t he would have done about
the ship, and we were riding fast along the road to Norton, while
the thawing snow told of the going of the frost at last.

I had been gone but these few days, but each of them seemed like a
month to look back upon as I rode under the shadow of the hills
that I had last seen as a hopeless captive. It grew warm and soft
as the midday sun shone on us, and the road was muddy underfoot
with the chill water that had filled all the brooks again, but I
hardly noticed the change, so eager was I to be back. Glad enough I
was when we saw the village and the mighty earthworks above it, and
yet more glad when the guards at the gate told us that Owen was
even now in the palace.

I left Thorgils and his men to the care of the guard for the time,
while I went straightway to the entrance doors and asked for speech
with him.

"It is the word of the king that you shall have free admittance
into the palace and to himself at any time, Thane," the captain of
the guards said.

So I passed into the great chamber of the palace that was used as
audience hall for all comers, and also as the court of justice.

The place was full of people, and those mostly nobles, so that I
had to stand in the doorway for a moment to see what was going on.
It was plainly somewhat out of the common, for there were guards
along one end of the room. It seemed as if there were a trial.

Gerent sat in the great chair which one might call his throne at
the upper end of the room, and beside him was Owen. I thought that
my foster father seemed pale and troubled in that first glance, but
I had every reason to know why this was so. Before these two stood
a man, with his back to me therefore, and for the moment I did not
recognise him. On either side of this man were guards, and it was
plainly he who was in trouble, if any one. Gerent was speaking to
him.

"Well," he said, "hither you have come as a guest, and as a guest
you shall be treated. But you must know that here within the walls
of the place you shall abide. If you will give your word to do that
I shall not have to keep you so closely."

"This is not what I had looked for from you, King Gerent," the man
said.

I knew the voice at once, for it was that of Dunwal, my fellow
passenger. So the treachery of his brother must be known, and he
was to be held here as a hostage, as one might say. Gerent's next
words told me that it was so.

"If there is any fault to be found, it is in