"See! Bear tracks; very fresh ones! She was not drowned; she ran yonder to the right along the shore on the old path where Sippilo and I always went to fish."
"Who is Sippilo?" asked the Batavian. "Another Adalo?"
"Oh, nonsense! A child. And just see; from here the tracks go directly to the hall. Come! Don't walk! Leap! Spring up the hill!"
"No, little one," said the Batavian gravely. "You can run; I will not go with you. You seem to know the way, to know it very well. There is no human being in sight far or near. You can reach the hall safe without me. Aha, there too, a huge stag's antlers tower from the roof. That is the reason you were so pleased with the one on the boat's prow. Farewell, little one! I won't go to the meeting--I mean yours with Adalo and all the rest who belong to his clan."
"They would thank you for having done so much for me."
"Never mind the thanks. I did not do it for them."
"Where are you going?"
"Home. To the north and west. No, have no fear for me; I shall make my way through. Here in my breast, little one, I carry the pay and the price of the booty won in seven years; and on my shoulder is this pole. One can go far with these two assistants. Farewell! And,"--he whispered in her ear--"heed my words: never defy the man you call your Duke; for he is--he!"
He patted her hair and her pretty round head with rough tenderness as he spoke, and then sprang toward the west along the lake shore. Once he stopped to look after her--he wanted to wave another farewell. But Bissula did not see him. She was running, with glowing cheeks, up the hill.