"I thought so indeed," replied Estein, "though some words you let
fall pointed otherwise."

"Yet, Estein," the old man said, "when thou wert no higher than
that bench whereon thou sittest, I dandled thee in mine arms, and
those fingers that now clasp a sword hilt, and, if men say true,
clasp it right firmly, played once with my beard. Less snow had
fallen on it then, Estein. Thou canst not remember me?"

Estein looked at him closely before replying.

"Nay, Atli, my memory carries me not so far back."

"So it was," Atli continued; "but chiefly was I the friend of
thine ill-fated brother Olaf."

"Of Olaf?" exclaimed Estein, with a slight start.

"Ay, of Olaf. Often have I fought by his side on sea and shore,
and dearly, more dearly than I ever loved man or woman since, I
loved the youth. Thou even as a child wert strangely like him in
features, and as I look upon thee now, there comes back memories
of blither days. Wonder not then that I long was fain to see
thee."

"Then why came you not to my father's house?" said Estein. "A
friend of his son's would ever be welcome."

"Thy father and I fell out," replied Atli, "the wherefore I must
still keep behind the shrouding-curtain, but for my present