But Helga's hand did not loosen its hold upon his arm.

"Hush!" she entreated him. "Something really is going to happen; he
warned me of it. Something of great importance. You will act with no
more than good will if you look and tell me what you see."

Excitement is infectious; even through his sulks Rolf caught it, and
leaning forward, he peered curiously over the flames. The Norman sat in
his usual place at the chief's left hand. It was evident that his
thoughts were far away, for his drinking-horn stood forgotten at his
elbow and he was humming absently as he worked. His fingers were busy
with a long splinter and a tuft of fox-hairs, that he was pulling
carefully from the rug on which he sat.

Rolf's eyes widened into positive alarm as he watched. "He has the
appearance of a crazy man!" he reported. "Or it may be that he is making
a charm and that is the weird song which he is mumbling. See,--he has
finally drawn Leif's attention upon him!"

"He is not acting without a purpose," Helga persisted. "He told me to
watch him. Look! What is he doing now?"

Still humming, and with the leisurely air of one who works to please
himself alone, the Norman completed his task and held the result up
critically to the light. It was nothing more nor less than a clumsy
little fox-hair brush. Leaning back on the bear skin the chief continued
to gaze at it curiously. But the pair across the fire suddenly turned to
each other with a gasp of comprehension.

The Norman, still humming carelessly, drew his horn nearer with one
hand, and with the other pushed a bowl out of his way. Then dipping his
brush in the purple wine, he began to paint strange-looking runes on the
fair new boards before him.

"It has come to my mind to try whether I can remember the words of that
French song which we heard together in Rouen," he said lightly to Sigurd
Haraldsson who sat by him. "Was it not thus that the first line ran?"

Almost with the weight of a blow, Leif's hand fell upon his shoulder.

"Runes!" he cried, in a voice that brought every man to his feet, even
those who had fallen asleep over their drinking. "Runes? Is it possible
that you have the accomplishment of writing them?"

His hold upon the shoulder tightened, of a sudden, to such a pressure
that the young man was fain to drop his brush with a gasp of agony, and
catch at the crushing hand. "You have had this power all these months
that you have known of my great need? How comes it tha