chess by the leaping firelight. Her ringing laugh, her frank glance, and
her beautiful glowing face made all other maidens seem dull and
lifeless. Alwin dimly felt that hating her was going to be no easy task,
and he dared not raise his eyes as she rode past him. Instead he forced
himself to stare at the reflection of his scarred face in the silver
horn he was wiping; and he blew and blew upon the sparks of his anger.

Noticing it, Helga frowned regretfully. "I cannot blame him if he will
not speak to me," she said to Sigurd Haraldsson. "The nature of a
high-born man is such that a blow is like poison in his blood. It must
rankle and fester and break out before he can be healed. I do not think
he could have been more lordlike in his father's castle than he was
yesterday. Hereafter I shall treat him as honorably as I treat you, or
any other jarl-born man."

"In this you show yourself as high-minded as I have always thought you,"
answered Sigurd, turning toward her a face aglow with pleasure.

By the middle of the forenoon, everyone had gone, this way or that, to
hunt, or fish, or swim, or loiter about the city. There were left only a
man with a broken leg and a man with a sprained shoulder, throwing dice
on a bench in the sun; Alwin, whistling absently as he swept out the
sleeping-house; and Rolf the Wrestler sitting cross-legged under a tree,
sharpening his sword and humming snatches of his favorite song:

"Hew'd we with the Hanger!
Hard upon the time 't was
When in Gothlandia going
To give death to the serpent."