“Was there not once a priest here, Sera Ketill?”
The widow looked up at him in surprise. Then she cast down her eyes and frowned.
“His name is accursed in this house,” she said—“as are all those who have deceived under the mask of love.”
The man paled at her words. For a moment he seemed stunned. Then, taking up his sack and staff, he limped from the room.
The woman hurried after him.
“Are you ill?” she asked.
“No. I am going now.”
“But—you have not said good-bye!”
“Forgive me,” said Guest the One-eyed. “But you have said that which struck me to the heart.”
The woman looked at him blankly. Then, giving up all attempt at finding out the mystery, she asked: