Helwyse shot a keen look at his companion, but could discern in him none of the common symptoms of guilt. The priest, however, was a mine of sunless riddles, one lode connecting with another; it was idle attempting to explore them all at once. So the young man recurred to that vein which was of most immediate interest to himself.
"Have you no knowledge concerns Gnulemah's origin?" he inquired.
Manetho laid his long brown hand on Balder's arm.
"If she be not Gnulemah, daughter of fire, it must rest with you to give her another name," said he.
"I care not who was her father or her mother," rejoined the lover, after a short silence; "Gnulemah is herself!"
The lithe fingers on his arm clutched it hard for a moment, and Manetho averted his face. When he turned again, his features seemed to express exultation, mingled with a sinister flavor of some darker emotion.
"Son of Thor, you have your father's frankness. Do you love her?"
"You saw that I loved her," returned Balder, his black eyes kindling somewhat intolerantly.
"If I can hasten by one hour the consummation of that love, my life will have been worth the living!"
"That's kindly spoken!" exclaimed Helwyse, heartily; and, opening his strong white hand, he took the narrow brown one into its grasp. He had not been prepared for so friendly a profession.