“He hath neither eaten nor slept since. It is pitiful. Thou knowest he never had too much sense—”
“I know very clever men who are fools, besides Michael Snorro. Go thy ways home. I will do what I can for him—only, it had been kinder, had thou sent for me ere this.”
He went to Snorro and sat down beside him. “Thou wilt let me speak to thee, Snorro. I come in God’s name. Is it Jan?”
“Yes, it is Jan. My Jan, my Jan, my friend! the only one that ever loved me. Jan! Jan! Jan!” He said the last words in an intense whisper. It seemed as if his heart would break with each.
“Is Jan’s loss all thy grief, Snorro?”
“Nay, there is more. Has thou found it out?”
“I think so. Speak to me.”
“I dare not speak it.”
“It is as sinful to think it. I am thy true 137 friend. I come to comfort thee. Speak to me, Snorro.”
Then he lifted his face. It was overspread by an expression of the greatest awe and sorrow: