hands. 'Will you drive us blood-mad again, just as we are settling
down into our sober senses, and finding out what our lives were
given us for?'

'Hear the song of Asgard! On to Asgard, wolves of the Goths!'
shouted another; and a babel of voices arose.

'Haven't we been fighting and marching these seven years?'

'Haven't we drunk blood enough to satisfy Odin ten times over? If
he wants us lot him come himself and lead us!'

'Let us get our winds again before we start afresh!'

'Wulf the Prince is like his name, and never tires; he has a winter-
wolf's legs under him; that is no reason why we should have.'

'Haven't you heard what the monk says?-we can never get ever those
cataracts.'

'We'll stop his old wives' tales for him, and then settle for
ourselves,' said Smid; and springing from the thwart where he had
been sitting, he caught up a bill with one hand, and seized
Philammon's throat with the other .... in a moment more, it would
have been all over with him....

For the first time in his life Philammon felt a hostile gripe upon
him, and a new sensation rushed through every nerve, as he grappled
with the warrior, clutched with his left hand the up-lifted wrist,
and with his right the girdle, and commenced, without any definite