tell whom Leif will marry you to
before the feasting is over?"

Helga stood still and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped in front of her, with a fierce gesture, and in one angry
burst told her all he had heard. He could not understand how she could
listen so calmly, kicking the snow with the toe of her shoe.

When he had finished, she said quietly: "Yes, I know he has that
intention in his mind. It is for that reason that every time I go to a
feast he gives me costly ornaments, and makes me wear them. I have had
great kindness from his hands. But do not let us speak of it further."

Alwin caught her roughly by her wrists, and shook her a little as he
looked into her eyes. "You must not let him marry you to anyone. Do you
hear? You _must_ not, _I_ love you."

Helga's look of resentment changed to one of pleased surprise, and she
shook his hands heartily. "Do you truly, comrade? I am glad, for I like
you very much indeed,--as much as I like Sigurd."

"Then swear by your knife that you will not let him marry you to
anyone."

She pulled her hands away, a little impatiently. "Why do you ask that
which is useless?"

"But you have just said that you liked me."

"I do; but what does that matter, since I cannot marry you?"

So light had the yoke of servitude grown on Alwin's shoulders that he
had almost forgotten its existence. He opened his lips to ask, "Why?"
Then it came back to him that he was a slave, a worthless, helpless dog
of a slave. He closed his lips again and walked on without speaking,
staring ahead of him with fierce, despairing eyes.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WITCH'S DEN

Moderately wise
Should each one be,
But never over-wise:
His destiny let know
No man beforehand;
His mind will be freest from care.
Ha'vama'l

Because it was Yule Eve, the long deserted temple on the plain was
filled with light and sound. Fires blazed upon the floor; the row of
gilded idols came out of the shadow and shone in all their splendor. The
altars were reddened with the blood of slaughtered cattle; the
tapestried walls had been spattered with it. The temple priest dipped a
bunch of twigs into the brimming copper bowl, and sprinkled the
sacrificial blood over the people who sat along the walls ... They
raised the consecrated horns and drank the sacred toasts. To Odin! For
victory and power. To Njord! To Frey! For peace and a good year ... Eric
of Brattahlid l