at the Norman with a dry smile. "Chamber!" he commented.
"Learn from this, Robert of Normandy, how a Norse maiden regards a
stall! Yet, whatever hostile thing attacks us, a Norman lady in her
bower would be no safer. Tyrker's sleeping-place, and mine and
Valbrand's, lie between the house-door and the chamber of Helga, Gilli's
daughter." He freed the girl's hand, though he still held her with his
eyes. "Whither do you betake yourself now?" he demanded. "Long rambles
are unsafe in an unknown country."

In her perfect composure, Helga even laughed; a silvery peal that sent a
thrill of pleasure through the brooding old trees.

"By my knife, kinsman, you take your responsibility heavily, now that
you have remembered it at all!" she retorted. "I do not go far; only a
little way up the river, where grow the rushes of which I wish to make
baskets."

The chief released her then; and soon she disappeared among the trees.

One by one, the men finished their meal and drifted back to their
various employments. The hammers began again their merry tattoo; and the
wrangling voices of dice-throwers replaced the shouts of the bathers.
Except for these, however, the place was still. The sun shone hotly, and
the trees appeared to nap in the drowsy air.

Perhaps because he preferred asking questions to answering them, Robert
Sans-Peur began an earnest conversation, concerning the harvest, the
traps, and the fishing. But as the hour grew, the gaps between his
inquiries stretched wider. As the tree-heads ceased even their nodding
and hung motionless, the chief's answers became briefer and slower. At
last the moment arrived when no response at all was forthcoming.
Glancing up, the Norman found his host tilted back against the maple
trunk in placid slumber.

The young man let something like a sigh of relief escape him. Still,
watching the sleeping face warily, he tried the effect of another
question. Oblivion. He rose to his feet with a daring flourish of yawns
and stretching, and awaited the result of that test. The deep breathing
never faltered.

Then Alwin the Lover hesitated no longer. Quietly and directly, as one
who treads a familiar path, he walked around the corner of the last hut
and disappeared among the trees.

Many feet had worn a distinct trail through the woods to the edge of the
bluff, and down the steep to the water; but only two pair of feet had
ever turned aside, midway the descent, and found the path to Eden. Like
a