief's eyebrows made a bushy line across his nose. The young bowerman knew, without words, why he had been sent for. He stopped where he was, a pace within the door, angry and embarrassed.

After a while, Leif said sternly: "You are very silent now, but it appears to me that I heard your voice loud enough in the hall last night."

"It was only that I was accusing Thorhall of a trick that he tried to put upon me. He allowed me to go up to the loft above the provision house without telling me that the flooring had been taken up, so that they might pour the new mead into the vat in the room below. In one more step I should have fallen through the opening and been drowned. It is plain he did it to avenge Kark. I should have burst if I had not told him so."

"I have commanded that my men shall not hold speech with the men of Eric except on friendly matters; that they shall avoid a quarrel as they would avoid death."

His tone of quiet authority had begun to have its usual effect upon his young follower; Alwin's head had bent before him. But suddenly he looked up with a daring flash.

"Then I have not been disobedient to you, lord; for I would not avoid death if it seemed to me that such shirking were cowardly."

A moment the retort brought a grim smile to Leif's lips; then suddenly his face froze into a look of terrible anger. He half started from his chair.

"Do you dare tell me to my face that, because I order you to keep the peace, I am a coward?"

Alwin gave a great gasp. "Lord, there is no man in the world who would dare speak such words to you. I but meant that I cannot bear such treatment as Thorhall's in silence."

Had another said this, the answer might have been swift and fierce; but Leif's manner toward this follower was always different from his way with others,—whether out of respect for his accomplishment, or a fancy for him, or because he discerned in him some refinement that was rare in that brutal age. The anger faded from his face and he said quietly: "Can you not bear so small a thing as that, for so great a cause as the spreading of your faith?"

The boy started.

"Without peace in which to gain their friendship so that they will hear us willingly, our cause is lost. It is not because I am a craven that I bear to be the guest of the man who sought my life, who turns his face from me when I sit at his board, who allows his servants to insult me. Sometimes I think it would be easier to bear the martyrdom of the blessed saints!" He made a sudden fierce movement in his chair, as though the fire in his veins had leaped out and burnt his flesh.

Then, for the first time, Alwin understood. He bent before him, rebuked and humbled.

"Lord, I see that I have done wrong. I ask you to pardon it. Say what you would have me do."

"Put my commands ahead of your desires, as I put King Olaf's wish before my pride, and as he sets the will of God before his will."

"I promise I will not fail you again, lord."

"See that you do not," Leif answered, with a touch of sternness.



CHAPTER XVI

A COURTIER OF THE KING

A better burden No man bears on the way Than much good sense; That is thought better than riches In a strange place: Such is the recourse of the indigent. Ha'vama'l

The next afternoon when Helga came out to water the linen, she found Alwin waiting for her, on the pretext of hunting in the long grass for a lost arrow-head.

He greeted her gayly: "I will offer you three chances to guess my news."

She paused, with her twig broom raised and dripping, and scanned him eagerly. "Is it anything about the ship that came yesterday? I heard among the women that it is the war-vessel of Eric's kinsman, Thorkel Farserk, just come back from ravaging the Irish coast. Is his wife going to make a feast to welcome him?"

"I will not deny that you have proved a good guesser. And, by Dunstan! he deserves to be received well. Never saw I such a sight as that landing! There were more slaves than there were men in the crew. Not a man but had a bloody bandage on his head or his body, and the arms and legs of some were lacking. Two of the crew were not there at all, and their sweethearts had come down to the shore to meet them; and when they found that they had been slain, they tore their hair and tried to kill themselves with knives."

"That was foolish of them," said Helga, calmly. "Better was it that their lovers should die in good repute than live in the shame of cowardice. But tell me the news. Has it happened, as I supposed, that there is going to be a feast, and Leif is asked to it?"

"Messengers came this morning from Farserk's wife. But you dare not guess the rest."

"I dare throw this pan of water over you if you do not tell me instantly."

"It would not matter much if you did. I am to have new clothes,—of black velvet with bands of ermine. But hearken now: Leif has accepted the invitation! Even Valbrand thinks this a great wonder. At this moment Sigurd is selecting the chief's richest dress, and Rolf is getting out the most costly of the gifts that were brought from Norway."

Helga set down her pan for the express purpose of clapping her hands. "Now I am well content; for at last they will see him in all his glory, and know what manner of man they have treated with disrespect. I have hoped with all my heart for such a thing as this, but by no means did I think he cared enough to do it."

Alwin shook his head hastily. "You must not get it into your mind that it is to improve his own honor that he does it now. I know that for certain. It is to give his mission a good appearance."

Helga picked up her pan with a sigh. "When he begins to preach that to them, he will knock it all over again."

Alwin considered it his duty to frown at this; but it must be confessed that something very similar was in his own thoughts as he followed his lord into Thorkel Farserk's feasting-hall that night. Whatever his religion, the guardsman's rank and his gallant appearance and fine manners compelled admiration and respect. It could not but seem a pity to his admirers that soon, with one word, he would be forced to undo it all.

"It is harder than the martyrdom of the saints," Alwin murmured bitterly. Then his eye fell upon the silver crucifix, shining pure and bright on Leif's breast, and he realized the unworthiness of his thoughts, and resigned himself with a sigh.

But he found that even yet Leif's purposes were beyond him. Never, by so much as a word, did the guardsman refer to the subject of the new religion,—though again and again his skilful tongue won for him the attention of all at the table. He spoke of battles and of feasts, and of the grandeur of the Northmen. With the old men he discussed Norwegian politics; with the young ones he talked of the famous champions of King Olaf's guard. To the women who wished to know concerning the King's house, and the Queen, he answered with the utmost patience. He described everything, from weddings to burials, with the skill of a minstrel and the weight of an authority, and always with the tact of a courtier.

Gradually whispers of praise circled around the board, whispers that fell like sweetest music on the jealous ears of Leif's followers. Thorhild leaned back from her food and watched him with open pride,—and though Eric kept his face still turned away, he set his ear forward so that he should hear everything.

Alwin was almost beside himself with nervousness. "If the crash does not come soon, I shall go out of my wits," he whispered to Rolf.

The Wrestler turned upon him a face of such unusual excitement that he was amazed. "Do you not see?" he whispered. "There will not be any crash. I have just begun to understand. It was this he meant when he spoke to you of gaining their friend-ship that they might hear him willingly. Do you not see?"

Alwin's relief was so great that at first he dared not believe it. When the truth of it dawned upon him, he was overcome with wonder and admiration. In those days, nine men out of every ten could draw their swords and rave and die for their principles; it was only the tenth man that was strong enough to keep his hand off his weapon, or control his tongue and live to serve his cause.

"Luck obeys his will as the helm his hand. I shall never worry over him again," he said contentedly, as with the others he waited in the courtyard for Leif to come out of the feasting-hall.

Sigurd laughed gayly. "Do you know what I just overheard in the crowd? Some of Thorkel's men were praising Leif, and one of Eric's churls thought it worth while to boast to them how he had known the Lucky One when he was a child. Certainly the tide is beginning to turn."

"Leif Ericsson is an ingenious man," Rolf said, with unusual decision. "I take shame upon me that ever I doubted his wisdom."

Egil uttered the kind of sullen grunt with which he always prefaced a disagreeable remark. "Ugh! I do not agree with you. I think his behavior was weak-kneed. Knowing their hatred against the word Christian, all the more would I have dinged it into their ears; that they might not think they had got the better of me. Now they believe he has become ashamed of his faith and deserted it."

The three broke in upon him in an angry chorus. Alwin said sternly: "You speak in a thoughtless way, Egil Olafsson. You forget that he still wears the crucifix upon his breast. How can they believe that he has forgotten his faith or given it up, when they cannot look at him without seeing also the sign of his God?"

