Hjor-Leif and Helga had gone on board Ingolf's vessel in order to greet him and Hallveig and to talk over the situation. All four were seated, Hallveig with her little boy in her arms, on the stern poop. After the severe trial they had passed through there was a silence over them which was difficult to break. They had not yet grown properly accustomed to the fact that life and death did not hang on each moment as it passed. Therefore they spoke but little. Towards the north-east and north-west the soft lines of the slightly rising and falling glaciers stood out behind the blue mountains that crowned this flat land. The brothers followed the changing contours of the country with a peculiar tenderness in their eyes. But their gaze always turned back to the glaciers which shone sparkling white in the strong sunshine.
Hallveig and Helga also could not turn away their eyes from the glaciers. The few words which they now and then exchanged were said in low tones, as if they sat in a temple, and not at sea on a swaying vessel.
Ingolf and Hjor-Leif had long sat silent side by side, inspecting the land with keen eyes. Between a projecting point a long way to the east, and another far to the west, there stretched a flat, unbroken coast-line, distinctly marked by a white edge of rolling surf.
"It will be difficult to land here," concluded Leif at last, in a slightly hard and irritated tone. "Also, it seems as if most of the land nearest the shore is barren sand."
"There are enough landing-places by the points," Ingolf answered quietly, "and behind the sands the land may be good and fertile, even close up to the glaciers. We saw that on the eastern side last summer."
Ingolf was in secret rather disappointed that they had not found the Svanefjords again. But he did not speak about it. It was not possible to look for them now. At present, the great thing was to get on land as quickly as possible, and almost anywhere, so that the men and animals could have a good rest and recover.
The sworn brothers had agreed that they must settle for the summer and the coming winter on the spot where they landed. Afterwards they might look out for a permanent residence. Ingolf had very decided views with regard to the choice of a dwelling-place. These views, however, he had not yet confided to Hjor-Leif, nor to any one else. The matter concerned the gods, and in all that concerned them his brother's attitude was a foregone conclusion. Hjor-Leif, on his part, only thought of finding a pleasant and fertile spot, preferably by the sea, and protected by the mountains, where he could feel himself at home and be comfortable.
For a long time they sat in silence, each deep in thought. Ingolf reflected how he had best communicate his plan to Hjor-Leif. He saw at once that it was no good to be silent about it longer. For already, before they departed from here, it must be put into execution. He sat and felt rather perplexed inwardly, and could not find words.
At that moment Hjor-Leif was sitting and reflecting over an experience which he had had the previous night. He had lain asleep in his bearskin bag while his old headman took charge of the tiller. Suddenly he started up from sleep, having certainly dreamt of something or other he could not remember, and as he did so he collided with a man who must have been stooping over him. It was one of his Irish serfs, Duftak, a man whose evil eye had followed him since he once in wrath had stretched him on the ground with a well-deserved blow. Hjor-Leif was not certain, but it seemed to him that the serf had thrown something or other which he had in his hand overboard, just as he had stumbled against him and stood opposite him. He thought he had heard a little splash as when a hard object strikes the water. But he was by no means certain of the matter, and neither the serf's eyes nor his behaviour had betrayed anything. He had asked him what he was doing here, and it seemed that he had come to look after a roll of rope which lay close by. Hjor-Leif had had his thoughts occupied the whole day by this occurrence. He had already observed for a long time that the serf's eyes followed Helga wherever she went and stood, with an evil and at the same time covetous look. He could not understand why he had not already thrown the serf overboard, and why he did not intend to do so. He was quite sure that it was not from fear, although there seemed to be a peculiar understanding among his Irish serfs. It was rather because he could not do without serfs, and because if he killed one of them it would be safest to kill them all.
At length Leif unwillingly shook these thoughts off, and asked curtly: "We shall sail southward, I suppose, when the wind gets up again?"