"Better than some," replied Roland. "Already we should be on our way to the Vascon's hall; yet Gerold is as good as horseless."
"We shall go more quickly by boat. Ho, there, Floki! man the Raven's barki. While we wait, brother, Gerold and I will change chase-gear for hall-dress."
"Stay; first see to this. A palace slave handed it to me for you. He claimed to know nothing of the giver, but said that the matter was urgent."
"A maiden's gift," ventured Gerold, at sight of the little ivory vial which Roland held out to the Northman.
Olvir took the gift and examined it keenly. There was yet ample light for him to discern a faint "F" traced on the cover of the vial. At the discovery every nerve of his body thrilled with sudden uncontrollable delight. But he shook his head at Gerold's suggestion, and said almost harshly, "I know of no maiden who should so honor me."
"Look within, brother; let us see what is sent," said Roland.
Olvir at once opened the little vessel and held it up to view. The sight brought out a merry shout from Gerold.
"Saint Petronella!" he cried; "the maiden loves you, hero. She has sent a lock of hair."
"But a sparse tress, as suits a grey spinster," added Roland, who had looked closer.
"Grey spinster!" muttered Olvir, and he held out to his smiling companions the one grey bristle which had lain coiled in the vial. "Here is hair, but no woman's," he added significantly.