Egil turned away, silenced.

This feast of Thorkel Farserk was the first of a long line of such events. With the approach of autumn, ships became a common sight in the fiords-Those chieftains who had left Greenland in summer to spear whales in the northern ocean, or make trading voyages to eastern countries, or cruise over the high seas on pirates' missions, now came sailing home again with increased wealth and news-bags bursting. For every traveller, wife or kinsman made a feast of welcome—a bountiful entertainment that sometimes lasted three days, with tables always spread, and horns always filled, and games and horse-races, and gifts for everyone. At each of these celebrations, Leif appeared in all his splendor; and his tactful tongue held for him the place of honor. His popularity grew apace. The only thing that could keep step with it was the exultation of his followers.



CHAPTER XVII

THE WOOING OF HELGA

At love should no one Ever wonder In another; A beauteous countenance Oft captivates the wise, Which captivates not the foolish.

A man must not Blame another For what is many men's weakness; For mighty love Changes the sons of men From wise into fools. Ha'vama'l

It happened, one day, that an accidental discovery caused Alwin to regard these festivities in a new light.

It was a morning in November when he was in the hall, kneeling before master to lace his high boots. Leif stood before the fire, wrapping himself up for a ride across the Settlement. Some unknown cause had made the atmosphere of the breakfast-table so particularly ungenial,—Thorhild sitting with her back to her spouse, and Eric manifesting a growing desire to hurl goblets at the heads of all who looked at him,—that the courtier had judged it discreet to absent himself from the next meal. He now stood arraying himself from a pile of furs, and talking with Tyrker, who sat near him blinking in the fire-glow. Save a couple of house-thralls scrubbing at the lower end of the room, no one else was present, Eric having started on his morning round of the stables, the smithies, and the cow-houses.

As he pulled on his fur gloves, Leif smiled satirically. "It is a good thing that I was present last summer when King Olaf converted Kjartan the Icelander. It was then I learned that those who cannot be dealt with by force may often be led by the nose without their knowing it. Olaf said to the fellow, 'The God I worship does not wish that any should be brought to Him by force. As you are averse to the doctrines of Christianity, you may depart in peace.' Whereupon Kjartan immediately replied: 'In this manner I may be induced to be a Christian.' So, because I have kept my promise to speak no more concerning Christianity, men have become curious about it, and yesterday two chiefs came of their own will and asked me questions concerning it."

Tyrker poked his head out to say "So?" then snuggled back into his wraps again, to chuckle contentedly. He was so wound up in furs that he looked like a sharp little needle in a fuzzy haystack.

Leif's smile gave way to a frown. "Another man came to me also, on a different errand,—Ragner Thorkelsson,—it may be that you saw him? He wished to make a bargain concerning Helga."

Alwin gave a great start, so that the leather thong snapped in his hand; but his master went on unheeding.

"You know it is my wish that she shall marry as soon as she can make a good match, since she is not happy while she sits at home with Thorhild, and it is not likely that she will like her father much better. It has been in my mind through every feast; but until now, none of the men who have asked for her has seemed to me a good match."

Though his hands kept mechanically at their work, Alwin's brain seemed to have come to a standstill. It must be a dream, a foolish dream. It was not possible that such a thing could have been planned without his even suspecting it. He listened numbly.

"The first man was too old. The second was not of good enough kin; and the other two had not enough property. Ragner Thorkelsson lacks none of these. He is young; his father's father was a lawman; and he owns eighteen farms and many ships."

Though he did not in the least know why, Alwin felt a hot desire to seek out Ragner Thorkelsson and kill him.

"So?" said Tyrker, peering forth inquiringly. "Yet never have I heard that he any accomplishments had, or that in battle enemies he had overcome."

"No," Leif assented.

He did not finish immediately, and there was a pause. From the courtyard came a clashing and jingling of bells, as servants brought the reindeer from the feeding-ground to harness them to the boat-like sledges that stood waiting.

"It may be that I have acted unwisely," Leif said at last; "but because I did not believe it would be according to Helga's wish, I told him that I would not bargain with him."

Alwin buried a gulping laugh in the fur cloak he had picked up. He had known that it would end in some such way. Of course; it had been idiotic to expect anything else. He listened smilingly for what else Leif had to say.

The guardsman drew the last strap through the last buckle on his double fur jacket, and turned toward the door. "It may be that I was unwise, but it may also be that it will not matter much. The most desirable men come home latest; we have not seen them all. It is likely that the next feast will decide it."

Long after the door had closed upon Leif, and he had entered the sledge and been whirled through the gate in a flurry of snow and a clamor of bells, Alwin stood there, motionless. Tyrker dozed in the comfort-able warmth, and woke to find him still staring down into the fire.

"What hast thou, my son?" he questioned, kindly. Alwin came to himself with a start and a stare, and catching up his cloak, hurried out of the room without replying.

"I will find Helga and tell her that she must put a stop to it," he was saying to himself as he went. "That is what I will do. I will tell her that she must stop it."

Pulling his cap lower as the keen wind cut his face, he hurried across the courtyard toward the women's-house, trying to frame some excuse that should bring Helga to the door where he could speak to her.

Half-way across, he bumped into Rolf.

"Hail, comrade! Have you left your eyes behind you in your hurry?" the Wrestler greeted him, catching him by the shoulders and spinning him round and round as he attempted to pass. "You look as sour as last night's beer. What will you give to hear good tidings?"

"Nothing. Let me go. I am in a hurry," Alwin fumed.

"You have not outrun your curiosity, have you? I have just learned why it is that Thorhild no longer speaks to Eric, and why he is in a mood to smash things."

"Why?" asked Alwin, impatiently; but he no longer struggled, for he knew it was useless in Rolf's grip.

"Because last night Thorhild told Eric that she had become a Christian. Her bowerwoman told Helga, and when I met Helga—"

"Met her? Where? Is she in the women's-house?"

Rolf shook him by the shoulders he still held. "Is that all you have to say to news of such importance? Do you not see that now that Thorhild has been converted, Eric's men will no longer dare oppose us; lest in time to come, when she has brought Eric round—"

"I say, where did you meet Helga?" roared Alwin.

Rolf released him, and stood looking at him with an inscrutable smile. "If I were not your sworn friend, I should enjoy wringing your neck," he said. "I met Helga at the gate yonder. She was going over to Glum Starkadsson's to get something for Thorhild, and also because she wished a walk over the hard snow."

"Is it far from here? And in what direction?"

"For what purpose do you wish to know that?"

"I ask you in what direction it lies."

"The Troll take you!" Rolf gave it up with a laugh. "It lies to the north of the fiord,—beyond a bridge that crosses a river that runs through a valley. And it is not far. Have you not yet learned that in Greenland people do not take long strolls in the winter-time?"

Alwin pulled a hood over his cap, strapped his cloak still tighter, drew a pair of down-lined mittens from under his girdle and put them on over his gloves, and, without another syllable, turned and made for the gate.

It was glorious weather, dry and clear, and so still that very little of the cold penetrated his fur-lined garments. Snow covered everything, fine and firm and dazzling. The smooth white expanse suggested a wish that he had brought the skees he was learning to use; then the sight of the line of boulders he would have had to steer around made him rejoice that he had not. Far ahead of him rose the glittering wall of inland ice,—that mysterious frozen sea that covers all of Greenland except its very border, and never advances and never recedes. What made it stop there, he wondered? And what lay beyond it? And could those tales be true that the old women told, of terrible magical beings living on its silent frozen peaks?

The sight of a dark speck moving over the white plain far ahead of him banished every other thought. It might be that it was Helga. He crunched on eagerly. Then he dipped into the valley and lost sight of the speck, found it on the bridge, dipped again, and again it was lost to view.

