him, a wonderful old chief, whose long, white beard swept like a
snowdrift down the crimson cloak in which he was shrouded. They had
set him on just such a low, carved bedstead as that which we had
found outside the house, dressed in his full mail, and helmed, and
with his sword at his side, such a priceless weapon, with
gold-mounted scabbard and jewelled hilt, as men have risked the
terrors of grave mounds to win. His white hand rested on the
pommel, and he was facing forward as if looking toward the far
shore which he was to reach through the flames. But there was
naught terrible in his look, and even my fears passed as I saw the
peacefulness of that last sleep.

The smoke thinned quickly from the chamber; for it had only soaked
into it from the peat against its roughly made walls, over which
the fagots had been piled too heavily and closely for their
purpose. Then we saw that all the deck round the bier was full of
caskets and bales, and that on the far wall hung weapons--swords
and axes, spears, and bows and arrows, and with them mail shirts
and helms and shields, such as the chief himself might wear. And by
the side of the chief, packed carefully in a rushen basket, were
the bowls, one metal, and the rest of black earthenware, which held
the food for the grave, according to our custom. There was a tall
jar of wine also, covered with its little silver drinking cup.

Now we stood for a little while silent, and then Dalfin spoke.

"What is that yonder?" he asked under his breath, and pointing to
the far end of the chamber. "As it were a heap of mail and linen."

I could not see what he meant, for I stood on one side, but Bertric