The sight of it moved him; this was the place that had been his home. Strange to think of it now. There his infant limbs had learned to walk, and thither he turned now, for the last steps on his road of life.
He was roused from his meditations by the youth, who nodded over towards a steep cliff rising from the water.
“That was where Sera Ketill killed himself,” he said. “You’ve heard of Sera Ketill?”
“Yes. I knew him. Better, perhaps, than many did.”
“A monster of wickedness he must have been,” said the young man, as if inviting the other to tell what he knew.
For the moment, Guest the One-eyed was dull to the pain which condemnation of Sera Ketill usually caused him. He was about to answer absently, “Judge not ...” but checked himself and sat gazing vacantly across the water.
“I never thought to sail on the sea again,” he said, as if to himself.
“Again?”
“Yes. I have sailed far in my time, and seen many lands.”
The young man seemed to take this as a jest.