It was not until the fence of Glum Starkadsson's farm was plainly in sight, that he caught another glimpse of it. But this time it was coming toward him, from the gateway.

Certainly that long crimson cloak and full crimson hood belonged to Helga. In a moment, she waved her hand at him. Soon he could see her face under the white fur border. Her scarlet lips were curving in a smile. The snow-glare brought out the dazzling fairness of her pearly skin, and her eyes were like two radiant blue stars. It seemed to Alwin that he had never known before how beautiful she was. A strange shyness came over him, that weighted his feet and left him without a word to say when they met.

But Helga greeted him cheerily. "Did you ever breathe finer air? I wish Thorhild would run out of gold thread every day in the week. Are you in a hurry?"

"No," Alwin began hesitatingly, "I—"

She did not wait for the end. "Then turn back with me a little way, and I will tell you something worth hearing."

He turned obediently and walked beside her, trying to think how to put what he had come to say.

"You remember hearing of Egil's father Olaf, who was so ill-tempered that Egil dared not go home and confess that he had become a Christian? Gunnlaug Starkadsson returned this morning from visiting his wife, and she says that last night the old man's horse threw him so that his head hit against a stone, and it caused his death."

She made an impressive pause; but Alwin stalked along in silence, grinding his heels deep into the snow.

"Do you not see what that means?" she asked, impatiently. "Egil will now come into his inheritance, and become one of the richest men in the Settlement."

The trouble was that, in the first flash, Alwin had seen it all too plainly. He had seen that now Egil would become just such a man as Leif was wishing to bargain with. The thought burnt him like a hot iron, and he opened his lips to pour out his frenzy; but he could not find the words.

After a moment he said, sullenly: "I should be thankful if he would leave Leif's service, so that I could sometimes speak to you without having him watch me like a dog at a rabbit-hole."

Helga turned toward him with frank interest. "I wonder at that also. He does not act so when I speak to Sigurd or Rolf. But then, he has behaved very strangely to me ever since he talked with Skroppa in Iceland, two seasons ago."

"He spoke to me of Skroppa the first time I saw him," Alwin said, absently. Then a flicker of curiosity awoke in him. "I wish that you would tell me what 'Skroppa' stands for. I do not know whether it is man or beast or demon."

Even out there in the open, Helga glanced about for listeners before she answered. "Skroppa is a fore-knowing woman, who lives among the unsettled places north of here, in a cabin down in a hollow. Though Leif will not admit it, it was she who took the curse off Eric's sword."

It seemed to Alwin that here at last was an opening. He said harshly: "I wonder if she would be wise enough to tell whom Leif will marry you to before the feasting is over?"

Helga stood still and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped in front of her, with a fierce gesture, and in one angry burst told her all he had heard. He could not understand how she could listen so calmly, kicking the snow with the toe of her shoe.

When he had finished, she said quietly: "Yes, I know he has that intention in his mind. It is for that reason that every time I go to a feast he gives me costly ornaments, and makes me wear them. I have had great kindness from his hands. But do not let us speak of it further."

Alwin caught her roughly by her wrists, and shook her a little as he looked into her eyes. "You must not let him marry you to anyone. Do you hear? You must not, I love you."

Helga's look of resentment changed to one of pleased surprise, and she shook his hands heartily. "Do you truly, comrade? I am glad, for I like you very much indeed,—as much as I like Sigurd."

"Then swear by your knife that you will not let him marry you to anyone."

She pulled her hands away, a little impatiently. "Why do you ask that which is useless?"

"But you have just said that you liked me."

"I do; but what does that matter, since I cannot marry you?"

So light had the yoke of servitude grown on Alwin's shoulders that he had almost forgotten its existence. He opened his lips to ask, "Why?" Then it came back to him that he was a slave, a worthless, helpless dog of a slave. He closed his lips again and walked on without speaking, staring ahead of him with fierce, despairing eyes.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE WITCH'S DEN

Moderately wise Should each one be, But never over-wise: His destiny let know No man beforehand; His mind will be freest from care. Ha'vama'l

Because it was Yule Eve, the long deserted temple on the plain was filled with light and sound. Fires blazed upon the floor; the row of gilded idols came out of the shadow and shone in all their splendor. The altars were reddened with the blood of slaughtered cattle; the tapestried walls had been spattered with it. The temple priest dipped a bunch of twigs into the brimming copper bowl, and sprinkled the sacrificial blood over the people who sat along the walls ... They raised the consecrated horns and drank the sacred toasts. To Odin! For victory and power. To Njord! To Frey! For peace and a good year ... Eric of Brattahlid laid his hands upon the atonement boar and made a solemn vow to render justice unto all men, whatsoever their transgressions. The others followed him in this, as in everything.

Because this was happening in the temple, Brattahlid, the source of light and good cheer, was dark and gloomy. In the great hall there was no illumination save the flickering firelight. Black shadows blotted out the corners and stretched across the ceiling. The long benches were emptied of all save Leif's followers and Thorhild's band of women. The men sat like a row of automatons, drinking steadily, in deep silence, with furtive glances toward their leader. Leif leaned back in his high-seat, neither speaking nor drinking, scowling down into the flames.

"He is angry because Eric keeps up the heathen sacrifice," the women whispered in each other's ears. "He has all of Eric's temper when he is angered. It would be as much as one's life were worth to go near him now." Shivering with nervousness, they crouched on the bench beside their mistress's seat.

Thorhild leaned on the arm of her chair, shading her brow with her hand that she might gaze at Leif unseen. Sometimes her eyes dwelt on his face, and sometimes they rested on the silver crucifix that shone on his breast; and so great was her tenderness for the one, that she embraced the other also in a look of yearning love.

When the house-thralls had cleared away the tables, they crept into a corner and stayed there, fearing even to go forward and replenish the sinking fire, though gusts of bitter cold came through the broken window behind them.

Little as they guessed it, something besides cold was coming through the hole in the window. Even while they shivered and nodded beneath it, a pair of gray Saxon eyes were sending keen glances through it, searching every corner.

As the eyes turned back to the outer darkness, Alwin's voice whispered with a long breath of relief: "I am certain they have not noticed that we have gone out."

From the darkness, Sigurd's voice interrupted softly: "Is Kark there?"

"I think he is still in his comer. The light is bad, and the flames are leaping between, but it seems to me that I can make him out."

They emerged from the shadow into the moonlight, and it became evident that Sigurd was shaking his head dubiously.

"It seems to me also that I heard the door creak after us, and saw a shadow slip past as we turned this corner. He is always on the watch; it might easily be that our going out aroused his suspicions so that he is hiding somewhere to track us. More than anything else in the world, is he desirous to catch you in some disobedience."

Alwin tramped on doggedly. To all appearances, the court was as deserted as a graveyard at midnight. Not even the whinny of a horse broke the stillness. They passed into the shadow of a storehouse, and Alwin dived into, the recess under the steps and began to fumble for something hidden there. When he drew out a pair of skees and proceeded to put them on, Sigurd burst forth with increased vehemence.

"Alwin, I implore you to heed my advice. My mind tells me that nothing but evil can come of meddling with Skroppa. There will be no limit to Leif's anger if he—"

"I tell you he will not find out," Alwin answered over his shoulder. "His mind is so full of Eric's ill-doings, that he will not notice my absence before I am back again. And to-night is the only night when I am not in danger of being spied upon by Eric's men. It is my only chance."

"Yet Kark—"

"Kark may go into the hands of the Trolls!"

"It is not unlikely that you will accompany him. You are doing a great sin. Harald Fairhair burned his son alive for meddling with witchcraft."

Although his toes were thrust into the straps of the runner-like skees, Alwin stamped with exasperation. "You need not tell me that again. I know as well as you that it is a sin. But will not penance make it right?"

"You will dishonor Leif's holy mission."

