"Let him think that _I_ am _stealing_!" he managed to gasp at last.

The grass around Helga's foot stirred ominously.

"I have told you that he is too sleepy to care. If he threatens to flog
you, I promise that I will interfere. Coward, what are you afraid of?"

She caught her breath at the blazing of his face. He said between his
clenched teeth: "I will not let him think that I would steal so much as
one dried herring,--were I starving!"

The fire shot out of Helga's beautiful eyes. Egil and the Wrestler
sprang up with angry exclamations; but words would not suffice Helga.
Leaping to her feet, she caught up the riding-whip from the grass beside
her and lashed it across the thrall's face with all her might. A bar of
livid red was kindled like a flame along his cheek.

"You are cracking the face of Leif's property," Rolf murmured in mild
remonstrance.

Egil laughed, a hateful gloating laugh, and settled himself against a
tree to see the finish. As Helga's arm was flung up the second time, the
thrall leaped upon her and tore the whip from her grasp and broke it in
pieces. He would that he might have broken her as well; he thirsted
to,--when he caught sight of the laughing Egil, and everything else was
blotted out of his vision. Without a sound, but with the animal passion
for killing upon his white face, he wheeled and leaped upon the Black
One, crushing him, pinioning him against the tree, strangling him with
the grip of his hands.