The widow was calmer now. She looked earnestly at Ormarr’s face, as if seeking to read his mind. Then she offered her hand. It was not trembling now.
“You can trust me,” she said. “I do not know what it is that troubles Ørlygur, and I do not wish to know. It is enough for me if he continues to feel as he does for Bagga. But if he should desert her, it would kill her. And if he kills my daughter, then, as surely as there is a God in heaven, I will kill him!”
Ormarr started violently. “Woman!” he cried, “God forgive you!”
“I would not have said it—it slipped out,” she went on apologetically. “Such words must seem strange in the mouth of an old woman. But I could not help it. You need have no fear of me; I shall do as you wish. You can trust me as long as I can feel that you are acting honestly. You are now, and I believe you will continue so.”
Ormarr smiled.
“If I did not know it to be otherwise, I might think you were my sister,” he said. Then, speaking more seriously, he continued:
“I should have preferred that you did not come back with us to Borg today. But there are a number of others coming, and after we have stood here talking so long it would perhaps excite remark if you were not to come. Anyhow, to prevent any danger to our plans, it would be best to keep Ørlygur and Bagga from coming together, at any rate by themselves—if it can be done quietly.”
The widow nodded.
They walked back to the grave, where Runa and Snebiorg were waiting. Several others now approached, and the widow and her daughter were formally invited to accompany the party home to Borg.
Horses were then saddled, and they moved off, most of those remaining taking the road to Borg.