where the chief sat on the deck beside the steering-oar.

Leif was deep in consultation with his shrewd old foster-father. Without
pausing in his argument, he sent an impatient glance over his shoulder;
when it fell upon the gory young madman, he turned sharply and faced the
group.

Alwin was in the mood to suffer torture with a smile. The more
outrageous Valbrand depicted him, the better he was pleased. Leif made
no comment whatever, but sat pulling at his long mustaches and eying
them from under his bushy brows.

When the steersman had finished, he asked, "Is Kark slain?"

Glancing back, Valbrand saw the bowerman sitting up and feeling of his
wounds. "Except a lump on his head, I do not think he is worse than
before," he answered.

"So," said Leif with an accent of relief. "Then it is not worth while to
say much. If he had been killed, his father would have taken it ill; and
that would have displeased Eric and hurt my mission. It would have
become necessary for me to slay this boy to satisfy them. Now it is of
little importance."

He straightened abruptly and waved them away.

"What more is there to do about it?" he added. "This fellow has been
punished, and Kark has got one of the many knocks his insolence
deserves. Let us end this talk,--only see to it that they do not kill
each other. I do not wish to lose any more property." He motioned them
off, and turned back to Tyrker.

But there was more to it. Something,--Leif's curtness, or the touch of
Valbrand's hand upon his naked shoulder,--roused Alwin's madness afresh.
Shaking off the hand, fighting it off, he bearded the chief himself.

"I will kill him if ever he utters his cur's yelp at me again. You are
blind and simple to think to keep an earl-born man under the feet of a
churl. You are a fool to keep an accomplished man at work that any
simpleton might do. I will not bear with your folly. I will slay the
hound the first chance I get." He ended breathless and trembling with
passion.

Valbrand stood aghast. Leif's brows drew down so low that nothing but
two fiery sparks showed of his eyes. Through Alwin went the same thrill
he had felt when the trader's sword-point pricked his breast.

Yet the lightning did not strike. Alwin glanced up, amazed. While he
stared, a subtle change crept over the chief. Slowly he ceased to be the
grim curt Viking: slowly he became the nobleman whose stateliness
minstrels celebrated in their songs, and the King spoke of wit