Alwin was still crazy with pain. He snatched the bronze knife from his
belt and laid it against Egil's throat. Sigurd's brow darkened, but no
one spoke or moved,--least of all, Egil; his black eyes looked back
unshrinkingly.

It was their calmness that brought Alwin to himself. As he felt their
clear gaze, it came back to him what it meant to take a human life,--to
change a living breathing body like his own into a heap of still, dead
clay. His hand wavered and fell away. The passion died out of his heart,
and he arose.

"Sigurd Haraldsson," he said, "for what you have done for me, I give you
your friend's life."

Sigurd's fine face cleared.

"Only," Alwin added, "I think it right that he should explain the cause
of his enmity toward me, and--"

Egil leaped to his feet; his proud indifference flamed into sudden fury.
"That I will never do, though you tear out my tongue-roots!" he shouted.

Even his comrades regarded him in amazement.

Alwin tried a sneer. "It is my belief that you fear to speak of
Skroppa."

"Skroppa?" a chorus of. astonishment repeated. But only two scarlet
spots on Egil's cheeks showed that he heard them. He gave Alwin a long,
lowering look. "You should know by this time that I fear nothing."