“Wherever you choose,” Rolf assented.

They set forth as silently as on that spring morning, two years before, when they had set out from the Norwegian camp to witness Thorgrim Svensson’s horse-fight.  Now, as then, the air was golden with spring sunshine, and the whole world seemed a-throb with the pure joy of living.  There was gladness in the chirp of the birds, and content in the drone of the insects; and all the squirrels in the place seemed to be gadding on joyful errands, for one could not turn a corner that a group of them did not scatter from before his feet.  So common a thing as a dewdrop caught in a cobweb became more beautiful than jewel-spangled lace.  The rustling of the quail in the brush, even the glimpse of a coiled snake basking on a sunny spot of earth, was fraught with interest because it spoke of life, glad and fearless and free.

They visited the nook on the bluff, screened once more in fragrant, rustling greenness; then descended to the river and walked along its bank, mile after mile.  Here and there, they turned aside and threaded their way through the thicket to take a last look at the scene of some fondly recollected hunt, or to inspect some of the traps which they remembered to be there.  But when in one snare they found a wretched little rabbit, still alive but frantic with terror, Alwin laid a detaining hand on Rolf’s knife.

“Let him go,” he said, shortly.  “You have no need of him, and his life is all he has.  Let him keep it,—­for my sake.”

He did not stay to watch the white dot of a tall go bobbing away over the ferns.  He hurried on rather shamefaced; and when Rolf overtook him, they walked another mile without speaking.

Along in the middle of the forenoon they reached a point on the river where the banks no longer rose in bluffs but lay in grassy slopes, fringed with drooping trees.  The sun was hot overhead, and their clothes were heavy upon their backs.  Rolf suggested that they stop long enough for a swim.

“That will do as well as anything,” Alwin assented.  But when the delicious coolness of the water had closed about him, and he felt its velvet softness on his dusty skin, he decided that it was the best thing they could have done.  The lounge upon the grassy bank, while they dried themselves in the sun, was dreamily pleasant.  Even after he had gathered sufficient energy to get into his clothes again, Alwin lingered lazily, waiting for his companion to make the first move toward departure.

“This is a restful spot,” he said, gazing up at the sky through the network of interlacing branches.  “It gives one the feeling that it is so far away that no human foot has ever trod it before, and that none will ever come again when we have left.”

From the ant-hill which he was idly spearing with grass-blades, Rolf looked up to smile.  “Then your feelings are not to be trusted, comrade,” he said; “for there are few spots on the river which our men have more frequented.  Even that lazy hound of a thrall comes here almost daily to look at the quail-traps in yonder thicket, that being the one food which he likes well enough to make an exertion for.  Would that he would visit them to-day!”