cross on the end of his cord girdle, and a
string of beads hung from it. At his heels was the brown dog, and
in his hand a long, shepherd's crook.

He came carelessly into the opening, looking from side to side as
he walked as if seeking the men he knew must be shipwrecked, and
stayed suddenly when he came on us. His face paled, and he half
started back, as if he was terrified. Then he recovered himself,
looked once more, started anew, and fairly turned and ran, the dog
leaping and barking round him. After him went Dalfin, laughing.

"Father," he cried in his own tongue, "father! Stay--we are
Irish--at least some of us are. I am. We are friends."

The man stopped at that and turned round, and without more ado
Dalfin the Prince unhelmed and bent his knee before him, saying
something which I did not catch. Whereon the man lifted his hand
and made the sign of the Cross over him, repeating some words in a
tongue which was strange to me. I could not catch them.

Dalfin rose up and called to me, and I went toward them, leaving
Gerda and Bertric to wait for what might happen.

"This is Malcolm of Caithness, a good Scot," said he.

"Malcolm, we are in luck again, for it seems that we have fallen
into the hands of some good fathers, which is more than I expected,
for I never heard that there was a monastery here."

I made some answer in the Gaelic, more for the comfort of the Irish
stranger than for the sense of what I spoke. And as he heard he
smiled and did as he had done to Dalfin, signing and saying words I
could not understand. I had no doubt that it was a welcome, so I
bowed, and he smiled at me.

"I was sorely terrified, my sons," he said. "I thought you some of
these heathen Danes--or Norse men, rather, from your arms. But I
pray you do not think that I fled from martyrdom."

"You fled from somewhat, father," said Dalfin dryly; "what was it?"

The father pointed and smiled uneasily.

"My son," he said slowly, "I came to this place to be free from the
sight of--of aught but holy men. If there were none but men among
you, even were you the Lochlann I took you for--and small wonder
that I did--I had not fled. By no means."

"Why," said Dalfin, with a great laugh, "it must be Gerda whom he
fears! Nay, father, the lady is all kindness, and you need fear her
not at all."

"I may not look on the face of a lady," said the father solemnly.

"Well, you have done it unawares, and so you may as well make the
best