"Farewell, lady."

"Farewell," she answered frankly, with a smile, and went out with Atli.

"A bold raid and a lucky one," said the Viking complacently to himself. "A fairer face and brighter eyes I never saw before. Who can she be? Like enough some lady come to hear the spaeman's mystic jargon, and swallow potions or mutter spells at his bidding. I am in two minds about turning wizard myself, if such visitors be common. Methinks I could give her as wise a rede as Atli. But it is strange how she came here; she is not of this country, I'll be sworn."

His reflections were cut short by the entrance of Atli.

"Helgi," said the old man, still speaking very low, "thou hast seen that which ought to have remained hidden from thee."

"But which was well worthy of the seeing," said Helgi.

"Speak not so lightly," replied the old man sternly, and with that air of mystery he could make so impressive. "Thou knowest not what things are behind the veil, or how much may hang upon a word. I charge thee strictly that thou sayest no word of this to Estein; there are matters that should not come to the ears of kings."

"I shall say nothing to any one," Helgi answered more soberly.

"That is well said," replied Atli. "Sleep now, for the dawn draws nigh, and the way is long."

Helgi had just got back to the loft and was throwing off his coat again, when Estein suddenly rose on his elbow and looked at him, and for a minute he felt like a criminal caught in the act.

"Have I been dreaming, Helgi?" said his foster-brother, "or—or— where have you been?"

"To warm myself at the fire," replied Helgi readily.

"Spoke you with any one?"

"Ay; Atli heard me and came to see whether perchance a thief had come in to carry away his two Norsemen."

"Then I only dreamt," said Estein, passing his hand across his eyes. "I thought I heard the voice of a girl; but when I woke more fully, it was gone, indeed. It sounded like—but it was my dream;" and lying down again, he closed his eyes.

"Should I tell him?" thought Helgi; "nay, I promised Atli, and after all this is mine own adventure."

By the time the day had fairly broken, they were away under Jomar's guidance.

"Remember, Estein, my rede," said Atli, as they departed.

"When the snows melt," cried Estein in reply; "and I think I shall not have long to wait."

It was a raw, grey, blustering morning, with no smell of frost in the air, but rather every sign of thaw, and the old man, after watching the two tall mail-clad figures stride off with their dwarfish guide hastening in front, closed the door, and turned with a grave and weary look back to the fire.

Hardly had he come in when the inner door opened, and the girl entered hastily.

"Who was that other man?" she asked. "I saw but his back, and yet- -" she stopped with a little confusion, for Atli was regarding her with a look of keen surprise.

"Knowest thou him?" he asked. "Where hast thou seen him before?"

"Nay," she answered, with an affectation of indifference, as if ashamed of her curiosity, "I only wondered who he might be."

"He is a certain trader from Norway, whom men call Estein," said Atli, still looking at her curiously.

"I know not the name," she said; and then adding with a slight shiver, "How cold this country is," she turned abruptly and left the room again.

The old man remained lost in thought. "Strange, passing strange," he muttered, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Can she have seen him? Or can it be—"

His eyes suddenly brightened, and he began to pace the room.



CHAPTER XV.

THE LAST OF THE LAWMAN.

In silence and haste the three men pursued their way. A thaw had set in, chill and cloudy; underfoot the snow was soft and melting, and all through the forest they heard the drip of a thousand trees and the creaking and swinging of boughs in the wind. As the morning wore on and they warmed to their work, the two Norsemen talked a little with each other, but contrary to their wont of late, it was Estein who spoke oftenest and seemed in the better spirits. Helgi, for him, was quiet and thoughtful, and at last Estein exclaimed,—

"How run your thoughts, Helgi? on the next feast, or the last maid, or the man you left bound to the tree? Men will think we have changed natures if our talk goes as it has this morning."

"I had a strange dream last night," replied Helgi.

"Tell it to me, and I will expound it to a flagon or an eyelash, as the theme may chance to be."

"Nay," cried Helgi, with a sudden return to his usual buoyancy, "now that I have my old Estein back with me, I will not turn him again into a reader of dreams and omens. I am rejoiced to see you in so bright a humour. Had you a pleasant dream?"

"Action lies before me," said Estein—"the open sea and the lands of the south again; and the very prospect is medicine."

After a time Estein came up to their guide's side, and said,—

"It will take us surely longer than you said. We had to travel for long through open country when we left the town, and we have never reached the beginning of it yet."