"I shall not cause any quarrel, nor offend anyone. What harm can I do?"

Sigurd laid his hands on his friend's shoulders and tried to see his face in the dark. "Give it up, comrade; I beseech you to give it up. If you should be discovered, I tell you that though a priest might win you a pardon from Heaven, no power on earth could make your peace with Leif Ericsson."

Alwin said slowly: "If he discovers what I have done, I will endure any punishment he chooses, because I owe him some obedience while I eat his bread and wear his clothes. But I am not his born thrall, so I will have my own way first. Urge me no more, brother; my mind is fixed."

Sigurd released him instantly. "I will say nothing further,—except that it is my intention to try my luck with you." Stooping into the recess, he drew out an-other pair of skees and began to fasten them on.

At the prospect of companionship, Alwin felt a rush of relief,—then a twinge of compunction.

"Sigurd, you must not do this thing. There is no reason why you should run this risk."

"There would be no reason why you should call me your friend if I did otherwise," Sigurd cut him short. "Do you think me a craven, to let you go alone where you might be tricked or murdered? Have you a weapon?"

"Leif will not allow me so much as a dagger, so to-night I borrowed from his table the old brass-hilted knife that Eric gave him in his boyhood. It is unlikely that he will miss that. I have it here." Throwing back his cloak, he showed it thrust through his girdle.

"Come, then," said Sigurd curtly. "And have a care for your skees. You are not over-skilful yet."

He caught up the long staff that acts something like a balance-pole in skeeing, and darted away. Alwin followed, with an occasional prod of his staff into a shadow that seemed thicker than it should be. By a side-gate, they left the courtyard and struck out across the fields, where the snow was packed as hard as a road-bed. Noiseless as birds, and almost as swift, they skimmed along over the snow-clad plains and half-frozen marshes.

As was to have been expected, the young Viking was an expert. To see him shoot down a hillside at lightning speed, his skees as firmly parallel as though they were of one piece, his graceful body bending, balancing, steering, was to see the next best thing to flying. Alwin's runners threw him more than once, lapping one over the other as he was zigzagging up a slope, so that he tripped and rolled until a snow-bank stopped him.

As he regained his feet after one of these interruptions, he made some angry remark; but beyond this there was little said. It was a dreary night to be on an uncanny errand, with a chill in the air that seemed to freeze the heart. A fitful, spiteful wind drove the clouds like frightened sheep, and strove to blow out the pale patient moon. Sometimes it seemed almost to succeed; suddenly, when they most needed light to guide their six-foot runners between the great boulders, the light would go out like a torch in the water. The gusts lay in wait for them at the corners, to leap out and lash their faces with a shriek that chattered their teeth. The lulls between the gusts were even worse; it seemed as though the whole world were holding its breath in dread. They held theirs, darting uneasy glances at the glacier wall glittering far ahead of them.

When a long, low wail smote their ears, their hearts leaped into their throats. They were travelling along the edge of a black ravine. Halting, they stood with suspended breath, staring down into the darkness.

The cry came again, yet more piercing; then suddenly it split into a hissing sound like a kettle boiling over. Alwin broke into a nervous laugh. "Cats!" he said.

But Sigurd stiffened as quickly as he had relaxed. "One of Skroppa's! She swarms with them. See! Is not that a light down there?"

A sudden flicker there certainly was,—if it was not a ghost-fire. The last cloud scurried from before the face of the long-suffering moon; before the wind could bring up another fleecy flock, the pale light crept down into the hollow and revealed the dark outline of a cabin clinging among the rocks.

Alwin slipped out of his skees and made sure of his knife. "That, then, is her house. We will leave the skees here."

"Though you never were known to heed advice, I will offer you another piece," Sigurd answered. "We must go softly; and if we find the door unlocked, enter quickly and without knocking. Otherwise it is possible that we will stay outside and talk to the stones."

It was a tedious descent, yet somehow the time seemed plenty short enough before they stood at the threshold. The stillness at the bottom of the hollow was death-like; only the flickering light on the window spoke of life. Silently the door yielded to Alwin's touch.

Darkness and a dying fire were all that met their eyes. They thought the room empty, and took a step forward. Instantly the space was alive with the green eyes of countless cats. The air was split with yowlings and spittings and hissing. Soft furry bodies bounced against them and bit and clawed around their legs. From the farthest corner came the lisping voice of a toothless old woman.

"Who dares interrupt my sleep when the visions of things I wish to know are passing before me? Better would it be for him to put his hand into the mouth of the Fenriswolf."

Alwin said slowly, "It is the English thrall."

After a pause, the voice answered crossly, "I know no English thrall."

"How comes it, then, that more than a year ago you told something concerning him which made Egil Olafsson his mortal foe?"

Out of the darkness came a sudden cackling laugh. "That is true. I told the Black One that the maiden he loved would love an English thrall instead. And he wished to stick his sword through me!"

"Is that what you told him?" cried Alwin, in amazement.

Sigurd echoed the cry. Yet as their minds ran back over Egil's strange actions, they could not doubt that this was the key that unlocked their mystery.

From an invisible corner came a stir, a creak, and then the sound of feet lighting softly on the floor. A tiny figure appeared on the edge of the shadows beyond the dying fire. The light fell upon furry gray feet; and Alwin's first thought was that a monstrous cat had dropped down. Then the flames leaped higher, and showed a furry cloak and a furry hood, and from its fuzzy depths protruding, a sharp yellow beak for a nose, and a hairy yellow peak for a chin. Of eyes, one saw nothing at all.

Out of the fuzzy depths came a lisping voice. "When a thrall of Leif Ericsson, who is also a Christian, thinks it worth while to risk his life and his soul to consult me, I forgive it that I am wakened at midnight. It is a compliment to my powers that I do not take ill. Say what you wish to learn from me."

Alwin felt Sigurd touch him reproachfully, and shame burned in his cheeks; but he had gone too far to retreat. He said bluntly: "I wish to know whether Helga, Gilli's daughter, is to be given to Egil. Each time he speaks across the floor to her, I am as though I were pricked with sharp knives. I have endured it through three feasts; but I look upon her with such eyes of love, that I can bear it no longer."

"I will dull those knives, even as Odin blunts the weapons of his enemies. Helga will not be given to Egil, because he is too haughty to ask for her since he knows that she loves you instead of him."

It had seemed to Alwin that if he could only know this, he would be satisfied; yet now his questions piled upon each other.

"Then do you promise that she will be given to me? How am I to save her? How am I to get my freedom? How long am I to wait?"

The Sibyl sank her head upon her breast so that her nose and chin quite disappeared, and she stood before them like some furry headless beast. There was a long pause. Alwin nervously followed the pairs of eyes, noiselessly appearing and disappearing, from floor to ceiling, in every part of the room. Sigurd set his back against the door and carried on a silent struggle with the heavy lumps, hanging by teeth and claws upon his cloak.

At last Skroppa raised her head and answered haltingly: "You ask too much, according to the time and the place. To know all that clearly, I should sit on a witches' platform and eat witches' broth, and have women stand about me and sing weird songs. Without music, spirits do not like to help. I can only see bits, vaguely as through a fog... I see your body lying on the ground I see a ship where never ship was seen before I see—I see Leif Ericsson standing upon earth where never man stood before. It seems to me that I read great luck in his face... And I see you standing beside him, though you do not look as you look now, for your hair is long and black. The light is so bright that I cannot... Yes, one thing more is open to my sight. I see that it is in this new land that it will be settled whether your luck is to be good or bad."

She stopped. They waited for her to go on; but soon it became evident that the foretelling was finished. With all his prudence, Sigurd began to laugh; and Alwin burst out in a passion of impatience: "For which, you gabbler? For which? I can make nothing of such jargon. Tell me in plain words whether it will be for good or ill."

