_Salvor_.--Why seek you then a low-born woman to heal the great?

_Helga_.--I knew none better. Do as I bid you!

_Salvor_.--I shall do as you bid, my lady. You run the risk, not I.

(_Enter_ THOROLF.)

_Thorolf_.--Hail, lady! How is the chieftain's health?

_Helga_.--Rather good! Salvor says he will not be able to bear going
into war for the first.

_Thorolf_.--Kolbein has a-plenty of men to lead his troops.

_Salvor_.--Brand Kolbeinsson--

_Thorolf_.--He, the velvet glove! Whilst Kolbein was on his foray to
Reykholar and slew Tumi--a feat now famous--Brand was to dispatch old
Sturla Thordsson--the fellow who mostly goes about with ink on his
fingers. But Sturla gulled him so that Brand had to return with shame.
Brand lacks both forethought _before_ battle and that fire _in_ battle
which wins the victory.

_Salvor_.--Brand Kolbeinsson is a man of peace.

_Helga_.--You shall stay here at Flugumyr now, Thorolf, whilst my
husband is in ill health. Brand Kolbeinsson would be but a low wall
between us and Thord Kakali, should he advance from the West.