help himself, despite his having so positively said that Klerkon
should never carry him off alive. So in his heart Sigurd feared that
Olaf would take some mischievous and unwise measure of his own to
evade the vikings. It might be, indeed, that he had already gone
across the river to the security of Grim Ormson's hut; but it was
greatly to be feared that he had fallen into the hands of Klerkon
Flatface.

Suddenly, as Sigurd sat there in moody thought, the door of the
room was flung open, and Olaf rushed in. He was strangely agitated.
His hair was rough and his clothing was torn; his large blue eyes
flashed in anger, and his breathing was heavy and uneven.

Sigurd sprang up from his seat. He saw that something ill had
happened.

"Why are you here?" he cried. "Why are you not in hiding? Have I
not warned you enough that you are running into danger by letting
yourself be seen? Klerkon has won you from me, and he may be here
at any moment to claim you and carry you away!"

Olaf did not reply for a long time. He only bent down and took
a handful of rushes up from the floor, and began to quietly clean
the blade of his axe that he held under his arm.

"Speak!" cried Sigurd, driven to anger by the boy's silence.

Then at last Olaf said in a steady, boyish voice:

"Klerkon will never claim me from you, my kinsman; for he is dead."