dred die,
We ourselves also die;
But the fair fame
Never dies
Of him who has earned it.
Ha'vama'l

Out of doors the stir of spring was in the air; snow melting on the
hills, grass sprouting on the plains. Editha's troubled face brightened
a little, as she turned up the lane against the sun and felt its warmth
upon her cheek.

"It gives one the feeling that it will melt one's sorrows as it melts
the snow," she told herself.

Then she passed through the gate into the budding courtyard, where her
eye fell upon Leif's sleeping-loft, with Kark running briskly up the
steps; and the brightness faded.

"But there is some ice the sun cannot melt," she sighed.

On the threshold of the great hall, Thorhild stood waiting for her.
Inside, all was confusion,--men placing tables and bringing in straw;
maids spreading the embroidered cloths and hanging the holiday
tapestries. The matron's head-dress was awry; her cheeks were like
poppies, and her keys were kept in a perpetual jingle by her bustling
motions.

She cried out, as soon as Editha came within hearing distance: "How long
you have been, you little good-for-nothing! I have looked out four times
for you. Was Astrid away from home? Did you return by Eric's Fiord, and
learn whose ship it is that is coming in?"

The little Saxon maid dropped her respectful curtsey. If at the same
time she dropped her eyes with a touch of embarrassment, the matron was
too preoccupied to observe it.

"I was hindered by necessity, lady. Astrid was not away from home, but
she was uncertain whether her son would wish to sell any malt, so I was
obliged to wait until he came in from the stables."

"Humph," sniffed Thorhild; "Egil Olafsson has become of great importance
since his father was mound-laid. This is the third time I have been kept
waiting for his leave." She turned on the girl sharply. "By no means do
I believe that to be the reason for your long absences. I believe you
plead that as an excuse."

Editha caught at the door-post, and her face went from red to white and
back to red again.

"Indeed, lady--" she began.

Thorhild shook a menacing finger at her. "One never needs to tell me!
She keeps you there to gossip about my household. Though she is my
friend, she is as great a gossip as ever wagged a tongue."

Even though the hand still threatened her ears, one would have said that
Editha looked relieved. She said, with well-feigned reluctance: "It is