Jomar gave a quick, contemptuous laugh, and answered shortly,—

"Think you then that Thorar brought you by the shortest route? Those prisoners whom you set free reached King Bue's hall many hours before you. You are not wise, you Northmen."

Estein looked for a moment as though he would have retorted sharply, but biting his lip he fell back again, nor did he exchange another word with the man.

It was about mid-day, when, as they were coming down a wooded slope, Helgi exclaimed,—

"Hark! what is that clamour?"

Jomar too heard the shouts, for he stopped for a moment and listened keenly, and then started off faster than before. With every step they took the distant sounds grew louder and the shouts of men, and even it seemed the clash of steel, could be distinguished.

"The attack is made," cried Helgi. "Pray the gods they scatter not the dogs before we come up."

Jomar heard him, and looked over his shoulder with a savage glance.

"Sometimes dogs bite and rend," he said.

"Why have they waited so long?" said Estein, half to himself. "The fools should have fallen on Ketill that very night. I thank them for their folly."

They had now broken into a run, and the uproar sounded so loud that they knew they must be close upon the town.

"Some one comes," exclaimed Helgi, and just as he spoke a man dashed past them in the opposite direction, and throwing them only a startled glance, disappeared among the trees behind. A minute later two others ran by to one side, and a fourth stopped and turned when he came upon them. All were Jemtlanders, and Jomar, when he saw them, cursed aloud, while the Norsemen pressed the more excitedly forward.

Thirty yards further and they were at the edge of the wood, stopping at a spot not far from where the expedition first came out upon the town. The great lake and the open country lay below them, white still, but with all the sheen and sparkle off them, and overhung now by a grey, wet-weather sky. But they took little note of sky or snow-fields, for their eyes were enthralled by a more stirring spectacle.

Over the little town rolled a dense and smoky canopy, and from each doomed house the flames leapt and danced. All around it the plain was alive with the signs and terrors of war they saw, black against the snow, men flying over the open country, turning sometimes for the woods, or sometimes sliding and running across the frozen lake, the shouts of the pursuers came to them in a confusion of uproar, and here and there out over the waste, and more thickly near the town, the dead lay scattered. The battle was at an end. Small parties of Norsemen were still driving the vanquished Jemtlanders before them cutting them down as they fled; but the main force seemed already to be devoting itself to the burning and sacking of the town, and Helgi sighed as he exclaimed,—

"Too late after all! the cowardly rabble could not even fight till we had come to join in the sport."

Like an infuriated animal Jomar turned upon him.

"Whelp of a Norseman!" he cried, drawing his dagger and springing forward, "never more—"

As he spoke, Estein, who stood between them, had just time to throw out one foot and bring the Jemtlander flat on his face, his dagger flying from his hand. After looking for a moment in astonishment at their fallen guide, his would-be victim burst out laughing, and picking up the dagger, handed it back to him, saying,—

"I forgot, friend Jomar, that you were so nigh me. You owed me something, indeed, but try not to pay it like that again, for your own sake."

The man took the dagger sullenly and answered,—

"I hope never more to see either of you. Go down to the town now, if you can reach it without losing your way again, and my curse go with you."

Without waiting for reply or reward, he left them abruptly, and disappeared in the wood. "That is a man I am glad to see the last of," said Helgi, as they started for the town. "It can only be by black magic that Atli made him serve us."

"It is strange indeed," replied Estein, thoughtfully. "I have noted before that a powerful mind has a strong influence on men of less wisdom, yet like enough there is something more besides."

When they had come near enough to be recognized, a loud and joyful shout went up from their men; one after another of the victors ran out to meet them, and it was with quite a company at their back that they entered the burning town. In the open market-place, round which most of the houses stood, they found Ketill, his armour dinted and smeared with blood, and his eyes gleaming with stern excitement. At last he had got his burning, and he was enjoying it to the full. A batch of captives had just been pitilessly decapitated, their gory heads and trunks were strewn on the crimson snow, and beside them lay five or six more, their legs bound by ropes, awaiting their turn.

Inured though he was to spectacles of blood and carnage, Estein's mind recoiled from such a scene of butchery as this, and he replied to Ketill's shout of astonishment and welcome,—

"Right glad I am to see this victory, Ketill, and gallantly you must have fought, but when has it become our custom to slay our prisoners?"

"Ay," answered Helgi, "we could well have missed this part."