Skroppa answered just one word: "Jargon!"

Alwin stormed on unheeding, but Sigurd's laughter stopped: something in the tone of that one word chilled his blood and braced his muscles like a frost. He strained his eyes to pierce the shadow and make out what she was doing; and it seemed to him that he could no longer see her. She had disappeared,—where? In a sudden panic he groped behind him for the door; found it and flung it open. It was well that the moon was shining at that moment.

"Alwin!" he shouted. The yellow face was close to the thrall's unconscious shoulder; one evil claw-like hand was almost at his cheek. What she would have done, she alone knew.

While his cry was still in the air, Sigurd pulled his companion away and through the door. Up the steep they went like cats. Near the top, Alwin tripped, and his knife slipped from his belt and fell against a boulder. It lay there shining, but neither of them noticed it. Into their skees, and over the crusted plains they went,—reindeer could not have caught them.



CHAPTER XIX

TALES OF THE UNKNOWN WEST

Fire is needful To him who is come in, And whose knees are frozen; Food and raiment A man requires Who o'er the fell has travelled. Ha'vama'l

"I tell you I must go over the track once more. It may have slipped out of my girdle at some of the places where I tripped."

Alwin's words rose in frosty cloud; for he was Leif's unheated sleeping-room, drawing on an extra pair of thick woollen stockings in preparation for his customary outing.

"It is foolishness. Four times already have you been over the ground without finding it. A long brass-halted knife could not have been overlooked if it had been there. I tell you that you lost it among the rocks of the hollow, and that you would be wise to give it up."

Sigurd's answer came in muffled though emphatic tones, for he was huddled almost out of sight among the furs on the chest, as he waited for his companion to complete his dressing. Now that genuine winter weather was upon them, the loft was necessarily abandoned as a sleeping apartment; but it still served as a dressing-room for such slight and speedy alterations as were attempted.

As he pulled on the big heelless skeeing-shoes, Alwin sighed anxiously. "I must find it. Any day Leif may miss it and ask."

"He is not likely to, since he has already gone a week without noticing its absence. And if he should, you have only to say that you borrowed it to protect yourself from wolves. That will not be much of a lie, Skroppa being nearer wolf than human. He will feel that he was wrong to have denied you a weapon, and he will only scold a little."

"It is true that he is in a good temper again," Alwin admitted. "Yesterday I heard Tyrker tell Valbrand that many more chiefs had asked concerning Christianity; and last night, after Eric had gone to sleep in his seat, I heard Leif say to Thorhild that if now he could only do some great deed to prove the power of his God, it was his opinion that half of Greenland would be ready to believe."

Sigurd crept out of the bearskins with a shiver. "I say nothing against that. But let us end this talk. My blood-drops are so frozen they rattle in my body."

He thumped down the steps as though rigid with cold, and jumped and danced and beat his breast before he could bring himself to stand still long enough to fasten on his skees.

"Where shall we go, then?" Alwin asked, as they glided out of the gate in the dim light of an Arctic winter day. "It may be that to go over that road again might become a misfortune. Once I saw Kark looking after us with a grin which I would have knocked off his face if I had not been in a hurry."

Sigurd instantly faced toward the snow-crusted hills that lay between them and Eric's Fiord. "Then to-day it will be useful to go in another direction, so that any suspicions he has may go to sleep again. If Thorhall had been at home, he would have overtaken you before this. His green eyes are well fitted for spying."

Perhaps it was this reference to green eyes that recalled to Alwin the scene of the foretelling. Perhaps it had never gone very far out of his mind.

After they had swung along a while in silent enjoyment of the swift motion and the answering tingle in their blood, he said abruptly: "It may be that there was some truth at her tongue-roots, after all."

Sigurd made a sly move with his staff, so that the other suddenly tripped and fell headlong; whereupon he said gravely: "Lo, I believe so too, for behold, already it has come true that 'I see your body lying on the ground.'"

Alwin consented to laugh, as he picked himself up and untangled his runners; but he was too much in earnest to be turned aside.

"I do not mean in regard to that," he said, when they were once more in motion. "I mean what she told concerning some new untrodden land."

Sigurd became instantly attentive, as though the reference had been much in his own mind also.

"It has occurred to me that perhaps she was speaking of that western land you told me of. It might be that this would be a way out of my difficulties. If I could escape to that land with Helga, so would I at once save her and gain my freedom."

Sigurd's eyes brightened, then gloomed again. "Yes,—but that 'if' is like a mile-wide rift in the ice. You can never get over it."

"It might be that I could get around it. I tell you I shall go out of my wits if I cannot see some trail to follow, no matter how faint it is. Tell me what else you know of this land."

They were starting down a slope at the speed of the wind, but Sigurd suddenly leaped into the air with a cheer; and cheered again as he landed, right-side up and unstaggered, at the bottom of the hill.

"By Michael, I will do better than that! I will take you to talk with one of Biorn's own men. One is visiting Aran Bow-Bender now, across the fiord. I heard Brand Knutsson say so last week."

"By my troth, Sigurd," Alwin cried eagerly, "when things come to one's hand like that, I believe it is a sign that he should try his luck with them! Would we have time to go there to-day?"

"Certainly; do you not see that the light is only just fading from the mountain tops? so it can be but a little past noon. The only difficulty is that the ice may not be in a condition for us to cross the fiord. A warm land-wind has been blowing for three days; and even in the North, where the seal-hunters go, the ice often breaks up under them. But now allow me to get my bearings. That is the smoke from Brattahlid, behind us; and yonder I see the roofs of Eric's ship-sheds. Here,—we will go in this direction until we come to a high point of the bank."

Across the white plain that stretched in that direction, they skimmed accordingly. Once they came upon a herd of Eric's reindeer, rooting under the snow for moss; but aside from that, they saw no living thing. Low-hanging gray clouds seemed to have shut out the world. Now and then, from far out in the open water came the grinding and crunching of huge ice-cakes, see-sawing past each other. Once there sounded the reverberating thunder of two icebergs in a duel.

"If there were any bears on that ice, they have found by this time that there can be even worse things than men with spears," Sigurd observed, as he listened.

It is doubtful whether Alwin had heard the noise at all. He answered, absently: "Yes,—and if we do not wish to come to the subject at once, we can say that we are cold and dropped in to warm ourselves."

"To say that we are cold will always be truthfully spoken," Sigurd assented, his teeth chattering like beads. "I do not believe that Stark-Otter was much chillier when he pulled off his clothes and sat in a snow-bank."

It turned out to be even more truthful than they imagined. They had little more than left the shore and ventured out upon the ice, when the gentle east wind developed into a gale, that presently wrapped them in the blinding folds of a snow-storm. The ice became invisible a step ahead of their feet. They had retained their staffs when they left their skees upon the bank; but even feeling their way step by step was by no means secure. It was not long before Alwin went through, up to his neck; and if he had been uncomfortable before, he was in wretched plight now, drenched to the skin with ice-water.

"If you also get in this condition, we shall both perish," he chattered, when he had managed to clamber out again by the fortunate accident of his staff's falling crosswise over the hole. "I will continue to go first; and do you hoard your strength to save us both when I get too stiff to move." It proved a wise precaution; for in a few minutes he broke through again, and it took all his companion's exertions to pull him out. Before they reached the opposite shore, he had been in four times, and was so benumbed with cold that Sigurd was obliged to drag him up the bank and into the hut of Aran Bow-Bender.

One low room was all there was of it, and that was smoky and dirty, the air thick with the smells of stale cooking and musty fur garments. Dogs were lying about, and there was a goat-pen in the corner; but a fire roared in the centre, a ring of steaming hot drinks stood around it, and behind them sat a circle of jovial-hearted sportsmen, who seemed to ask no greater pleasure than to pull off a stranger's drenched garments, rub him to a tingle, and pour him full of hot spicy liquids.

