with Thorar; behind those two marched the small band of wild,
skin-coated followers of the lawman; and after them came the mail-
clad twenty, the shields which hung from their backs clanking now
and again as they struck their harness. Last of all walked their
leader.

Now that the tension of forced marches and weary journeyings
through forest paths was off his mind, his thoughts ran
continually on the Runes. "Come hither to Jemtland," he said to
himself. He had come, and what was to follow? Something he felt
must happen, and though he was curious, he cared singularly little
what it might be. The sun hung high overhead, under foot the snow
crunched pleasantly, and the air was clear and bracing--a day to
inspire an adventurer and a skald. His thoughts began to take a
rhyming turn, and he caught himself repeating his own verses:--

"Fare thee well, sweet blue-eyed Osla!
The sea-king must not stay,
E'en for tresses rich as summer
And for smile as bright as May;
But one hope I cannot part from--
We may meet again some day!"

"And we shall, Osla!" he exclaimed half aloud.

He was aroused by hearing the voices of Helgi and Thorar come back
to him clear and cheerfully. A thought struck him. Could Thorar
have sent the message? A moment's reflection assured him that it
was out of the question, but, to convince himself, he went forward
and joined the lawman.