descended into the launch. I had examined it and had found it of soft,
thick wool, with embroidery of a strange and primitive sort in faded
colors. Yet the material of the cloak had not faded, or, if it had,
there remained that clear azure, like the Virgin's cloak in old
pictures.

I knew now why Olaf had wanted Nancy on board, why he had wanted to swim
with her in the sea which was as blue as her eyes and his own. It was to
reveal her to himself as the match of the women of the Sagas. I found
this description later in one of the old books in the ship's library:

* * * * *

Then Hallgerd was sent for, and came with two women. She wore a blue
woven mantle ... her hair reached down to her waist on both sides, and
she tucked it under her belt.

And there was, too, this account of a housewife in her "kyrtil":

The dress-train was trailing,
The skirt had a blue tint;
Her brow was brighter,
Her neck was whiter
Than pure new fallen snow.

In other words, that one glance at Nancy in the garden, when he had
risen at her entrance, had disclosed to Olaf the fundamental in her. He
had known her as a sea-maiden. And she had not known it, nor I, nor
Anthony.

* * * * *

Luncheon was served on deck. We were waited on by fair-haired, but very
modern Norsemen. The crew on _The Viking_ were all Scandinavians. Most
of them spoke English, and there seemed nothing uncommon about any of
them. Yet, in the mood of the moment, I should have felt no surprise had
they served us in the skins of wild animals, or had set sail like
pirates with the two of us captive on board.

I will confess, also, to a feeling of exaltation which clouded my
judgment. I knew that Olaf was falling in love with Nancy, and I half
guessed that Nancy might be falling in love with Olaf, yet I sat there
and let them do it. If Anthony should ever know! Yet how can he know? As
I weigh it now, I am not sure that I have anything with which to
reproach myself, for the end, at times, justifies the means, and the
Jesuitical theory had its origin, perhaps, in the profound knowledge
that Fate does not always use fair methods in gaining her ends.

I can't begin to tell you what we talked about. Nancy had dried her
hair, and it was wound loosely, high on her head. The blue cloak was
over her shoulders, and she was the loveliest thing that I ever hope to
see. By the flame in her cheeks and t