“Because I never cared for her much; and since I went to visit her father I have seen another girl who is far more beautiful; far more clever; more winning, in every way.”
The woman looked sharply at the flushed countenance of her son.
“You love her?” she asked.
“Ay, that do I, as I never loved woman before, and, truly, as I think I never shall love again.”
“Then you must get her to wife, my son, for there is no cure for love.”
“Oh, yes, there is, mother,” was the light reply of the chief, as he recommenced to pace the floor. “Death is a pretty sure and sharp cure for love.”
“Surely you would not kill yourself because of a girl?”
Gunrig burst into a loud laugh, and said, “Nay, truly, but death may take the girl, or death may take me—for, as you know, there is plenty of fighting among the tribes, and my day will surely come, sooner or later. In either case love will be cured.”
“Can you guess why this girl has fled?” asked the woman.
Gunrig’s brows contracted, and a grim smile played on his lips as he replied, after a brief pause—