“And pray, how shall we give account of our mission,” said Erling, “if you and I cut each other’s heads off before fulfilling it?”
“That would then concern us little,” said Glumm.
“Nay, thou art more selfish than I thought thee, friend. For my part, I would not that she should think me so regardless of her welfare as to leave undelivered a message that may be the means of preventing the ruin of Horlingdal. My regard for Ada seems to sit more heavily on me than on thee.”
At this Glumm became still more furious. He leaped off his horse, drew his sword, and flinging it down with the hilt towards Erling, cried in a voice of suppressed passion:
“No longer will I submit to be trifled with by man or woman. Choose thy weapon, Erling. This matter shall be settled now and here, and the one who wins her shall prove him worthy of her by riding forth from this plain alone. If thou art bent on equal combat we can fall to with staves cut from yonder tree, or, for the matter of that, we can make shift to settle it with our knives. What! has woman’s love unmanned thee?”
At this Erling leaped out of the saddle, and drew his sword.
“Take up thy weapon, Glumm, and guard thee. But before we begin, perhaps it would be well to ask for whose hand it is that we fight.”
“Have we not been talking just now of Ada the Dark-eyed?” said Glumm sternly, as he took up his sword and threw himself into a posture of defence, with the energetic action of a man thoroughly in earnest.
“Then is our combat uncalled for,” said Erling, lowering his point, “for I desire not the hand of Ada, though I would fight even to the death for her blue-eyed sister, could I hope thereby to win her love.”
“Art thou in earnest?” demanded Glumm in surprise.