"Dead?" echoed Sigurd in alarm.

"Yes," answered Olaf, "I met him in the gate. He tried to take me.
I raised my axe and buried it in his head. Well have you taught me
the use of my axe, Hersir Sigurd."

As he spoke there came a loud hum of angry voices from without.
They were the voices of the vikings calling aloud for the blood of
him who had slain their chief.

Without a word Sigurd Erikson crossed the room, and drew the heavy
bar athwart the door. Then he turned upon Olaf.

"Well do I discern," said he, "that you are of King Harald's
race. It was ever so with your forefathers; thoughtless, fearless,
ruthless! And so all my teaching of you has gone for nothing! Oh,
foolish boy! To think that you, who might have lived to be the king
of all Norway, have ended in being no more than a common murderer!"

"Murderer?" repeated Olaf. "Not so. It is but justice that I have
done. Klerkon was the slayer of my dear foster father. He slew him
cruelly and in cold blood, and for no other reason than that poor
Thoralf was old and infirm. I have done no murder. I have but taken
just and lawful vengeance."

"Just and lawful it may be in our own birthland, Olaf," returned
Sigurd gravely; "but in this kingdom wherein we now live the peace
is held holy, and it is ordained by law that he who kills another
man in anger shall himself lose his life. I cannot save you. You