The girl spoke in tones so sad and desponding, that her lover looked upon her for some time in silent surprise.
“Truly, Hilda,” he said, “the fight was none of my seeking.”
“Did I not hear thee say,” she replied, “that Kettle and Glumm and thou had slain twenty of the King’s men, and that ye regarded this as a comforting thought?”
“Aye, surely; but these twenty men did first attack Glumm and me while alone, and we slew them in self-defence. Never had I returned to tell it, had not stout Kettle Flatnose come to our aid.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” said Hilda, with a look of infinite relief. “How did it happen?”
“Come. I will tell thee all from first to last. And here is one who shall judge whether Glumm and I are to blame for slaying these men.”
As he spoke, the hermit approached. The old man looked somewhat paler than usual, owing to the loss of blood caused by the wound he had received in his recent defence of Ulfstede. Erling rose and saluted him heartily, for, since the memorable prowess in the defence of Ulfstede, Christian had been high in favour among the people of the neighbourhood.
“Hilda and I were considering a matter of which we will make thee judge,” said Erling, as they sat down on the bank together.
“I will do my best,” said the hermit, with a smile, “if Hilda consents to trust my judgment.”
“That she gladly does,” said the maid.