Straightening, then, Olaf made a salute of studied mockery.
“Lord,” he said, “I will give place to your—confidant.”
The Jarl stretched out an arm grown strangely unsteady, and spoke in a voice become strangely breathless. “Wait! You think that I am afraid to make him smart for an offence? Wait a little.”
Surprise took some of the assurance from Olaf’s bearing, as he resumed his place at the bed-foot; then, in expectant malice, he folded his arms and leaned against the carven post to watch through the open door the song-maker’s buoyant approach.
Delayed by the questions rained on him, by the hands thrust out to clasp his, Randvar was long in making his passage through the hall; but the alcove doorway framed him at last, a vision of light and of life as the fire-glow touched his burnished hair and the new happiness in him rang in his voice of greeting.
The Jarl’s grim tone sounded doubly grim by contrast. “However wroth I was before, now I am half as wroth again. What befits you, lazy-goer, is humblest explanation.”
Accustoming his light-filled eyes to the gloom, the Songsmith had lingered on the threshold; now as he was about to advance he stopped once more, attuning his harmony-filled ears to this discord.
“Lord!” he said in amazement. “Lord, what should I explain?” then, incredulously, “This cannot be because I am a half-day late! No stress was laid upon the time—no need of haste—” He broke off as his clearer vision separated Olaf’s blue-and-gold figure from the blue-and-gold curtains. “You here! Now is it likely that any lying tale of yours could have worked this—Yet it is not possible, lord, that you would have listened to him! That—”
Again he broke off; but this time with a smothered cry as, turning, he beheld the face that Helvin thrust into the light. Gnawed and blood-streaked lips, it showed; while bright as the ruddy light in the dusky room flickered devil-fire in the murky eyes. They turned to keep watch of Thorgrim’s son, even while the tongue belonging to them addressed the song-maker.
“Is it not possible, boor that you are, that you could have leaned too heavily on my favor? Olaf says justly that one would think I feared you had some secret knowledge of me, so forbearing have I been. What! because out of my service I spare you three weeks’ time—ill spare it—must you take a half-day more? Without a word—a sign—and then defend your fault with noisy voice and rampant head? Let me see you tame it. Speak me humbly if you would not push my temper to the uttermost.”