Land. Should he fall there, he falls on hallowed ground; for there every foot's-breadth of earth is sacred. I commend him to God in all my prayers.
Bishop Nicholas.
Is Andres Skialdarband dear to you?
Peter.
He is an honourable man; but there lives another man whose greatness my mother, as it were, fostered and nourished me withal.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Hurriedly and eagerly.] Is that Duke Skule?
Peter.
Ay, the Duke—Skule Bårdsson. My mother knew him in younger days. The Duke must sure be the greatest man in the land!
Bishop Nicholas.
There is the letter; get you northward with it forthwith!—Are they not singing in there?
Peter.
They are, my lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Eight lusty fellows with throats like trumpets, they must surely help somewhat, methinks.
Peter.
My lord, my lord! Why not pray yourself!
Bishop Nicholas.
I have too much still undone, Peter. Life is
