in her eyes.

Without looking around, she said dreamily: "It was one year ago to-day
that I came into the trader's booth in Norway and saw him sitting there
among the thralls."

Editha stole over to her and lifted one of her hands out of her lap and
kissed it. "Lady, do not be all the time thinking of him. You will break
your heart, and to no purpose. Besides, I have news of great importance
for you. I have seen the ship that is coming up the fiord, and men say
it is the vessel of your father, Gilli of Trondhjem."

With something of her old fire, Helga snatched her hand away and started
up. "Do you know this for certain? And do you believe that Thorhild will
give me up to him?"

"Worse than that, lady,--she is even anxious that he shall take you,
thinking it will be to your advantage."

For awhile Helga sat staring before her, with expressions of anger and
despair flickering over her face. Then, gradually, they died down like
flames into ashes. She sank back against the wall, and her eyes faded
dull and absent again.

"After all, what does it matter?" she said, listlessly. "I shall not
find it any worse there than here. Nothing matters now."

Editha made a little moan, like one in sudden pain; but it seemed as
though she did not dare to interrupt the other's revery. She stood,
softly wringing her hands. It was Helga who finally broke the silence.
Suddenly she turned, an angry gleam replacing the dulness in her eyes.

"Did the ship bring more tidings of the battle? Is it certain that King
Olaf Trygvasson is slain?"

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