“Open, uncle; it is I, Arngeir.”
“What does the boy want at this time?” said Grim, taking down the great bar that kept the door, axe in hand, for one must be cautious in such times as these.
Arngeir came in—a tall young man of twenty, handsome, and like Grim in ways, for he was his brother’s son.
“Lucky am I in finding you astir,” he said. “I thought I should have had to wake you all. Are you just home from sea, or just going out?”
“Not long home,” answered Leva; “but what has brought you?”
“I have a guest for you, if I may bring one here at this hour.”
“A friend of yours never comes at the wrong time,” Grim said. “Why not bring him in?”
“If it were a friend of mine and a man he would do well enough at my house for the night,” said Arngeir, smiling; “but the one for whom I have come is a lady, and, I think, one in sore trouble.”
“Who is she?” asked my mother, wondering much.
“From the king’s town, certainly,” answered Arngeir, “but I do not know her name. Truth to tell, I forgot to ask it, for she is sorely spent; and so I made haste to come to you.”