"Now you know me. I am Thord the Tall, the burner of Olaf
Hakonson."

"And where are Snaekol Gunnarson and Thorfin of Skapstead?" Estein
spoke with difficulty, and his right hand had closed on something
in his belt.

"Both are dead. They died heathens, and their souls are as
hopelessly lost as the soul of Olaf Hakonson. I am the last of the
burners."

The voice of Thord the Tall died away. Estein bent forward, his
hand left his side, and something in it gleamed in the firelight.

Suddenly the hermit started.

"Osla! I hear Osla!" he said.

Estein thrust his dagger into its sheath, and bending in the
doorway stepped out into the night. Below the cell he saw a boat
leaving the land, and right before him, in the clear, cool
twilight, the form of Osla.

"Have you tired of my father's company?" she asked, with a smile.

"I would be alone," he answered, and walked quickly past her.

Now he knew the twice-heard voice, and remembered the fleeting
face.