Ormarr opened his lips to speak, but could not. He took her hand and sat stroking her hair.
“This,” he said at last. “Guest the One-eyed has come. And he is ill—very ill—I fear he is dying.”
“Dying—oh, what can we do? What is it? Can we get a doctor to help?”
Runa had risen to her feet as she spoke, but something in Ormarr’s look checked her, and she sat down again.
Ormarr’s voice was hardly recognizable as he went on:
“There is more. Guest the One-eyed is ... is my brother ... Ketill....”
“Ketill! Alive?”
Ormarr was silent.
“He lives,” said Runa, as if to herself. “Thank God—thank God for that!”
“You—you are glad of that,” said Ormarr eagerly. Then he turned away. “He is here,” he went on, “and dying. I have forgiven him—and Alma ... she was stroking his hair....”