From the speech and the sorrow,
Sore drooping, sore grieving.
VOLSUNGA SAGA.
As the king passed down the main corridor of the villa with Fulrad, Liutrad touched the arm of his earl, and Olvir, giving instant heed to the sign, dropped behind Gerold and the chattering young Franks.
"What now, lad?" he asked, as the others hastened on.
For several paces Liutrad walked along beside him without replying. Then, his eyes fixed upon the stone pavement, he stammered slowly: "Ring-breaker,--friend,--I must speak out! You yourself first taught me runes, and so--and so--but already you 're aware how I 've been drawn to the White Christ. I know you 'll not be harsh. There are Alcuin and Deacon Paul and many others,--they speak powerfully. I am almost persuaded to become a monk."
"A monk!" cried Olvir. "Has it come to this? Would that long since I had called you aboard ship and sailed away to Trondheim Fiord! The son of Erling a monk!--a beggarly, wifeless, kinless, childless thing! By Thor, sooner would I strike you dead! Can you not yourself read and put into deed the runes of the White Christ? Did He not take part in the wedding feast at Cana?"
"True, Olvir; and I know well your horror of the cloisters. I, too, have felt that loathing."
"You may well say loathing! Man is here on earth to live,--to live in fulness of life, abounding in health and strength for the joy and uplifting alike of himself and of others. What, then, is more holy than wedlock and the rearing of strong sons and pure daughters for the welfare of the land?"
"Enough, earl," replied Liutrad, in a low voice. "I shall never become a monk. But I long to give myself to Christ. The secular clergy--"