“’Hew’d we with the Hanger! 
   It happed that when I young was
   East in Eyrya’s channel
   Outpoured we blood for grim wolves,’”—­

and looked down with his gentle smile.  “If you mean that it is this doorstep that is not to your mind, you take too much trouble.  We must leave it in a moment; do you not hear that?” He jerked his head toward the gateway, from which direction they suddenly caught the faint notes of hunters’ horns.  “It is Eric’s men returning from their sport.  In a little while they will be here, and we must try our luck elsewhere.”

He straightened himself lazily, flicking the chips from his dress; but the other three sat doggedly unmoved.

Alwin said, testily:  “I do not see why we must be kept jumping like frightened rabbits because Leif has ordered us to avoid quarrels.  What trouble can we get into if we remain here without speaking, and give them plenty of room to pass by us into the hall?”

Rolf smiled amiably at the three scowling faces.  “Certainly you are good mates to Ann the Simpleton, if you cannot tell any better than that what would happen?  They would go a rod out of their way to bump into one of us.  If they have been successful, their blood will be up so that they will wish to fight for pleasure.  If they have failed, they will be murderous with anger.  It took less than that to start the brawl in which Olver was slain,—­which I dare say you have not forgotten.”

Alwin winced, and Sigurd shivered with something besides the cold.  It was not the bloody tumult of the fight that they remembered the most clearly; it was what came after it.  True to his interpretation of hospitality, Eric had punished the murder of his guest’s servant by lopping off, with his own sword, the right hand of the murderer; whereupon Leif had sworn to mete the same justice to any man of his who should slay a follower of Eric.

Slowly, as the blaring horns and trampling hoofs drew nearer, the three rose to their feet.  Only Alwin struck the ground a savage blow with the bat he still held.

“By Saint George! it is unbearable that we should be forced to act in such a foolish way!  Has Leif less spirit than a wood-goat?  I do not see what he means by it.”

“Nor I,” echoed Sigurd.

“Nor I,” growled Egil.  “I believed he had some of Eric’s temper in him.”

“I do not see why, myself,” Rolf admitted; “but I see something that seems to me of greater importance, and that is how he looked when he gave the order.”

They followed him across the grassy enclosure, though they still grumbled.

“Where shall we go?”

“The stable also is full of Eric’s men.”

“Before long we shall be shoved off the land altogether.  We will have to swim over to Biorn’s dwarf-country.”

“I propose that we go to the landing place,” exclaimed Sigurd.  “It may be that the ship which Valbrand sighted this morning is nearly here.”