Ørlygur himself did not know whether his parents were aware of his affection for Snebiorg, the girl from Bolli. But he was convinced that they would not agree with his choice. Even if they did not oppose it, he knew it would pain them.
Up to now, his will and conscience had always been in accord with theirs. In this case he was quite clear as to his own feelings, but was loth to bring matters to a head. There was time enough—no definite promise had as yet been given on either side, though there was certainly a tacit understanding between them.
Ormarr and Ørlygur walked across the enclosure together.
“And what else did he say—the old man?” asked Ormarr.
Ørlygur was at a loss for an answer. He could not remember anything else of importance, and it seemed somehow unsatisfactory to have met the celebrated vagabond, renowned for his wisdom, and bring back no utterance worthy of remark. He said nothing—and Ormarr did not press the question, but walked beside him with the quiet, peculiar smile that had become characteristic of him.
But when they reached the house, Ørlygur found himself once more a person of importance. Old Kata came hobbling towards him, and laid her hand on his arm.
“You have met him, and spoken. And felt joy of the meeting—more than with any other you have ever met. The Lord is great, and our eyes are blind. Yes; he will come now, and all will be well.”
Kata hobbled off again to her mistress, whom she never left for any length of time.
The two men stood watching her with a smile.
“She still has the gift, you see,” observed Ormarr. “No need to tell her that you had met with Guest the One-eyed in the mountains.”