Her ecstasy mounted higher than her words could follow. While it soared, she stood silent. When, because it was of earth, it sank again earthward, she spoke under her breath:
“Only shall I be poor, Eric, if the Fates take from me the man who has wrought this change in my nature. If it happen to him to meet with—with my kin—some day—and the same overtake him that overtook Olaf—”
Her hand gripped the boy’s shoulder so that he would have cried out if he had not guessed from the whitening of her lips how much harder Dread was clutching at her heart. Gritting his teeth, he supported her manfully.
“There is no man like Randvar in all the new lands,” he panted, “and I would fight for none as I would fight for him.”
Loosening their hold, the fingers rose and swept his cheek fondly, and the Jarl’s sister moved away and bent over the smouldering fire to stir it. Though she did not turn again, her voice came to him with its wonted gracious composure.
“Have thanks for your friendship, little friend! And give my thanks to your mother for her good gifts; and tell her that if she does not come oftener to visit me I shall take it as a sign that because she has gone to live in Snowfrid’s booth, she feels that I have crowded her out of her home. Will you bear that in mind?”
For the fourth time since he had begun to think of tearing himself away, Eric picked up his feathered blue cap.
“Naught shall be forgotten, Jarl’s sister,” he reassured her. “And now I fear that I must in truth take leave of you. With Bolverk so often away on hunts, I find that the wants of Snowfrid and my mother put not a little care on my shoulders; and my intention is that they shall never lack for anything now that I have come home to take care of them. Jarl’s sister, I bid you farewell until to-morrow.”
The purpose of the plumed cap became apparent as by its aid he added elaborate flourishes to his bow. Then fixing the bauble upon his curly head, he went away hurriedly, as became one weighted with responsibility; and as became one torn between love and fear, the Jarl’s sister went up the ladder-like stairs with a hand pressed to her heart, and crossing the strange little fur-hung bower, dropped down beside Freya’s window to watch as Freya before her had watched.
Higher and higher slanted the long rays, until only the tree-tops knew their golden glory. The horizon became as a band of red fire behind the black net-work of the woods. The lower that fire burned, the farther the great outside world seemed to fall away from the little world of the Tower. As though to make a stand against impending isolation, the foresters drew their circle closer and beaconed it with cheery fires. Over the young wife’s vigil crept a spell of awe, so that though she leaned wide-eyed upon the sill she did not see the one for whom she watched when presently he came up a twilit trail, a spear gleaming on his shoulder, Bolverk’s brawny bulk looming beside him.