pright before him. And
the vast assembly of rude men in sheepskins and in homespun looked on
and listened, all silent and solemn, all worshipful of law and
reverent of its forms.

The oath being taken, the Judge had laid the sword aside and begun to
promulgate the new laws, reading them clause by clause, first in
Icelandic and then in Danish, when there was an uneasy movement at
the outskirts of the crowd to the west of the Mount.

"The Governor," whispered one. "It's himself," muttered another.
"He's here at last," murmured a third, and dark were the faces turned
round to see. It was the Governor, indeed, and he pushed his way
through the closely-packed people, who saw him coming, but stood
together like a wall until riven apart by his pony's feet. At the
causeway he dismounted and stepped up to the top of the Mount. He
looked old and feeble and torn by evil passions; his straight gray
hair hung like a blasted sheaf on to his shoulders, his forehead was
blistered with blue veins, his cheeks were guttered with wrinkles,
his little eyes were cruel, his jaw was broad and heavy, and his
mouth was hard and square.

The Judge made him no obeisance, but went on with his reading. The
Bishop seemed not to see him, but gazed steadfastly forward. The
Thing-men gave no sign.

He stood a moment, and looked around, and the people below could see
his wrath rising like a white hand across his haggard face. Then he
interrupted and said, "Chief Justice, I have something to say."

All heard the words, and the Speaker stopped, and, amid the
breathless silence of the people, he answered quietly, "There will be
a time and a place for that, your Excellency."

"The time is now, and the place is here," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, in
a tense voice, and quivering with anger. "Listen to me. The rebel and
traitor who once usurped the government of this island has escaped."

"Escaped!" cried a hundred voices.

"Michael Sunlocks!" cried as many more.

And a wave of excitement passed over the vast assembly.

"Yes, Michael Sunlocks has escaped," cried Jorgen Jorgensen. "That
scoundrel is at liberty. He is free to do his wicked work again. Men
of Iceland, I call on you to help me. I call on you to help the Crown
of Denmark. The traitor must be taken. I call on you to take him."

A deep murmur ran through the closely-pressed people.

"You've got your guards," shouted a voice from below. "Why do you
come to us?"

"Because," cried Jorgen Jorg