"Know you not that the Jemtlanders slew the twenty who followed you to King Bue?" answered the black-bearded captain. "They slew them like cattle, Estein; and shall we spare the murderers now? I knew not also whether you and Helgi had fallen into their hands, and in case ill had happened to you, it seemed best to take vengeance on the chance."

"Then since I need no revenge, let the slaying cease," said Estein, "though in truth the treacherous dogs ill deserve mercy."

"As you list," replied Ketill; "yet there is one here who would be better out of the world than in it."

As he spoke he went up to one prisoner who was lying on his side, with his face pressed down into the snow, like one sorely wounded, and in no gentle fashion turned him over with his foot.

"Can you not let me die?" said the man, looking up coldly and proudly at his captors, though he was evidently at death's door. "It will not take long now."

"Thorar!" exclaimed Estein.

"You have named me, Estein," replied the wounded lawman. "I had hoped to witness thy death, now thou canst witness mine."

"Treacherous foe and faithless friend," said Estein, sternly, "well have you deserved this death."

"Faithless to whom?" replied Thorar. "To my king and master Bue I alone owed allegiance. Long have I planned how to rid us of your proud and cruel race, and I thought the time had come. Witless and confident ye walked into my snare, like men blindfolded; and it was the doing of the gods, and not of you, that my plan miscarried."

"'Witless and confident?'" answered Estein. "Say rather trustful of pledges that only a dastard would break."

"The strong and foolish fight with weapons suited to their hands," said Thorar; "the weak and wise with weapons suited to their heads."

"So hands, it seems, are better than heads," put in Helgi.

"Know this at least," exclaimed Ketill, "your sons have perished before you. I slew them in the outset of the battle."

The dying man laughed a ghastly laugh.

"My sons!" he cried. "Think you I would trust my sons with Norsemen? Those boys were thralls. They died for their country as I die," and his head fell back upon the snow.

"Dastard!" cried Ketill, "you die indeed."

He raised his sword as he spoke; but Estein caught his arm before it could descend, saying,—

"You cannot slay the dead, Ketill."

"Has he baulked me then?" said Ketill, bending over his fallen foe.

It was even so. The lawman had gone to his last account, his bolt impotently shot, and his enemies standing triumphantly over him.

"He at least died well," said Helgi; "when my turn comes may it be my luck to look as proudly on my foes. But tell us, Ketill, what befell you here since our parting."

The burly captain frowned and scratched his head, as though deliberating how to do a thing so foreign to his genius as the telling of a narrative.

"On a certain day you left us," he began.

"Well told indeed," cried Helgi, laughing, "an excellent beginning—no skald could do it better."

"Nay," replied Ketill, frowning angrily, "if you want matter for a jest, tell a tale yourself. Mine have been no boy's deeds."

"Take no offence," replied Helgi, still laughing; "tell your deeds of derring-do, and let Thor himself envy, I will undertake to make you laugh at mine own adventures afterwards."

"I will warrant your doings will make me laugh rather than envy," said Ketill. "But, as I said, you left us, and so we were left here without you."

"Nay, Ketill," interposed his tormentor, very seriously, "this story passes belief, impose not on my youth."

"How mean you?" exclaimed the black-bearded captain, wrathfully, his hand seeking his sword hilt.

"Peace, Helgi," cried Estein, who saw that his good offices were needed; "and you, Ketill, heed not his jests. He is but young and foolish."

"And slender," added the irrepressible Helgi, though not loud enough for Ketill to hear, and the stout Viking resumed his story, sulkily enough.

"So were we left here in this town. Cold it was, with little to do, so we even broached Thorar's ale forthwith. Presently a man who had been in the woods came in hastily to tell me he had disturbed two of these hounds of Jemtlanders spying on the town. It behoved me then to be careful, and I set guards, and was not too drunk myself that night. Upon the next morning one came in with tidings of a man who had left a message for me, though he would not say who sent him."

"That would be friend Jomar," said Helgi.

"I know not his name, but treachery, he said, was determined; and I stopped all drink thereafter, and there was nothing at all left then but to play with dice and sleep. A little later this Thorar came to the town, and would have persuaded me to follow you to the king; and when I asked for some token he showed me a ring he said was yours. Mine own mind is not attentive to these gew-gaws, but a man whose eyes were sharp before a Jemtland axe clove his head this morning knew it for none of yours."

"Did you not seize him at once?" said Estein.

"I was for taking him on the spot, but we spoke without the town, and he had such a company along with him that after a sharp bout he got off, though he left three of his lads on the snow.

