She was turning away, but he leaped up and caught her by her shoulders
and shook her good-naturedly. "Now are you as womanish as your bondmaid.
You know that all the gold on all the women in Normandy is not so
beautiful as one lock of this hair of yours."

At least Helga was womanish enough to smile at this. "Now I understand
why it is that men call you Sigurd Silver-Tongue," she laughed. Suddenly
she was all earnestness again. "Nay, but, Sigurd, tell me this,--I do
not care how you scold about my dress,--tell me that you do not despise
me for it, or for being unlike other maidens."

Sigurd's grasp slipped from her shoulders down to her hands, and shook
them warmly. "Despise you, Helga my sister? Despise you for being the
bravest comrade and the truest friend a man ever had?"

She grew rosy red with pleasure. "If that is your feeling, I am well
content."

She took a step toward the place where her horse was tethered, and
looked back regretfully. "It seems inhospitable to leave you like this.
Will you not come with us, after all?"

Sigurd threw himself down again with an emphatic gesture of refusal. "I
like better to be left so than to be left in a mound with my head cut
off, which is what would happen were an outlaw to visit the King
uninvited."

"I shall not deny that that would be disagreeable," Helga assented. "But
do not let your mishap stand in the way of your joy. Leif has great