there, he wondered? And what lay beyond it? And could those tales be
true that the old women told, of terrible magical beings living on its
silent frozen peaks?

The sight of a dark speck moving over the white plain far ahead of him
banished every other thought. It might be that it was Helga. He crunched
on eagerly. Then he dipped into the valley and lost sight of the speck,
found it on the bridge, dipped again, and again it was lost to view.

It was not until the fence of Glum Starkadsson's farm was plainly in
sight, that he caught another glimpse of it. But this time it was coming
toward him, from the gateway.

Certainly that long crimson cloak and full crimson hood belonged to
Helga. In a moment, she waved her hand at him. Soon he could see her
face under the white fur border. Her scarlet lips were curving in a
smile. The snow-glare brought out the dazzling fairness of her pearly
skin, and her eyes were like two radiant blue stars. It seemed to Alwin
that he had never known before how beautiful she was. A strange shyness
came over him, that weighted his feet and left him without a word to say
when they met.

But Helga greeted him cheerily. "Did you ever breathe finer air? I wish
Thorhild would run out of gold thread every day in the week. Are you in
a hurry?"

"No," Alwin began hesitatingly, "I--"

She did not wait for the end. "Then turn back with me a little way, and
I will tell you something worth hearing."