"May werewolves seize me if this be not dry work! Ho' there, bring me a horn of ale."

As soon as he had quenched his thirst in a long draught, and wiped his hairy lips with much relish, the narrator went on:—

"So at night, as you may think, we kept a strict and sober guard, and rested in our harness. And well it was; for I had not slept an hour, it seemed, before the cry arose that the enemy were upon us. But when they saw we were ready for them, the vermin withdrew to the woods to gather more force, and it was not till day had well broken that they ventured out and offered battle. Thereupon I slew the hostages, set fire to the town, and fell upon them straightway, and a braver fire and a brisker fight while it lasted I wish not to see. They were seven to one, at the least, but never an inch of ground did we give, and never a stroke did we spare. Methinks," he concluded with a chuckle, "they will remember their welcome."



CHAPTER XVI.

KING ESTEIN.

It was on a breezy April morning that the mountains of Sogn came into view again. A strong slant of south-east wind had driven the two ships out to sea; and now, as they raced landwards before a favouring breeze, they saw low down on the horizon one glittering hill-top after another pierce the morning mist bank. Helgi for the time had charge of the tiller, while Estein leant against the weather bulwark, busy with his new resolves.

"A ship must cross the sea again," he repeated to himself. "The time for action is at hand, and we shall see what new freak fortune will play with me. Yet, after all," he reflected, "though she has pressed my head beneath the tide before, she has always suffered me to rise and gasp ere she drowned me quite. It all comes to this: the purposes of the gods are too deep for me to fathom, so I must e'en hold my peace and bide the passage of events."

Helgi had been watching him with a half-smile on his frank face, and at last he cried,—

"What counsel hold you with the seamews? Sometimes I see a smile, and sometimes I hear a sigh; and then, again, there is a look of the eye as if Liot Skulison were standing before you."

"I was filling twenty long ships with enough stout lads to man them, and sailing the western main again," replied Estein.

"And whither were you sailing?" asked Helgi.

"Westward first," said Estein.

"With perchance a point or so of south—such a direction as would bring us to the Hjaltland Isles, or, it may be, the Orkneys?"

"Aided by a wayward wind," replied Estein with a smile.

"Where, doubtless, it would be well to slay another sea-rover," Helgi went on, "since they cause much trouble to peaceable seafarers from Norway. Witches, too, and warlocks dwell in the isles, men say, and it were well to rid the land of such."

At this last speech Estein first frowned and flushed, and then meeting his foster-brother's look, all outward gaiety and lurking mirth, he laughed defiantly, and exclaimed,—

"It may be so, Helgi. Everything I do is ordained already, and it matters not whither I turn the prow of my ship or what I plan. To Orkney I go!"

"Then run your thoughts still on this maiden?"

"They have run, they are still running, and while I live I see not what is to stop their course."

"Remember, my brother, what stands between you," said Helgi, more gravely.

"I have not forgotten."

"And yet you sail to Orkney?"

"The gods have bidden me cross the seas," replied Estein, "and they will steer my ship, whatever haven I choose."

"Go, then," said Helgi, "and while that shrewd counsellor whom men call Helgi Sigvaldson sails with you, at least you will not lack sage advice."

Estein laughed.

"'Helgi hinn frode' [Footnote: The wise.] shall you be called henceforth, and Vandrad I shall be no longer."

They were silent for a time, and then Estein exclaimed,—

"We are well quit of that country of Jemtland! Saw you ever so many trees and so few true men before?"

"Yet was it not quite bare of good things," replied his friend.

"What, mean you the woodman's wife?"

"What else?" said Helgi, and then he fell silent again.

They reached Hernersfiord towards nightfall, and as they crept up the still, narrow waters darkness gathered fast. One by one, and then in tens and hundreds and myriads, the stars came out and hung like a gay awning between the pine-crowned walls. Ahead they saw lights and a looming bank of land, and hails passed from ship to shore and back again. Presently they were gently slipping by the stone pier, where one or two men stood awaiting them.

"What news?" asked Helgi.

The men made no reply, but seemed to whisper among themselves, and Helgi repeated his question. Just then a man came hurrying to the end of the pier and shouted,—

"Is it then Estein returned?"

"My father!" exclaimed Helgi.

"What can bring the jarl here at this hour?" said Estein, springing ashore.

He met Earl Sigvald on the pier, and by the light of a lantern he saw that the old man's face was grave and sad.

