When Tord came to the cave, the outlaw sat on the stone bench and sewed.  The fire gave hardly any light, and the work seemed to go badly.  The boy’s heart swelled with pity.  The splendid Berg Rese seemed to him poor and unhappy.  And the only thing he possessed, his life, should be taken from him.  Tord began to weep.

“What is it?” asked Berg.  “Are you ill?  Have you been frightened?”

Then for the first time Tord spoke of his fear.  “It was terrible in the wood.  I heard ghosts and raw spectres.  I saw white monks.”

“’Sdeath, boy!”

“They crowded round me all the way up Broad mountain.  I ran, but they followed after and sang.  Can I never be rid of the sound?  What have I to do with them?  I think that they could go to one who needed it more.”

“Are you mad to-night, Tord?”

Tord talked, hardly knowing what words he used.  He was free from all shyness.  The words streamed from his lips.

“They are all white monks, white, pale as death.  They all have blood on their cloaks.  They drag their hoods down over their brows, but still the wound shines from under; the big, red, gaping wound from the blow of the axe.”

“The big, red, gaping wound from the blow of the axe?”

“Is it I who perhaps have struck it?  Why shall I see it?”

“The saints only know, Tord,” said Berg Rese, pale and with terrible earnestness, “what it means that you see a wound from an axe.  I killed the monk with a couple of knife-thrusts.”

Tord stood trembling before Berg and wrung his hands.  “They demand you of me!  They want to force me to betray you!”

“Who?  The monks?”

“They, yes, the monks.  They show me visions.  They show me her, Unn.  They show me the shining, sunny sea.  They show me the fishermen’s camping-ground, where there is dancing and merrymaking.  I close my eyes, but still I see.  ‘Leave me in peace,’ I say.  ’My friend has murdered, but he is not bad.  Let me be, and I will talk to him, so that he repents and atones.  He shall confess his sin and go to Christ’s grave.  We will both go together to the places which are so holy that all sin is taken away from him who draws near them.’”

“What do the monks answer?” asked Berg.  “They want to have me saved.  They want to have me on the rack and wheel.”

“Shall I betray my dearest friend, I ask them,” continued Tord.  “He is my world.  He has saved me from the bear that had his paw on my throat.  We have been cold together and suffered every want together.  He has spread his bear-skin over me when I was sick.  I have carried wood and water for him; I have watched over him while he slept; I have fooled his enemies.  Why do they think that I am one who will betray a friend?  My friend will soon of his own accord go to the priest and confess, then we will go together to the land of atonement.”

Berg listened earnestly, his eyes sharply searching Tord’s face.  “You shall go to the priest and tell him the truth,” he said.  “You need to be among people.”