with joy that the gloom was lifting. One day in the season when
spring and winter overlap, and the snow melts by day and hardens
again over-night, Earl Sigvald returned to Hakonstad from his seat
by a northern fiord. King Hakon greeted him cheerfully.

"The spell is lifting, jarl," he said; "Estein is becoming himself
again."

"That is well, sire," replied the earl; "and my old heart lightens
at the news. But I have other tidings that need your attention. I
have brought with me Arne the Slim, your scatt-gatherer in
Jemtland. The people there have slain some of his followers,
forced him to fly for his life, and refused to pay scatt to a
Norse king. There is work ahead for some of our young blades."

"They shall see that my arm is longer than they deem," replied the
king grimly.

Arne told his tale in the great hall before all the assembled
chiefs, and the king's face darkened with anger as he listened.
Every now and then, as he spoke of some particular act of
treachery, or of his hardships and hurried flight, an angry murmur
rose from his audience, and a weapon here and there clashed
sternly. Estein alone seemed unmoved. He stood listlessly at the
back, apparently hardly hearing what was going on, his thoughts
returning despite himself to their melancholy groove. All at once
he heard himself addressed, and turning round saw a stranger at
his side. The man was holding out something towards him, and when
he had caught Estein's eye, he said respectfully,--