"Steel your heart to hear ill tidings, King Estein," he said.

The "King" smote upon Estein's ears like a knell, and he guessed the earl's news before he heard it.

"King Hakon joined his fathers three days past," said the earl. "Welcome indeed is your return, for the law says that the dead must not linger in the house more than five days, and it were ill seeming to hold the funeral rites with his son away."

Estein stood like a man struck dumb, and then muttering, "I will join you again," he started quickly up the pier, and was shortly lost to view in the darkness.

"Dear was Estein to his father, and dear the old king to his son. Deep and burning, I fear, will his sorrow be," said the earl.

"Fain would I comfort him," replied Helgi. "But I know well Estein's humours, and now he is best alone for a time."

They walked slowly up to Hakonstad, the old earl leaning upon his son's arm, and as they went Helgi told him the tale of the Jemtland journey. In his interest the earl forgot even the present gloom, and swore lustily or roared loudly and heartily as the story went on.

"May they lie in darkness for ever as dastards and traitors!" he would cry, or "A shrewd scheme, by the hammer of Thor! An I were fifty years younger I would have done the same myself, Helgi!" and then again, "Trolls take me, if this be not enough to make a bear laugh! What next, Helgi?"

When his son had finished his relation of the visit to the old seer, he seemed lost in thought.

"Atli, Atli," he repeated. "Call you him Atli? I cannot remember the name. A friend of Olaf Hakonson, said he? I knew of no such friend. Yet it seems that he spoke indeed as one who had taken counsel with the gods; and if his words acted, as you say, like medicine on Estein, his name matters little. Yet it is passing strange."

When they reached Hakonstad, Helgi found that many chiefs had already arrived to take part in the funeral rites and, more particularly, in the feast with which they always ended. It was not till almost all had gone to rest that Estein returned, and then he went straight to his bed-chamber without exchanging more than the barest greetings with those he found still talking low over their ale around the fires.

The next day was spent in preparations for the solemn ceremonies of pyre and mound, and the great feast which should mark the reigning of another king in Sogn. The young king himself went about bravely, seeing to everything but speaking little. Helgi watched him anxiously, for he feared greatly that this new sorrow might cloud his mind afresh. In the evening he noticed him slip from the hall by himself, and rising at once he followed him out and came to his side as he paced slowly up the night-hushed valley.

"Is my company unwelcome?" he asked.

"More welcome than my thoughts," said Estein, taking his arm.

"Have the black thoughts returned?"

"Do what I will, they are with me again," replied Estein. "My father has died with Olaf unavenged, and now it is too late to keep my sacred word to him that I would ever follow up the feud. King Hakon already sits in Valhalla, and knows his son for a dastard and a breaker of his oaths. While he lived I always told myself that I would find some way even yet by which I might fulfil my promise, but now it is too late. It is hard, Helgi, to lose at once both a father and a father's regard."

"King Hakon is with Odin," said Helgi, "and knows what he has ordained. Odin has not told you to cross the seas for naught, and doubtless King Hakon even now awaits the issue. Never did man do much with a downcast mind; so first dismiss your thoughts, and then for the Viking path again."

"Helgi hinn frode," said Estein, pressing his arm, "you are indeed a good counsellor. As soon as I can gather force enough we start."

"And now for a horn of ale, and then to bed," responded Helgi, cheerful as ever again.

Ever since the first wild Northmen, pushing westwards to the sea, had settled in the land of Sogn, its kings had been interred on a certain barren islet hard by the mouth of Hernersfiord, and on the morning of the fifth day after King Hakon's death they bore him out to his last resting-place by the surge of the northern ocean. His body, clad in full armour and decked in robes of state, was laid upon a bier on the poop of the long ship that had last carried him to battle. A picked crew of chiefs and highborn vassals rowed him slowly down the fiord, while in their wake a fleet of vessels followed. Estein, arrayed in the full panoply of war, as though he were sailing to meet his foes, stood out alone upon the poop like a graven figure, only the hand that held the tiller ever moving. When they reached the little holm looking out over the sea, they discovered the foundations of a mound already prepared, and great heaps of earth beside them, ready to be built upon the top. All the chiefs and greater men landed with a sufficient number of spademen to assist them with the work, while the others lay off in the ships and watched in silence. First, the vessel in which the dead king lay was drawn up and laid upon the mound; each chief who had taken an oar hung his shield in turn upon the bulwarks; the sail, gay with coloured cloths, was hoisted; the king's standard raised and set in the bows; and then Estein lit a torch and held it to a heap of fagots underneath. As the flames mounted higher and the smoke streamed out to sea the chiefs cast gifts aboard—rings and bracelets of gold and silver, sharp swords and inlaid axes—that the king in his far-off home among the gods of the North might think kindly of his friends on earth. One after another they wished his soul fair speed. Estein's words were few and unsteady with emotion, and those who heard them wondered at their meaning.

