t the child was born, and was
strong, and a man; but that the mother was dead, and that the Lord
Sigmund was with her.

That night in the hall, by the light of the fire, as we men were talking
in whispers, and telling kind deeds of our lady (for she was ever about
in the cottages, and she and her women made soft-sewed clothes for all
the men of the ship-crew), came, from behind the curtain that is to my
lady's chambers, a long, low wail of a child, strong and insistent, and
then a man's tread for a few paces, and then silence again, save for the
men's whisperings and the sound of the squeaking of their leather-belts
as they moved, and the gentle rubbing of the wooden shields on the walls
as the wind blew through under the rafters.

And afterwards, when the fire burned low, the men departed for their
beds and left the hall empty, and then I also went, because I did not
like the shadows, but to the battlements, not to my sleep, for I felt
that this night meant something, and I was not yet enough settled in my
mind to lie and think in the darkness. So, lonesomely, I paced the
battlements, while the moon rose, and all around me lay the great forest
reaching almost down to the edge of the moat, and throwing its shadows
over the silver water and on the white walls of the house. And in the
distance, the long, still, snake of the fjord stretched out under the
moon, till it curved and a black point of trees cut it off suddenly.

And at last, when the woods had become dusky, and the distant water
where it passed out of sight was grey instead of silver, and then slowly
turned to pink, I went down the steep stairs, through the yet dark
galleries, where the carving on the corners was worn so smooth and
stained with smoke--down to the chill, dark hall, and, kneeling on the
hearth, built up and lit a fire of good beech twigs among the ashes,
while the first day of the life of Lord Snore, who swept this same hall
of his at another dawning, broke through the long windows and shone on
the armour.

There are truer ways of reckoning time, O king, than by the indifferent
passage of the meaningless years. Some moments, of the flying of a
thought in length, fill more space in our lives and memories than much
of everydays.

Yet something remains to me of those light-footed years till I see again
clearly. Thus, I remember Lord Sigmund, my Lord Snore's father, set
forth that year after the grain-planting was over, and until it was
tall, he