Editha answered, in some surprise:  “It had not come to land when I was there, lady.  I am unable to tell you anything new.  But the men who came last week, and first told us of the battle, say that Eric Jarl is now the King over Norway, and there is no doubt that Olaf Trygvasson is dead.”

Helga laughed, a hateful laugh that made her pretty mouth as cruel as a wolf’s.  “It gladdens me that he is dead.  I am well content that Leif’s heart should be black with mourning.  He killed the man I loved, and now the King he loved is slain,—­and he was not there to fight for him.  It is a just punishment upon him.  I am glad that he should suffer a little of all that he has made me suffer.”

Editha moaned again, and flung out her hands with a gesture of entreaty.  “Dearest lady, if only you would not allow yourself to suffer so!  If only you would bear it calmly, as I have begged of you!  Even though you died, it would not help.  It is wasting your grief—­” She stopped, for her mistress was looking at her fixedly.

“I do not understand you,” Helga said, slowly.  “Is it wasting grief to mourn the death of Alwin of England, than whom God never made a nobler or higher-minded man?” She rose out of her seat, and Editha shrank away from her.  “I do not understand you,—­you who pretend to have loved him since he was a child.  Is it indeed your wish that I should act as though I cared nothing for him?  Did you really care nothing for him yourself?  Your face has grown no paler since his death-day; you are as fat as ever; you have seldom shed a tear.  Was all your loyalty to him a lie?  By the edge of my knife, if I thought so I would give you cause to weep!  I would drive the blood from your deceitful face forever!”

She caught the Saxon girl by the wrist and forced her upon her knees; her beautiful eyes were as awful as the eyes of a Valkyria in battle.  The bondmaid screamed at the sight of them, and threw up an arm to shield herself.

“No, no!  Listen, and I will tell you the truth!  Though they kill me, I will tell yon.  Put down your head,—­I dare not say it aloud.  Listen!”

Mechanically, Helga bent her head and received into her ear three whispered words.  She loosed her hold upon the other’s wrists and stood staring at her, at first in anger, and then with a sort of dawning pity.

“Poor creature! grief has gotten you out of your wits,” she said.  “And I was harsh with you because I thought you did not care!” She put out a hand to raise her, but Editha caught it in both of hers, fondling it and clinging to it.

“Sweetest lady, I am not out of my wits.  It is the truth, the blessed truth.  Mine own eyes have proved it.  Four times has Thorhild sent me on errands to Egil’s house, and each time have I seen—­”

“Yet said nothing to me!  You have let me suffer!”

“No, no, spare me your reproaches!  How was it possible for me to do otherwise?  If you had known, all would have suspected; ’A woman’s eyes cannot hide it when she loves.’  Sigurd Haraldsson bound me firmly.  I was told only because it was necessary that I should carry their messages.  It has torn my heart to let you grieve.  Only love for him could have kept me to it.  Believe it, and forgive me.  Say that you forgive me!”