"Fare thee well, my father! I will yet keep my promise to thee!"

Loudest of all cried Earl Sigvald,—

"May Odin be as good a friend to thee as thou hast been to me! Keep me a place beside thee, Hakon. All through life I have been at thy side, in sunshine and frost, feast and battle-storm, and soon I hope to follow thee home!"

At last the flames died down and left but the blackened remnants of the ship and the ashes of its royal captain. The ashes they reverently gathered up and placed within a copper bowl, a lid they made of twelve shield bosses, the gifts were gathered and placed all round, and then the spademen heaped the mound above Hakon, King of Sogn.

With a quicker stroke and tongues unloosed the fleet returned to Hakonstad.

"A noble funeral, Ketill," said one chief to the black-bearded Viking.

"Ay," replied Ketill, "a burial worthy of King Estein, and a royal feast we shall have to follow it."

"Men say he means to set out on a Viking foray, and that before many days are past," said the other.

"They speak truth," answered Ketill. "Many a man will he give to the wolves, and eager am I to sail with him. There never was a bolder captain than Estein."

For the next two days the talk was all of the voyage to the south. Guests were coming in all the time for Estein's inheritance feast, and many of them—warriors thirsting for adventure and sea-roving- -declared their intention of following his banner. A braver force men said had never followed a king of Sogn to war. For three days the feasting was to reign, and then, so soon as they were ready to sail, the host should take the Viking path.

The first night of the feast arrived. The hall was brightly lit and gaily hung with tapestries and cloths, rich and many-coloured, and men bravely dressed poured into their places all down the long rows of benches. The young king sat in his father's high seat, the highest-born and most honoured guests ranged beside him, and those of humbler standing in the farther places. First, they drank to the dead King Hakon, to his various great kinsmen in Valhalla, and to each of the gods in turn. Then as horns emptied faster toast after toast was called across the fires, and honoured with shouts of "Skoal!" that reached far into the night outside.

Estein, as was his usual custom, drank lightly, and often he would find his thoughts wandering among the most incongruous events— starlight nights in a far-off islet, tossings on distant seas, and over and over again they would stray to that glimpse of a maiden in the Jemtland forests. Helgi, in whose blue eyes there danced a light that was never kindled by water, rallied him on his absence of mind.

"Drink deeper, Estein!" he cried. "Laugh, O king! Look, there sits Ketill, the married man; methinks he looks thirsty. Ketill! drink with me to your wife."

"The trolls take my wife!" thundered Ketill, who, it may be remembered, had espoused a wealthy widow. "That is only a toast for single men!"

When the shout of laughter that greeted this speech had subsided, Helgi turned again to Estein, and exclaimed,—

"Then that is the toast for us, King Estein. I drink to your bride!"

"Who is she, Helgi?" cried his father jovially. "Name her. I would that I might see another king married before I die. I saw your mother married, Estein, and a fair maid she was. The girls must be less fair now, or a gallant king will not stay single long."

"I could name one fair maid," said Helgi, glancing at the king, but in Estein's eye he saw a warning look.

"I have sterner things to think of, jarl," said Estein. "Five days from this I hope to be upon the sea."

As he spoke, one of his hird-men came up to the high seat and stopped close beside him.

"What ho, Kari!" cried Helgi, "you are strangely sober."

"I have a message for the king," replied the man.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE END OF THE STORY.

"A boon! a boon!" exclaimed Helgi. "Kari seeks a boon. A wife, or a farm, or a pair of pigskin trousers; which is it, Kari? Before you win it you must sing us a stave. Strike up, man!"

"No boon I seek," replied Kari. "A maiden stands without who seeks King Estein, and will not come inside."

"Aha!" laughed Helgi. "Blows the wind that way?"

"What does she want?" asked Estein.

"I know not; she would not tell."

"Tell her to come in," said Earl Sigvald. "Do you think it is fitting that the king should go out at every woman's pleasure?"

