“Tyrker!” cried Sigurd Haraldsson.  “Leif’s foster-father had that name.  It is not possible that it is my little foster-sister from Greenland!”

“I have heard them mention Greenland, and also the name of Leif,” Alwin assured him.

Sigurd smote his knee a resounding thwack.  “Strangest of wonders is the time at which this news comes!  Here have I just been asking for Leif in the guardroom of the King’s house; and because they told me he was away on the King’s business, I was minded to ride straight out of the city.  Catch hold of the strap on my saddle-girth, and we will hurry.”

He wheeled Highflyer and spurred him forward.  Alwin would not make use of the strap, but kept his place at the horse’s shoulder without much difficulty.  Only the pace did not leave him breath for questions, and he wished to ask a number.

It was not long, however, before most of his questions were asked and answered for him.  Rounding a curve, they came face to face with the riders, who had evidently tired of waiting at the cross-roads.  Tyrker, peering anxiously ahead, uttered an exclamation of relief at the sight of Alwin, whom he had evidently given up as a runaway.  Helga welcomed Sigurd in a delighted cry.

The young Northman greeted her with frank affection, and saluted Tyrker almost as fondly.

“This meeting gladdens me more than tongue can tell.  I do not see how it was that I did not recognize you as I passed.  And yet those garments, Helga!  By St. Michael, you look well-fitted to be the Brynhild we used to hear about!”

Helga’s fair face flushed, and Alwin smiled inwardly.  He was curious to know what the young Viking would do if the young Amazon boxed his ears, as he thought likely.  But it seemed that Helga was only ungentle toward those whom she considered beneath her friendliness.  While she motioned Alwin with an imperious gesture to hand her the rein she had dropped, she responded good-naturedly to Sigurd:  “Nay, now, my comrade, you will not be mean enough to scold about my short kirtle, when it was you who taught me to do the things that make a short kirtle necessary!  Have you forgotten how you used to steal me away from my embroidery to hunt with you?”

“By no means,” Sigurd laughed.  “Nor how Thorhild scolded when we came back!  I would give a ring to know what she would say if she were here now.  It is my belief that you would get a slap, for all your warlike array.”

Helga’s spur made her horse prance and rear defiantly.  “Thorhild is not here, nor do I expect that she will ever rule over me again.  She struck me once too often, and I ran away to Leif.  For two years now I have lived almost like the shield-maidens we were wont to talk of.  Oh, Sigurd, I have been so happy!” She threw back her head and lifted her beautiful face up to the sunlit sky and the fresh wind.  “So free and so happy!”

Alwin thrilled with sudden sympathy.  He understood then that it was not boldness, nor mere waywardness, that made her what she was.  It was the Norse blood crying out for adventure and open air and freedom.  It did not seem strange to him, as he thought of it.  It occurred to him, all at once, as a stranger thing that all maidens did not feel so,—­that there were any who would be kept at spinning, like prisoners fettered in trailing gowns.