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Estein caught the sword on his shield, and in return delivered such a storm of blows that Liot got no chance for a blow in return. He began to give ground, Estein pressing him hotly, his blade flashing so fast that men could not follow it.
These accusations were not without effect. Liot believed his rival capable of any meanness. But it was not the question of money that at this hour angered him; it was Karen's tears; it was Karen's sense of shame in being sent from the home of her only relative, and the certain knowledge that the story would be in every one's mouth.
Your plans seem all so chosen that your foes may have the greatest chance to slay you. Are we to leave you in Liot's place?" "I asked if you would follow me." "You know the answer to that already. But why trouble with Liot's carcass? Surely it were easier to slay him where he lies." "I like not a midnight murder, and Liot and I have not yet decided who is the better man.
Sometimes Liot sat with dry eyes, listening to Karen's sweet hopes of their reunion; sometimes he laid his head upon her pillow and wept such tears as leave life ever afterward dry at its source. And the root of this bitterness was Bele Trenby.
Impatient of such talk at first, Liot finally took it into some consideration; but it always ended in one way: he cast his eyes to that lonely croft where Karen slept, and remembered words she had once spoken: "In a little while I shall go away, Liot, and people will say, 'She is in her grave'; but I shall not be there." That was exactly Liot's feeling Karen was not there.
When a girl is near her bridal every one but you will give her a blessing. I think you have no heart; surely you never loved any one." "I have loved yes!" Then she stood up and cried passionately: "Begone! I will speak no more to you only this: ask Liot Borson what was the ending of Bele Trenby." She was the incarnation of rage and accusation, and Karen almost fled from her presence.
For Auda, reticent until her husband's return, then told him of Bele's visit; and one speculation grew on the top of another until something like the truth was in all men's minds, even though it was not spoken. Liot saw the thought forming in eyes that looked at him; he felt it in little reluctances of his mates, and heard it, or thought he heard it, in their voices.
He sat for hours holding his wife's hand and watching the little lad sleeping so sweetly after his first hard travail; for the birth of this child meant to Liot far more than any mortal comprehended. He knew himself to be of religiously royal ancestry, and the covenant of God to such ran distinctly, "To you and your children."
"There are many such about the Orkneys; one I know well, which methinks we should reach soon after sunrise. There I shall take you." Ketill came up at that moment with a great horn of ale, and cried, with a joviality only shown when drink flowed freely, "Drink, Estein, drink! drink to the soul of Liot Skulison, which shall shortly speed to Valhalla.
"I have come to meet Liot to-night," Estein replied, and turning away he paced the deck in deep thought. Helgi's cheerfulness returned in an instant. He hummed an air, and leaning against the bulwark awaited the march of events with his usual careless philosophy. "The men were right," he thought; "it was a magic mist. The spell has lifted with the fog. It wants but a brisk fight now to cure him."
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