"That is what I told her, but she said she would see the king outside or go away."

"Bid her come in or go away!" cried the earl.

"Nay, rather ask her what her errand is about," said Estein.

"And tell her," added Helgi as the bird-man turned away, "that here sits the king's foster-brother, a most proper person at all times to hear a maiden's tale, and now most persuasively charged with ale."

The man went down the hall again, and Earl Sigvald exclaimed testily,—

"Some thrall's sweetheart doubtless, come to babble her complaints."

"Or perhaps the bride come to claim King Estein's hand," suggested his son. In a minute Kari returned.

"She will not tell her business," he said, "but begs earnestly to see the king."

"Bid her begone!" cried the earl. "The king is feasting with his guests."

"Did not her eyes sparkle and her trouble seem to leave her when she heard the king's foster-brother was here?" asked Helgi.

"I shall press his claims myself," said Estein, rising from his seat.

"Will you see her then?" asked the earl.

"Why not?" replied Estein. "Perchance she brings tidings of importance."

"If you rise at every strange woman's bidding you will have many suitors," said the earl.

"That is the lot of a king," replied Estein, with a smile.

The smile died quickly from his face as he walked down the hall, and men noticed that he looked grave and preoccupied again. It was not that his thoughts were running on this unusual summons; as he passed through the dark vestibule he felt only a little curiosity, and at the door he paused and looked out idly enough.

It was a fine starlight night, and down below he could see the glimmer of the sea, and across the fiord the black outline of the hills, and nearer at hand he heard the sough of the night breeze in the pines. Close outside, the tall, hooded figure of a woman stood clearly outlined, while he himself was obscured in shadow. At the second glance, something in the pose of his strange visitor struck his memory sharply. She seemed at first afraid to speak, and, with rising interest, he said courteously,—

"You wish to see me?"

The girl seemed to start a little, and then she said in a low voice,—

"Are you King Estein?"

The words were almost lost in the hood that shrouded her head. They died away to a low whisper; but ere they were gone Estein had caught the slight flavour of a foreign accent, and for an instant he was on the Holy Isle again. With a sharp effort he controlled the sudden rush of emotion they called up, and even altered his voice to a low, guarded pitch as he answered,—

"I am the king." The girl paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts, and then she said,—

"You had a brother, King Estein—Olaf Hakonson—"

She stopped again, and seemed to look hesitatingly at him.

"What of him?" said Estein.

"He fell, alas, long since. Forgive me for calling him to mind now, but he is in my story."

"Well?"

"Three men were at his death," said the girl, gaining confidence a little. "Thord the Tall, Snaekol Gunnarson, and Thorfin of Skapstead. Snaekol and Thorfin are dead long since—may God forgive them! but Thord the Tall lived to repent of the burning."

"It was an ill deed," said Estein.

"He was a heathen man then, King Estein—but I forget, you know not of Christians."

"I have heard of them," said Estein, half to himself.

"As the years drew on he became a Christian, and followed another God and another creed, and left the world and Viking forays, and came to a little island of the Orkneys with me, his only child. For both my brothers fell in battle, King Estein, and now there are none others left in the feud."

"How do men call you?" said Estein, asking only that he might hear her name again.

"I am Osla, the daughter of Thord the Tall," she answered, drawing herself up with a touch of half defiant pride. "He was the enemy of your family, but a lender-man [Footnote: Nobleman.] of high birth, and a good and noble man."

"Ay?"

"He lived in the island," she went on, "for many years, all alone save for me."

Estein could not keep himself from asking,—

"Alone all the time?"

"All—save once indeed, when a Viking came by chance, but he left shortly," and then she continued hastily: "My father thought often of the burning. Many deeds he had done which he repented of there in the solitude of the Holy Isle. Yet was he not worse than others, only he became a Christian, and so they seemed ill deeds to him."

"Even this burning?" said Estein, a little dryly.

"Think not so harshly of him!" she cried. "He was—he was my father!"

"I ask your pardon, Mistress Osla. Go on."

"At length he fell sick, and in the last of the winter storms he died."

So far Estein had been listening most curiously, wondering much what the upshot of it all would be, and keeping a severe restraint on his tongue. But at Osla's last words he had nearly betrayed himself. He was on the verge of crying out in his natural voice, and when he did speak, it was like a man who is choking over something.

"Then Thord the Tall is dead?"

