Kolgrim laughed.

“Strange dangers must I run with you, master; but that is what one might look for with Ranald of the Sword.”

Then I got off the horse, which was very strong and seemed quiet, and went to the maiden again.

“It will be best for you to come with us, lady,” I said “we will see you safely to Wareham.”

The light fell on my arms now, and they were splendid enough, being Harald Fairhair’s gift, which I had put on for the fight, seeing that the men loved to see their king go bravely, and being, moreover, nowise loth to do so myself.  She seemed to take heart—­for she was well nigh weeping now—­when she saw that I was not some wandering soldier of the great host.

“My horses, two of them should be here,” she said.  “I bade the thralls leave them when they fled.”

So she thought not that we had loosed them, and did not know her own in the moonlight.  Maybe she had no knowledge as to which of many had been left, and I was glad of that, for so her fear was less.

“You must ride with us,” I said, “and I would ask you to come quickly; even now the host is leaving Wareham.”

“Ay, is that so?  Then my father is busy,” she said, and then she faltered a little, and looked at me questioningly.  “I cannot go without my nurse, and she is very sick.  I think she sleeps now.  Men feared her sickness so that we brought her here from the town.  But indeed there is nought to fear; there is no fever or aught that another might take from her.”

Then I grew fairly anxious, for this was more than I had looked for.  I knew that it was likely that she would soon be missed and sought for; yet I could not think of leaving her to that chance, with the bridge broken moreover.

I gave the bridle to Kolgrim then to hold.

“Let me see your nurse,” I said gently; “I have some skill in these troubles.”

She led me into the house without a word.  All the lower story was in one great room, with a hearth and bright fire thereon in the centre.  Beyond that was a low bed, to which the maiden went.  A very old woman, happed in furs and heavy blankets, lay on it, and it needed but one look to tell me that she needed no care but the last.  Past need of flight was she, for she was dead, though so peacefully that her watcher had not known it.

“The sleep is good, is it not?” the maiden said, looking anxiously into my face.

“It is good, lady,” I answered, taking off my helm.  “It is the best sleep of all—­the sleep that heals all things.”

The maiden looked once at the quiet face, and once more at me, with wide eyes, and then she knew what I meant, and turned quickly from me and wept silently.

I stood beside her, not daring to speak, and yet longing to be on the road.  And so still were we that Kolgrim got off his horse and came to the door and called me, though not loudly.

I stepped back to him.