“Nevertheless,” replied Heika, “I mean to go over to Scotland this summer if I can.”
Hake looked earnestly in his brother’s face.
“From your tones and words,” said he, “I know that you have some plan in your head.”
“That have I,” rejoined Heika firmly, yet with a look of sadness.—“Listen, Hake: the thought that I shall never more see Emma or my father is more than I can bear. I will now make the effort to escape from Greenland—for well assured am I that we shall soon be there again—or die in the attempt. Of what value is a thrall’s life? The plan that I have in my head is this. You know that when in Greenland we were often sent out beyond the fiord to fish and to hunt the walrus and the seal—sometimes in large, sometimes in small, boats. The boats on Eric’s fiord are numerous now. The absence of one for a time would not be much noticed. There is a man there whose life I saved not long before we set sail for Vinland. He has a good boat, which I will borrow, take it round to the western skerries, to which our men seldom go, and there quietly fit it out for a long voyage. When a fitting time arrives I will set sail for Scotland.”
Hake shook his head.
“What wild thoughts are these, brother? Who ever heard of a man crossing the ocean in a small boat?”
“The thing may be done,” replied Heika. “It is risky, no doubt; but is not everything more or less risky? Besides, I had rather die than remain in thraldom.”
He paused, and Hake gazed at the ground in silence.
“I see,” he continued sadly, “you do not like my project, and will not aid me in the enterprise. After all, how could I expect that you would be willing to forsake Bertha and face so great a danger?”
Hake still continued to gaze in silence, and with a strangely perplexed air, at the ground.