"He died penitent, King Estein," said Osla. "And he left me a writing—for he had taught me the art of reading on the island— and with it much silver, or at least it seemed much to me. The writing bade me seek King Hakon."

"Knew he not then of my father's death?"

"He was then alive," she answered; "for the writing further told me what I knew not before, that I had an uncle still alive, or rather whom my father thought was still alive, and first of all I had to seek him. Else should I have come to Sogn in time to see King Hakon."

"What is this uncle's name?"

"He is called Atli, now," she replied, "but—"

"Atli, a brother of Thord the Tall!"

"Know you him?"

"I have seen him," he answered evasively. "Once he came here. But how did you find him? He dwells in distant parts, so men say."

"The writing gave me the direction of one who knew where he could be found, and so I travelled to a far country—Jemtland it is, many days from Sogn. Thus it was that when I came here King Hakon had died."

"And now you seek me?"

"You are his son, and my errand deals with you, for the feuds which were his are now yours," she answered.

For a moment she paused, and seemed to Estein to look doubtfully at him, as if half afraid to go on. Then she drew a bag from under her cloak, held it out to him, and said simply, but not as one who craved a boon or sought a favour,—

"This silver is the price of atonement for the death of Olaf—will you take it?"

He took the bag, weighed it in his hand, and answered slowly,—

"This is a small atonement for a brother's death."

She gave a little start back, her pride stung to the quick, and he heard her breath come fast.

Suddenly he dropped the bag, stepped from under the shadow of the door, and cried in his natural voice,—

"I must have you too, Osla!"

She started this time indeed, and for an instant the shock of surprise took thoughts and words away.

"Vandrad!" she cried faintly, and then she was trembling in King Estein's arms.

"Nay," he said, "no longer Vandrad, but rather Estein the Lucky! Forgive me, Osla, for deceiving you before; but then, in truth, fate had treated me so ill that I cared not to have it known that I was son to the King of Sogn."

A little later he said,—

"So the feud is at an end, and I have found a queen."

"A queen, Estein?" she whispered.

"Ay, a queen, worthy of the proudest King of Sogn. And, Osla, do you know I have seen you since we parted on the Holy Isle? Can you call to mind a Jemtland village where you halted on your journey, and a man whom the villagers pursued?"

"And that—" she cried in astonishment.

"Was Vandrad; and Atli—"

"Is Kolskegg, foster-father of thy brother Olaf," said a voice behind them, and looking quickly round the lovers saw the venerable form of the seer standing within five paces of them.

For a moment they were too surprised to speak, and the old man went on with kindling enthusiasm,—

"Ay, Osla, I followed thee up from the ship, and awaited under the shadow of Hakonstad itself the issue ordained by the gods. King Estein, when thou wert with me I knew not who were the wizard and the witch of the Orkneys. My dreams revealed them not. When Osla came to me that night ye slept in the loft, I hid her coming from thee, for I knew the race of Yngve forget not the injuries of their kin. Nor when I knew all did I tell anything to Osla, for I wished the fates to bring matters to an end as they willed."

"But why did you tell me nothing of yourself?" asked Estein.

"I have said the reason. Thy race have long and bitter memories, and I knew full well that I could not serve thee hadst thou known. Ay, King Estein, long have I wished to come into atonement with thee, but my brother's rash deed—done to avenge what he thought my injuries—brought the blood feud on me. I was banished for mine own fault, thenceforth Thord exiled me for his."

Then raising his voice till it rang through the night, he cried,—

"But now, King Estein, the ship has crossed the seas!"

There was a minute's silence after he had finished, and then the king took Osla by the hand and drew her towards the door, saying,- -

"I wish them to see my queen to-night."

"Let me come to-morrow," she whispered.

"Go in, Osla," said her uncle, "I bid thee," and so she went in with Estein to the hall.

As he led her up to the high seat, dead silence fell on the guests, and all men gazed in growing wonder. Opposite Earl Sigvald he stopped, and throwing back her hood, cried,—

"You will live to see me married yet, jarl. My southern voyage shall be changed into my wedding feast. Behold Osla, Queen of Sogn!"

Before his father had time to reply, Helgi sprang from his seat with a shout, and saluting Osla on the cheek, exclaimed,—

"First of all King Estein's friends I wish you joy! Do you remember the sheep-skin coat? I have not forgotten the maiden. Skoal to Queen Osla!"

Instantly the shout was taken up till the smoky rafters rang and rang again; and so the feud ended, though the spell, they say, was never broken.

THE END.