But Snowfrid’s half-frightened giggle, as she answered the questions of some one coming after her, was a surprise. It was not after that fashion that she conversed with Lame Farsek or his half-dozen decrepit old mates. Her mother and her foster-brother bestirred themselves to look out.
Erna’s surprise was not lessened to see her daughter emerge from the bush-shadows followed by a strapping fellow in the brass helmet and leather clothes of the Jarl’s guard; and Randvar’s astonishment increased as he recognized in the visitor the guardsman who had first spoken up for him in his adventure with Olaf and the Jarl’s daughter. While Erna rose hastily, smoothing down her apron, he leaped to his feet with a thumping heart. If by any possibility Brynhild should have sent him a message!
Even more than in the morning, the man-at-arms looked the soul of bluff good-fellowship as Snowfrid led him up to them, naming him as Bolverk of the Jarl’s guard, and explaining stammeringly that she had found him beating about in a berry-tangle in search of the path. He added a wink for her to his jovial recognition of the Songsmith, vowed that if the soldiers of the Jarl’s Town had but dreamed to what that path led, it would have been beaten broad enough to need no hunting for. Snowfrid relapsed into a blushing examination of her braids which struck her foster-brother as particularly ill-timed and foolish. He said with impatient politeness:
“It is to be regretted that the path failed your need, Guardsman Bolverk, for it must needs be urgent to bring you here at this hour.”
The guardsman made an effort to pull his round face to a solemn length. “Certainly it is no light errand that keeps me abroad, though my being here springs from a whim of Helvin, Jarl’s son—I should say, Helvin Jarl, for Starkad, his father, is dead. Saints grant him as much rest as he will accept of!”
After the manner of people hearing news, all three cried the word after him, “Dead!” Then Erna murmured, “Thus the old leaves drop off, one by one!” And Snowfrid cried impulsively: “Now will the young man take some comfort?” And Randvar smote his knee.
“No longer ago than this morning was I talking about Helvin, and how his father’s death would but free him from one trap to spring another on him.”
Bolverk’s ruddy face relaxed into its wonted curves. “So you all know what manner of man he was? Then I need not pretend to shed tears for him, though I should think it sinful to wish any but an enemy such a death.”
Even while they drew near together, the women questioned him with their eyes. Randvar put it into words.
“In what manner did he come to his death? I saw him ride past to the hunt,—I suppose it was caused by a fall from his horse?”