"It is not unlikely that you will accompany him. You are doing a great
sin. Harald Fairhair burned his son alive for meddling with witchcraft."

Although his toes were thrust into the straps of the runner-like skees,
Alwin stamped with exasperation. "You need not tell me that again. I
know as well as you that it is a sin. But will not penance make it
right?"

"You will dishonor Leif's holy mission."

"I shall not cause any quarrel, nor offend anyone. What harm can I do?"

Sigurd laid his hands on his friend's shoulders and tried to see his
face in the dark. "Give it up, comrade; I beseech you to give it up. If
you should be discovered, I tell you that though a priest might win you
a pardon from Heaven, no power on earth could make your peace with Leif
Ericsson."

Alwin said slowly: "If he discovers what I have done, I will endure any
punishment he chooses, because I owe him some obedience while I eat his
bread and wear his clothes. But I am not his born thrall, so I will have
my own way first. Urge me no more, brother; my mind is fixed."

Sigurd released him instantly. "I will say nothing further,--except that
it is my intention to try my luck with you." Stooping into the recess,
he drew out an-other pair of skees and began to fasten them on.

At the prospect of companionship, Alwin felt a rush of relief,--then a
twinge of compunction.