said, "I have heard tell of such lands, and you may see them,
being young. But this place has made me old, and almost broken my
heart. In a little while I shall ask no better than to be laid in the
snow."

Thorstan Black patted her on the back.

"Courage, old lass," he said. "You and I have seen the worst of it. I
think it may be better hereafter. As for your land of summer all round
the year, I know not that it would suit Icelanders. If you take our
hardihood from us, what have we left? That which swills and eats
heavily, and plays the mischief. Nay, give me a dark ghyll in Iceland,
with a river racing down its length, and the sea never far off. That
means more to me than your vines and soft winters. As for this
stricken land, we shall beat the sickness yet. A man tempers himself.
There should be a fine race here one day, of them who have got through."

Gurth turned up the whites of his eyes. He was very sick.

By and by they had news from the Settlement, where things were going
badly. The sickness was very rife. Many of Thorstan's men from
Ericsfrith were dead of it. They took down stores in the sleigh, and
were much concerned at what they saw and heard. The strangers from the
east were all sick; six were dead, and could only be buried in the
snow. Thorstan promised that he would take all the bodies back to
Ericsfrith if he had to heap the ship with dead men. When they
returned to the homestead the first thing they heard was that Gurth was
dead.

Gradually, as the winter thickened, gloom began to fall upon the
housemates. The hall grew cold; it was as if there were no heat in the
burning coals; as if the cold was become master of the fire. Grimhild
grew strange in her ways. She was always listening, waiting for
something. She said she expected a visitor, but would never say who it
was. She became very silent, and tried to avoid the others. Thorstan
Black told Thorstan Red that he feared the worst. "The trustiest
woman!" he said. "She has stood by me in sickness and health for
twenty years--and now she turns her back on me--hunches her poor
shoulders and will take no comfort from me. That's a sure sign of the
sickness. You distrust your old friends first." "Is that the way of
it?" said our Thorstan, with fear in his heart.

Grimhild grew more and more remote, but remained on terms with Thorstan
Red, in whom she confided some of her growing fancies. "The dead are
unquiet," she told