To return that night was out of the question. Alwin was too exhausted even to think of it,—beyond a sleepy wonder as to whether a scolding or a flogging would be the penalty of his involuntary truancy. He even forgot the existence of the man he had come to see, though the round, red-faced sailor dozed in a corner directly opposite him.

Sigurd, however, was less muddled; and he had, besides, a strong objection to returning the next morning, to be laughed at for his weather-foolishness.

"If we do not want to be made fun of, it would be advisable for us to take someone back with us to distract people's attention," he reasoned, and laid plans accordingly. The next day, as they began buckling up their various outer garments preparatory to departure, he suddenly struck into the conversation with a reference to the festivities at Brattahlid.

In a moment the sailor-man's eyes opened, like two round windows, above his fat cheeks.

The Silver-Tongue spoke on concerning the products of the Brattahlid kitchen, the fat beeves that were slaughtered each week, the gammons and flitches that were taken from the larder, and the barrels of ale that were tapped.

As he settled his boots with a final stamp, and stretched out his hand toward the door, Grettir the sailor arose in his corner.

"Hold on, Jarl's son," he said thickly. "If it is not against your wish, I will go with you." He made a propitiatory gesture to the group around the fire. "You will not take it ill, shipmates, if I leave you now, with many thanks for a good entertainment. The truth is that it has always been in my mind to visit this renowned Eric, if ever I should be in this part of Greenland; and now that some one is going that way to guide me, I think it would be unadvisable to lose the chance."

"The matter shall be as you have fixed it, Grettir," Sigurd said politely, "if you are able to run on skees with us."

Grettir laughed in a jovial roar, as he helped himself to a pair of runners that rested on antlers against the wall. "You have a sly wit, Sigurd Jarlsson. You think, because I am round, I am wont to roll like a barrel. I will show you."

And it proved that, for all his bulk, he was as light on his feet as either of them. In those days, when every landlubber could handle a boat like a seaman, every sailor knew at least something about farming, and could ride a horse like a jockey. All the way back, he kept them going at a pace that took their breath.

In the excitement of welcoming so renowned a character to Brattahlid, reprimands and curiosity were alike forgotten. By the time they had him anchored behind an ale-horn on the bench in the hall, he held the household's undivided attention. Good-natured with feasting, and roused by the babel around him, he began yarn-spinning at the first hint.

"The western shore? No man living can tell you more of the wonders of that than I,—not Biorn Herjulfsson himself!" he declared. And forthwith he related the whole adventure, from Biorn's rash setting out into unknown seas, to his final arrival on the Greenland coast.

To hear of these strange half-mythical shores from one who had seen them with his own eyes, was more than interesting. The jarls' sons listened breathlessly while he reeled out his tale between swallows.

"And the fair winds ceased, and northern winds with fog blew continually, so that for many days we did not know even in what direction we were sailing. Then the sun came into sight, and we could distinguish the quarters of heaven. We hoisted sail, and sailed all day before we saw land, but when we came to it we knew no more what it was than this horn here. Biorn said he did not think it was Greenland, but he wished to go near it. It had no mountains but low hills, and was forest-clad. We kept the land on our left and sailed for two days before we came to other land. This time it was flat and covered with woods. Biorn said that he did not think this was Greenland, for very large glaciers were said to be there. We wished to go ashore, as we lacked both wood and water, and the fair wind had fallen. There were some cross words when Biorn would not, but gave orders to turn the prow seaward. This time we sailed three days with a southwest wind, and more land came in view, which rose high with mountains and a glacier. Biorn said this had an inhospitable look, and he would not allow that we should land here either. But we sailed along the shore, and saw that it was an island. After this we had no more chances, for the fourth land we saw was Greenland."

A buzz of comment rose from all sides. "Is that all that you made of such a chance as that?"—"Certainly the gods waste their favors on such as Biorn Herjulfsson."—"Is he a coward, or what does he lack?" "He is as dull as a wooden sword."

Now whether or no all this coincided with the private opinion of Grettir the Fat, has nothing to do with the matter. Biorn Herjulfsson had been his chief. The sailor rose suddenly to his feet, with his hand on his knife and an angry look on his red face.

"Biorn Herjulfsson is no coward!" he shouted fiercely. "I will avenge it in blood on the head of him who says so."

Eric was not there to keep order; a dozen mouths opened to take up the challenge. But before any sound could come out of them, Leif had risen to his feet. "Are you such mannerless churls that I must remind you of what is due to a guest?" he said, sternly. "Learn to be quicker with your hospitality, and slower with your judgment of every act you cannot under-stand. Grettir, I invite you to sit here by me and tell me more concerning your chief's voyage."

When Grettir had gone proudly up to take his seat of honor, and the others had returned to their back-gammon and ale, Sigurd looked at Alwin with a comical grimace.

"Now I wonder if my cleverness in bringing this fellow here has happened to overshoot the mark! Leif is eager to get renown; suppose he takes it into his head to make this voyage himself?"

Alwin sank his voice to a whisper: "The idea came to me as soon as he called Grettir to him. But it was not your doing. Now the saying is proved true that 'things that are fated take place.' Do you remember the prophecy,—that when I stand on that ground I shall stand there by the side of Leif Ericsson?"



CHAPTER XX

ALWIN'S BANE

Much goes worse than is expected. Ha'vama'l

The light of the short day had faded, but the wind had not gone down with the sun. Powdery snow choked the air in a blinding storm. One could not distinguish a house, though it were within a foot of his eyes.

"If I do not come to the gate before long," Alwin observed to the shaggy little Norwegian pony along whose neck he was bending, "I shall believe that the fences have been snowed under."

He had been sent out to find another of Biorn's sailors who chanced to be visiting in the neighborhood, to invite him to come to Brattahlid and tell what else he might know concerning his chiefs voyage,—a subject in which Leif had become strangely interested. Alwin had accomplished his errand, and was returning half-frozen and with a ravenous appetite that made him doubly impatient over their slow progress.

"If we do not get there before long," he repeated to the pony, with a dig into his flanks, "I shall get afraid that the drifts have covered the houses also, and that we are already riding over the roofs without knowing it."

But as he said it, a tall gate-post rose on either side of him; and the pony turned to the left and began groping his way across the courtyard to his stable.

The windows of the great hall glowed with light, and warmth and jovial voices and fragrant smells burst out upon the storm with every swing of the broad door. As soon as he had stabled his horse, Alwin hurried toward it eagerly, and, stamping and shaking off the snow, pushed his way in through the crowd of house-thralls, who were running to and from the pantry with bowls and trenchers and loads of food. He hoped that Leif was there, so that he should not have to go back across the snowy courtyard to the sleeping-loft to make his report. Stopping just inside the threshold, he looked about for him, blinking in the strong light and shaking back the wet fur of his collar.

It seemed as though every member of the house-hold except Leif were lounging along the benches, waiting for the evening meal. Eric leaned against one arm of his high-seat, talking jovially with Thorhall the steward, who had returned that morning from seal-hunting. Thorhild bent over the other arm, and gesticulated vigorously with her keys, as she gave her housekeeper some last directions regarding the food. Further along, Sigurd and Helga sat at draughts. Near at hand, a big fur ball, which was the outward and visible sign of Tyrker, was rolled up close to a chess-board. Only Leif's cushioned seat was empty.

With petulant force, Alwin jammed his bearskin cap down upon his head and turned to retrace his steps. Turning, his eye fell upon an object that Eric had just taken from the steward and held up to the light to examine. The flames caught at it eagerly, flashing and sparkling, so that even at that distance Alwin had no difficulty in recognizing the brass-hilted knife. Eric burst into a mighty roar of laughter. His voice, never greatly subdued, penetrated to every corner of the room. "I could stake my head that it is Leif's! I myself gave it to him for a name-fastening. And you found it in Skroppa's den? Oh, this is worth a hearing! Here is mirth! In Skroppa's den,—Leif the Christian! Ho, Flein, Asmund, Adils, comrades,—listen to this! No jester ever invented such a jest."

