"Why, in heaven's name?"
"A whim of mine, nothing more. I have taken a fancy for the skull, and the skull I will have. So old Orm," he continued, stooping down and detaching the grisly head-piece from the vertebral column, "prepare to face the light of day after a sleep of centuries in darkness."
"Put it back again," said Godfrey. "What good can it do you? You can't possibly put it to any use."
"The skull of a brave Viking is a trophy well worth preserving, a noble ornament for my sideboard. And if you talk of use, there are several uses to which I can put it. I may set it with silver, and convert it into a drinking-cup, like that used by Byron. Or I may turn it into a pretty lamp to write tragedy by, after the fashion of the poet Young. Or, imitating the old Egyptians, I may use it as a table-decoration to remind me of death, and of the vanity of all things human. The skull will be a souvenir of our expedition, a memento of an experience unique, at least, in my life.—So hurrah!" he cried, holding the trophy aloft, "Hurrah for the Viking's Skull!"
* * * * * *
Day was dawning when Idris and Godfrey reached home, after concealing, so far as lay in their power, the traces of their night's work. Beatrice, who had been sitting up anxiously awaiting their return, gave a little scream when she beheld their blackened faces.
"Heavens! what has happened?" she cried.
Over the repast that she had kept in readiness for them Idris gave an account of the expedition, finishing his story by producing the relics he had brought away with him, namely, the Viking's skull and the fragment of tapestry.
"Let us have some warm water, Trixie," said Godfrey. "We will try to clean this tapestry."