"Alone all the time?"
"All—save once indeed, when a Viking came by chance, but he left shortly," and then she continued hastily: "My father thought often of the burning. Many deeds he had done which he repented of there in the solitude of the Holy Isle. Yet was he not worse than others, only he became a Christian, and so they seemed ill deeds to him."
"Even this burning?" said Estein, a little dryly.
"Think not so harshly of him!" she cried. "He was—he was my father!"
"I ask your pardon, Mistress Osla. Go on."
"At length he fell sick, and in the last of the winter storms he died."
So far Estein had been listening most curiously, wondering much what the upshot of it all would be, and keeping a severe restraint on his tongue. But at Osla's last words he had nearly betrayed himself. He was on the verge of crying out in his natural voice, and when he did speak, it was like a man who is choking over something.
"Then Thord the Tall is dead?"
"He died penitent, King Estein," said Osla. "And he left me a writing—for he had taught me the art of reading on the island—and with it much silver, or at least it seemed much to me. The writing bade me seek King Hakon."
"Knew he not then of my father's death?"