He did not answer at once. Ormarr sat waiting for an answer, but without impatience, as if realizing something of what was passing in the young man’s mind.
When Ørlygur spoke, it was with a calmness that surprised himself.
“Yes—I was going for a walk ... over towards Bolli. I thought of giving the lamb—to the widow there. She would be glad of it, no doubt; then she could kill one of her own sheep instead.”
Ormarr apparently found nothing in this proposal beyond an ordinary act of charity; he simply said:
“Yes, give it to her. Or perhaps to her daughter. Then you may be sure it would be well looked after.”
“That is true.”
Ørlygur had now completely regained his composure, but was still somewhat at a loss to understand his foster-father’s attitude in the matter.
“You can bring them greeting from me,” said Ormarr, as he rose and walked away.
Ormarr was both glad and sorry. But he knew it was best not to let Ørlygur’s love affairs become a matter of dissension between them. They of Borg had need to hold together well; he had made his sacrifice—all that remained now was to prepare his wife.