He got on his feet and beckoned them with both arms, stamping with laughter. Catching sight of Alwin's white face at the door,—for it was ashen white,—he beckoned him also, with a fresh burst of malicious laughter.

"And you, you little priest-robed puppet, come nearer, so you shall not lose a word. Oh, it will be great fun for you! And for you, my Thorhild,—and the haughty-headed Helga! And gray old Tyrker too! Listen now, Graybeard, and learn, even with one foot in the grave. Saw you never such a game as this foster-son of yours has played with unchanging face!" He choked with his laughter, so that his face grew purple; and the household waited, leaning from the benches, nudging and whispering; the servants gaping over the dishes in their hands; Alwin standing by the door, motionless as the dead; Sigurd sitting, still as the dead, in his place.

Stamping and rocking himself back and forth, and banging on the arm of his seat, the Red One got his breath at last, and bellowed it out. "Leif the Christian in the den of Skroppa the Witch! His knife proves it; Thorhall found it among the rocks at her very door. Saw I never such slyness! Think of it, comrades; he is driven to ask help of Skroppa,—he who feigns to scowl at her very name!—he who would have us believe in a god that he does not trust in himself! Here is an unheard-of two-facedness! Never was such a fraud since Loki. Here is merriment for all!"

He continued to shout it over and over, roaring with mocking laughter; his men nudging each other, sniggering and grinning and calling gibes across the fire. Leif's men sprang up, burning with rage and shame,—then stood speechless, daring neither to deny nor resent it.

Alwin made a quick step forward to where the firelight revealed him to all in the room, and cried out hoarsely: "Here is falsehood! My hand, and no other, took Leif Ericsson's knife to the den of Skroppa the Witch."

Motion and sound stopped for a moment,—as though the icy blast, that came just then through the opening door, had frozen all the life in the room. Then a voice called out that the thrall was lying to cover his master; and Eric's laughter burst out anew, and the jeering redoubled.

But Alwin's voice rose high above it. "Fools! Is it worth while for me to give my life for a lie? Ask Sigurd Haraldsson, if you will not believe me. He knows that I went there on Yule Eve, to ask concerning my freedom. The knife slipped from my belt as I was climbing the rocks. Leif knew of it no more than you. Ask Sigurd Haraldsson, if you will not believe me."

Sigurd rose and tried to speak, but his tongue had become like a withered leaf in his mouth, so that he could only bow his head.

Yet from him, that was enough. Such an uproar of delight broke from Leif's men as drowned all the jeering that had gone before, and made the rafters ring with exulting. Alwin knew that, whatever else he would have to bear, at least that lie was not upon him, and he drew a deep breath of relief. All the light did not die out of his face, even when Leif stepped out of the shadow of the door and stood before him.

She had not spoken falsely who had said that the fire of Eric burned in the veins of his son. In his white-hot anger, the guardsman's face was terrible. Death was in his stern-set mouth, and death blazed from his eyes. Rolf, Sigurd, Helga, even Valbrand, cried out for mercy; but Alwin read the look aright, and asked for nothing that was not there.

While their cries were still in the air, Leif's blade leaped from its scabbard, quivered in the light, and flashed down, biting through fur and hair and flesh and bone. Without a sound, Alwin fell forward heavily, and lay upon his face at his master's feet.

That all men might know whose hand had done the deed, Leif flung the dripping sword down beside its victim, and without speaking, strode out of the room.

Then a strange thing happened. Helga ran over to where the lifeless heap lay in a widening pool of blood, and raised the wounded head in her arms, and rained down upon the still white face such tears as no one had ever thought to see her shed. When Thorhild came to take her away, she cried out, so that every one could hear:

"Do you not understand?—I loved him. I did not find it out until now. I loved him with all my heart, and now he will never know! I—loved him."



CHAPTER XXI

THE HEART OF A SHIELD-MAIDEN

Cattle die, Kindred die, We ourselves also die; But the fair fame Never dies Of him who has earned it. Ha'vama'l

Out of doors the stir of spring was in the air; snow melting on the hills, grass sprouting on the plains. Editha's troubled face brightened a little, as she turned up the lane against the sun and felt its warmth upon her cheek.

"It gives one the feeling that it will melt one's sorrows as it melts the snow," she told herself.

Then she passed through the gate into the budding courtyard, where her eye fell upon Leif's sleeping-loft, with Kark running briskly up the steps; and the brightness faded.

"But there is some ice the sun cannot melt," she sighed.

On the threshold of the great hall, Thorhild stood waiting for her. Inside, all was confusion,—men placing tables and bringing in straw; maids spreading the embroidered cloths and hanging the holiday tapestries. The matron's head-dress was awry; her cheeks were like poppies, and her keys were kept in a perpetual jingle by her bustling motions.

She cried out, as soon as Editha came within hearing distance: "How long you have been, you little good-for-nothing! I have looked out four times for you. Was Astrid away from home? Did you return by Eric's Fiord, and learn whose ship it is that is coming in?"

The little Saxon maid dropped her respectful curtsey. If at the same time she dropped her eyes with a touch of embarrassment, the matron was too preoccupied to observe it.

"I was hindered by necessity, lady. Astrid was not away from home, but she was uncertain whether her son would wish to sell any malt, so I was obliged to wait until he came in from the stables."

"Humph," sniffed Thorhild; "Egil Olafsson has become of great importance since his father was mound-laid. This is the third time I have been kept waiting for his leave." She turned on the girl sharply. "By no means do I believe that to be the reason for your long absences. I believe you plead that as an excuse."

Editha caught at the door-post, and her face went from red to white and back to red again.

"Indeed, lady—" she began.

Thorhild shook a menacing finger at her. "One never needs to tell me! She keeps you there to gossip about my household. Though she is my friend, she is as great a gossip as ever wagged a tongue."

Even though the hand still threatened her ears, one would have said that Editha looked relieved. She said, with well-feigned reluctance: "It is true that we have sometimes spoken of Brattahlid while I waited. Astrid looks favorably upon my needlework. Once or twice she has said that she would like to buy me—"

This time Thorhild snorted. "She takes too much trouble! Helga will never sell you to anyone. You need get no such ideas into your head. Why do you talk such foolishness, and hinder me from my work? Can you not tell me shortly whether or not you got the malt?"

"I did, lady. Two thralls will bring it as soon as it can be weighed."

"I shall need it, if guests arrive. And what of the ship? Did you learn whose it is? It takes till pyre-and-fire to get anything out of you."

Editha's rosy face, usually as full of placid content as a kitten's, suddenly puckered with anxiety. "Lady, as I passed, it was still a long way down the fiord. I could only see that it was a large and fine trading-vessel. But one of the seamen on the shore told me it was his belief that it is the ship of Gilli of Trond-hjem."

The house-wife's keys clashed and clattered with her motion of surprise. "Gilli of Trondhjem! Then he has come to take Helga!"

Editha nervously clasped and unclasped her hands. "I got afraid it might be so."

"Afraid, you simpleton?" The matron laughed excitedly, as she brushed all stray hairs out of her eyes and tightened her apron for action. "It will become a great boon to her. Since the Englishman's death, she has been no better than a crazy Brynhild. To take her out into the world and entertain her with new sights,—it will be the saving of her! Run quickly and tell her the tidings; and see to it that she puts on her most costly clothes. Tell her that if she will also put on the ornaments Leif has given her, I will give her leave to stop embroidering for the day."

Editha observed to herself, as she tripped away, that undoubtedly her mistress had already done that without waiting for permission. And it proved very shortly that she was right.

In the great work-room of the women's-house, among deserted looms and spindles and embroidery frames, Helga sat in dreamy idleness. The whirlwind of excitement that had swept her companions away at the news of approaching guests, had passed over her without so much as ruffling a hair. Her golden head rested heavily against the wall behind her; her hands lay listlessly upon her lap. Her face was as white as the unmelted snow in the valleys, and the spring sun-shine had brought no sparkle to relieve the shadow in her eyes.

Without looking around, she said dreamily: "It was one year ago to-day that I came into the trader's booth in Norway and saw him sitting there among the thralls."

Editha stole over to her and lifted one of her hands out of her lap and kissed it. "Lady, do not be all the time thinking of him. You will break your heart, and to no purpose. Besides, I have news of great importance for you. I have seen the ship that is coming up the fiord, and men say it is the vessel of your father, Gilli of Trondhjem."

With something of her old fire, Helga snatched her hand away and started up. "Do you know this for certain? And do you believe that Thorhild will give me up to him?"

"Worse than that, lady,—she is even anxious that he shall take you, thinking it will be to your advantage."

For awhile Helga sat staring before her, with expressions of anger and despair flickering over her face. Then, gradually, they died down like flames into ashes. She sank back against the wall, and her eyes faded dull and absent again.

"After all, what does it matter?" she said, listlessly. "I shall not find it any worse there than here. Nothing matters now."

Editha made a little moan, like one in sudden pain; but it seemed as though she did not dare to interrupt the other's revery. She stood, softly wringing her hands. It was Helga who finally broke the silence. Suddenly she turned, an angry gleam replacing the dulness in her eyes.

"Did the ship bring more tidings of the battle? Is it certain that King Olaf Trygvasson is slain?"

Editha answered, in some surprise: "It had not come to land when I was there, lady. I am unable to tell you anything new. But the men who came last week, and first told us of the battle, say that Eric Jarl is now the King over Norway, and there is no doubt that Olaf Trygvasson is dead."

Helga laughed, a hateful laugh that made her pretty mouth as cruel as a wolf's. "It gladdens me that he is dead. I am well content that Leif's heart should be black with mourning. He killed the man I loved, and now the King he loved is slain,—and he was not there to fight for him. It is a just punishment upon him. I am glad that he should suffer a little of all that he has made me suffer."

Editha moaned again, and flung out her hands with a gesture of entreaty. "Dearest lady, if only you would not allow yourself to suffer so! If only you would bear it calmly, as I have begged of you! Even though you died, it would not help. It is wasting your grief—" She stopped, for her mistress was looking at her fixedly.

"I do not understand you," Helga said, slowly. "Is it wasting grief to mourn the death of Alwin of England, than whom God never made a nobler or higher-minded man?" She rose out of her seat, and Editha shrank away from her. "I do not understand you,—you who pretend to have loved him since he was a child. Is it indeed your wish that I should act as though I cared nothing for him? Did you really care nothing for him yourself? Your face has grown no paler since his death-day; you are as fat as ever; you have seldom shed a tear. Was all your loyalty to him a lie? By the edge of my knife, if I thought so I would give you cause to weep! I would drive the blood from your deceitful face forever!"

She caught the Saxon girl by the wrist and forced her upon her knees; her beautiful eyes were as awful as the eyes of a Valkyria in battle. The bondmaid screamed at the sight of them, and threw up an arm to shield herself.

"No, no! Listen, and I will tell you the truth! Though they kill me, I will tell yon. Put down your head,—I dare not say it aloud. Listen!"

Mechanically, Helga bent her head and received into her ear three whispered words. She loosed her hold upon the other's wrists and stood staring at her, at first in anger, and then with a sort of dawning pity.

"Poor creature! grief has gotten you out of your wits," she said. "And I was harsh with you because I thought you did not care!" She put out a hand to raise her, but Editha caught it in both of hers, fondling it and clinging to it.

"Sweetest lady, I am not out of my wits. It is the truth, the blessed truth. Mine own eyes have proved it. Four times has Thorhild sent me on errands to Egil's house, and each time have I seen—"

"Yet said nothing to me! You have let me suffer!"

"No, no, spare me your reproaches! How was it possible for me to do otherwise? If you had known, all would have suspected; 'A woman's eyes cannot hide it when she loves.' Sigurd Haraldsson bound me firmly. I was told only because it was necessary that I should carry their messages. It has torn my heart to let you grieve. Only love for him could have kept me to it. Believe it, and forgive me. Say that you forgive me!"

Helga flung her arms open wide. "Forgive? I forgive everyone in the whole world—everything!" She threw herself, sobbing, upon Editha's breast, and they clung together like sisters.

While they were still mingling their tears and rejoicings, the old housekeeper looked in with a message from Thorhild.

"Sniffling, as I had expected! Have the wits left both of you? Even now Gilli of Trondhjem is coming up the lane. It is the command of Thorhild that you be dressed and ready to hand him his ale the moment he has taken off his outer garments. If you have any sense left, make haste."

When the door had closed on the wrinkled old visage, Editha sent a doubtful glance at her mistress. But the shield-maiden leaped up with a laugh like a joyful chime of bells.

"Gladly will I put on the finest clothes I own, and feast the whole night through! Nothing matters now. So long as he is alive, things must come out right some way. Nothing matters now!"



CHAPTER XXII

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD

It is better to live, Even to live miserably; .......... The halt can ride on horseback; The one-handed, drive cattle; The deaf, fight and be useful; To be blind is better Than to be burnt; No one gets good from a corpse. Ha'vama'l

"Egil! Egil Olafsson!" It was Helga's voice, with a note of happiness thrilling through it like the trill in a canary's song.

Egil turned from the field in which his men were and came slowly to where she stood leaning over the fence that separated the field from the lane. He guessed from her voice that they had told her the secret, and when he came near enough to see, he knew it from her face; it was like a rose-garden burst into bloom. His lowering brow scowled itself into a harder knot. With the death of his father, he had thrown aside the scarlet clothes of Leif's men, and wore the brown homespun of a farmer. From his neck downward, everything spoke of thrift and industry and peace. But his fierce dark face looked the harsher for the contrast.

Helga stretched her hand across the fence. "I am going to see Alwin, for the first time after all these months. They told me two days ago, but this is the first chance I could find. But even before I saw him, I thought it right to see you and thank you for your wondrous goodness. Sigurd has told me how they carried Alwin to you in the night, and you received him and sheltered him, and—"

Egil silenced her with a rough gesture. "I kept my oath of friendship; speak no further of it. Do you know where he is hidden?"

"Sigurd told me he is in the cabin of your old foster-mother, Solveig. I do not remember whether that is to the left or the right of the lane. But it is a most ingenious hiding-place. No one ever goes there, and Solveig is the most accomplished of nurses."

"Since you do not remember where it is, I will walk with you, if it is not against your wish." He shouted some final directions to the men in the field, then leaped over the fence and strode along beside her.

He appeared to have nothing to say, after they were once started, and they went through lane and pasture and field in silence. But as soon as she broke out with fresh praise for his kindness, he found his tongue in all its curt vigor.

"Enough has been said about that. I have been wishing to speak to you of something that happened at the feast the other night. Do you know that my kinswoman Astrid told Gilli of her wish to buy your bondwoman, and—"

For a moment there was something wolfish about Helga's white teeth. She struck in quickly: "Yes, I know. Gilli agreed to sell Editha to her, the day we sail. It is exactly what I expected of him. If Astrid should offer a little more, he would be apt to sell me. He is the lowest-minded—Bah!" It seemed as though words failed her. She threw her hands apart in a gesture of utter detestation. The glow was gone out of her face.