make some noise that I may know you are near me. It is the silence
that frays me.

"What can I do?" he said. "I know no runes that are of avail. It
would be ill to disturb this place with idle sounds."

That seemed right, but I thought I could not bear the silence--silence
of the grave. I must know that he was close at hand. Then a thought
came to me, and I unfastened the silver-mounted whetstone that hung
from my belt and gave it him.

"Whet your sword edge sharply," I said. "That is a sound a hero
loves, for it speaks of deeds to be done."

"Ay, that is no idle sound," he said, and drew his sword gladly.
The haft of the well-known blade brought the light into his eyes
again. I drew my own sword also.

"If you need me, call, and I think I shall not fail you," he
whispered. "It shall not be said that I failed you in peril."

"I know it," I answered, putting my hand on his shoulder.

Then I went boldly, and stepped into the passage. The whetstone
sang shrill on the sword edge as it kissed the steel behind me, and
the sound was good to hear as I went into darkness with my weapon
ready.

I half feared that my first step would be my last, but it was made
in safety. Very black seemed the low stone-walled passage before