They had prosperous winds, and reached Norway about the time that the leaves were beginning to fall.
Leif was full of longing for Helga during the voyage home. He counted the days and could not sleep. It seemed to him suddenly that in the course of the summer she had come very close to him. Absence and separation had, as it were, intimately united them. His longing, however, was considerably mingled with fear—a fear without shape or distinct substance, yet none the less painful.
At Hisargavl, Atle's sons took leave of Ingolf and Leif. They thanked each other for the summer they had spent together, arranged to meet there next summer, drank each other's health in dark wine from glass goblets, and swore eternal friendship. Ingolf and Leif invited Atle's sons to come to the feast the first day of the month of Goi, with as large a retinue as they liked to bring, and Atle's sons promised to come. Holmsten, half-intoxicated, happened to mention Helga's name, and Leif listened with all his ears. But for the rest he could make nothing out of Holmsten's confused talk, except that he now knew that Helga was in his thoughts.
That evening Leif threw a spear overboard. So the sworn brothers and Atle's sons parted, and each sailed home with the rich booty of the summer.
IV
Helga awoke in the night and heard the sound of oars in the fjord. She dressed hastily and went down to the landing-place. It was full moon, but the sky was covered with dark masses of clouds. Out on the dark surface of the fjord the ships looked black and ghostly. A sudden fear made Helga's heart tremble. The ships came rowing so silently in the night. The stroke of the oars sounded so lonely in the stillness. Was Leif with them? She counted the ships and found they were not the full number. But she could not distinguish them clearly, and the larger ones might overshadow the smaller. How silently they rowed! Would it not be better if she went home to bed? That would be where she would lie if she came to know that she would no more see Leif. She would never wish to get up again. The foremost ship rowed into the somewhat broken moonlight on the surface of the fjord. Helga thought she could recognize it. Was that not Leif's dragon? She strained her eyes till they smarted, and ran down to the edge of the water. The ship over there was so dark and indistinct she could make out neither colour nor shape. It glided nearer like a shadow. The water dripped in silvery drops from the oar-blades.
A rift in the masses of clouds let the moon's pale light illumine the shore. Helga stood in it thinking intently. Was Leif with them? That would be an almost incomprehensible happiness. And even if he were, still there would come a day when his ship would return without him, or his people would come some winter day carrying him on a bier, and there would be blood upon the snow. A time must come when Leif would be no more. Then she must die.
Helga stood there bathed in the wan light of the moon, and gave herself away to her last breath. She embraced Leif with her soul, alive or dead. When the ships came quite near she stepped quickly into the shadow of one of the boat-houses. She would see if Leif was with them before she made a mistake.
Rapidly the ships approached, rowed by long oars, keeping regular time. Yes, the foremost was Leif's dragon-ship. Majestically it glided over the water, and there—yes, there on the poop stood Leif. Ah, Leif! Leif! Helga wept. She wept and was happy. But she quickly dried her eyes. See how Leif had exerted himself. He wished to be the first on shore. She could hear the excited tone of his voice when he gave the order: "Inboard!" Leif was impatient now; his movements were abrupt and hasty. He urged on his crew, and his voice became sharp. He could not wait—he could never wait the last moments. Leif! Leif! He did not guess that she stood there.