"There's his armour," I said. "I'd have that armour; it is wonderful."

"Then stop and get it by yourself," she answered, "for my lamp dies."

"At least, I will take the sword," I exclaimed, and snatched at the belt
by which it was girt about the body. The leather had rotted, and it came
away in my hand.

Holding it, I clambered over the stone after Freydisa, and followed her
down the passage. Before we reached the end of it the lamps went out, so
that we must finish our journey in the dark. Thankful enough were both
of us when we found ourselves safe in the open air beneath the familiar
stars.

"Now, how comes it, Freydisa," I asked, when we had got our breath
again, "that this Wanderer, who showed himself so threateningly upon the
crest of his grave, lies patient as a dead sheep within it while we rob
his bones?"

"Because we were meant to take it, as I think, Olaf. Now, help me to
fill in the mouth of that hole roughly--I will return to finish this
to-morrow--and let us away to the hall. I am weary, and I tell you,
Olaf, that the weight of things to come lies heavy on my soul. I think
wisdom dwells with that Wanderer's bones. Yes, and foresight of the
future and memories of the past."



CHAPTER IV