Brand.—­How fares Kolbein, your husband?

Helga.—­Very eager you are now to succeed to him. (Smiles.  THOROLF’S men, weaponless, come running up and stop behind.) You here!

First Man.—­They have slain Thorolf Bjarnason.  His body lies here!

Helga (grasps at her heart for a moment).—­Thorolf Bjarnason!  Slain!

Second Man.—­But this moment they beheaded him.

Helga.—­Oh, pity that I came too late! (Shoves ASBJORN aside and fixes her eyes on those present.) Who of you slew T-h-o-r-o-l-f?

Helgi Skaftason (advances and dries his axe on the fringes of her veil; she smiles at him).—­Here you may see the blood of Thorolf, your friend, my lady.  Me you have to thank for it that his locks are bloody.

Asbjorn (pushing forth between them).—­You wretched knave!

Broddi.—­Shame upon you, Helgi Skaftason!

Helga.—­What business of yours is it? (Smiling, to HELGI.) You may depend upon me for rewarding you for the precious stain you have put on my veil.  Not just now.  I shall find you later, Helgi Skaftason!

Alf (to BRODDI).—­She will bring a plague upon us all; let us draw a sack over her head.[A]

[Footnote A:  A measure taken against the influence of the ‘evil eye’ of witches.]

Broddi.—­I shall kill you, Alf!

Helga (to BRAND).—­Is it from our kinsmen at Oddi that you have learned how to keep an eternal truce, Brand, ’a truce which shall persist the while the earth lasts and men live’?

Brand.—­Lady!

Broddi.—­Brand Kolbeinsson had no part in Thorolf’s execution.

Helga (smiling).—­Then it is clear he has kept the eternal truce.  Perhaps neither you had a part in it, Broddi?

Broddi.—­I shall not deny that I had, lady.

Helga.—­But little you know the mind of my husband, Broddi, if you think he will let his men lie dead by his house and unatoned.  You, Asbjorn, and you, men of Thorolf’s, lay now his body upon my sleigh.  I intend to bring Kolbein the Young, his friend.  Very likely I shall have to dress his bloody locks.  But that shall I say to you all that Kolbein the Young is almost quite well again, and may be able to wear mail even to-morrow. (All are startled and become alarmed.)

Alf.—­Loose sits my head on its shoulders!

Helga (smiling).—­You will do well to hold it fast with both your hands, Alf of Grof. (Aside to SALVOR.) Lend me your arm!  My eyes grow dim!

(Exeunt HELGA, SALVOR, and ASBJORN, the two men of THOROLF.  HELGA walks away like a queen, smiling, and saluting to both sides.  Silence.)

Helgi Skaftason (leaning on his axe).—­But a short while will the hand rejoice over the blow.