“But there is some ice the sun cannot melt,” she sighed.

On the threshold of the great hall, Thorhild stood waiting for her.  Inside, all was confusion,—­men placing tables and bringing in straw; maids spreading the embroidered cloths and hanging the holiday tapestries.  The matron’s head-dress was awry; her cheeks were like poppies, and her keys were kept in a perpetual jingle by her bustling motions.

She cried out, as soon as Editha came within hearing distance:  “How long you have been, you little good-for-nothing!  I have looked out four times for you.  Was Astrid away from home?  Did you return by Eric’s Fiord, and learn whose ship it is that is coming in?”

The little Saxon maid dropped her respectful curtsey.  If at the same time she dropped her eyes with a touch of embarrassment, the matron was too preoccupied to observe it.

“I was hindered by necessity, lady.  Astrid was not away from home, but she was uncertain whether her son would wish to sell any malt, so I was obliged to wait until he came in from the stables.”

“Humph,” sniffed Thorhild; “Egil Olafsson has become of great importance since his father was mound-laid.  This is the third time I have been kept waiting for his leave.”  She turned on the girl sharply.  “By no means do I believe that to be the reason for your long absences.  I believe you plead that as an excuse.”

Editha caught at the door-post, and her face went from red to white and back to red again.

“Indeed, lady—­” she began.

Thorhild shook a menacing finger at her.  “One never needs to tell me!  She keeps you there to gossip about my household.  Though she is my friend, she is as great a gossip as ever wagged a tongue.”

Even though the hand still threatened her ears, one would have said that Editha looked relieved.  She said, with well-feigned reluctance:  “It is true that we have sometimes spoken of Brattahlid while I waited.  Astrid looks favorably upon my needlework.  Once or twice she has said that she would like to buy me—­”

This time Thorhild snorted.  “She takes too much trouble!  Helga will never sell you to anyone.  You need get no such ideas into your head.  Why do you talk such foolishness, and hinder me from my work?  Can you not tell me shortly whether or not you got the malt?”

“I did, lady.  Two thralls will bring it as soon as it can be weighed.”

“I shall need it, if guests arrive.  And what of the ship?  Did you learn whose it is?  It takes till pyre-and-fire to get anything out of you.”

Editha’s rosy face, usually as full of placid content as a kitten’s, suddenly puckered with anxiety.  “Lady, as I passed, it was still a long way down the fiord.  I could only see that it was a large and fine trading-vessel.  But one of the seamen on the shore told me it was his belief that it is the ship of Gilli of Trond-hjem.”

The house-wife’s keys clashed and clattered with her motion of surprise.  “Gilli of Trondhjem!  Then he has come to take Helga!”