That same afternoon an unexpected event took place at Borg. The Vicar, Sera Daniel, accompanied by Bjarni Jonsson, came to call.
Ørlygur à Borg was resting on his bed, which in the daytime was covered, like a couch, with a many-coloured rug, when news was brought him of the visit. The girl informed him that she had asked the visitors into the big hall. Ørlygur smiled when he heard their names. He had just returned from a sale of driftwood, held at the instance of one of the farmers whose lands ran down to the shore, and who yearly gathered in large stocks of washed-up timber, which was subsequently sold, either privately or by auction. He was tired, and felt too comfortable where he was to care about moving.
“Let them come in here if they have anything to say,” he told the girl.
The two men exchanged glances when the message was brought them. Each found a certain satisfaction in witnessing the humiliation of the other, which helped him to bear his own. Nevertheless, on entering Ørlygur’s room, both were visibly embarrassed.
Ørlygur himself did nothing to set them at their ease. Without rising, he took their proffered hands, answered their greetings with a murmur of something inaudible, and indicated that they might be seated.
There was but a single chair in the room, placed between the two beds. Sera Daniel would willingly have left it to Bjarni—though he considered it due to himself and his superior social position to take it in order not to be too close to his host. Bjarni, however, had a similar disinclination, and forestalled his companion by taking a seat at once on the edge of the bed, well pleased at having attained his end, while seeming to act from sheer natural modesty.
For a while no one spoke. Ørlygur stretched himself, and smiled faintly, awaiting the explanation of the visit.
Sera Daniel cleared his throat for an introduction he had prepared beforehand. But he got no further than a slight cough. And, looking at Bjarni, he perceived that the latter was in a like predicament, his usually grey face turning a fiery red.
Ørlygur was enjoying the situation, and maintained a ruthless silence.
Sera Daniel soon realized that he could look for no assistance from the trader, who apparently considered that the priest’s closer proximity to the enemy carried with it the obligation to deliver the first attack. At last he stammered out: