And he had no intention of disappointing either himself, the dead, or the unborn. Just then it was very quiet in the hall. The confidential crackling of the fire was the only sound audible.
Then suddenly came the sound of tramping steps without. Orn raised his head and was again wide awake. All sat still and listened. There was a knock at the door. Orn made a sign to the porter, who pushed back the bolt, and in came Rodmar, Orn's kinsman, followed by his son, Leif, and some servants.
The peace and quiet of the hall was suddenly interrupted. Orn rose with a dignified air. Stately of mien, he left the high-seat and went to meet his relative. His ceremonious "Welcome, cousin," sounded cheerful and hearty. Ingolf sprang up and ran round behind the seats to meet Leif. He greeted his relative, who was his junior by two years, with a kiss and very sincere friendliness.
Orn laid both his hands heavily on Rodmar's shoulders. "I was sure you would come, cousin."
"Such important news should be looked into," answered Rodmar seriously. "We have had prosperous though chequered years. What will happen now?"
"The good times are passed," answered Orn gloomily. "I guess what will happen. Follow me to the high-seat, cousin."
Orn seated Rodmar at his side, and called for fresh beer. They drank to each other with deep draughts. When Rodmar had sucked his beard dry, he turned to his kinsman, who was a little older than himself, and asked: "Do you think there will be trouble in the country?"
"Trouble there will be," answered Orn, speaking slowly and solemnly. "After peace and prosperous years follow hard times. We have had the good times; now we shall have to face the bad. Only it may be that the struggle will not reach these parts. We are getting old, Rodmar. Our swords are rusty, our arms stiff. And our sons are at the worst age possible—old enough to entangle themselves in difficulties, not old enough to manage them."