“Hush! hush, Thora!” he whispered in terror. “Speak not my name! Hide me! Hide me, somewhere! The peasants are close upon me, the angry peasants, armed to kill me, Olaf Tryggevesson has come. He is in Norway. I helped to murder his father. I drove his mother into exile. Olaf is the true king, and the Norsemen worship him. He will have no mercy! I have held his place too long. He cannot have any mercy. Hide me! Hide me, Thora!”
The woman laughed scornfully. “Hide thee? Hide thee? Oh, thou art the brave viking! Thou art the noble, fearless overlord of the land! Thou hast run from thy enemies to a woman, and thou dost beg her to hide thee. Oh, thou craven! Thou false of heart! Why dost thou come to me now? What set thy people against thee, but thy own false faith to me, and the false heart that made thee bring the woman, Aasa, before me, as if my beauty had grown stale to thee? Why should I shelter thee? Why should I hide thee? Hark! the tramp of horsemen!”
Thora drew from her belt a gold-hilted dagger. “When they come,” she said, “I will bid Brynjulf slay thee with his own knife, and I will slay the woman thou didst steal.”
“Thora! dear Thora! Most beautiful of women. Thou canst not be so cruel!” Earl Haakon’s face grew ashy pale as the sound of horsemen came nearer. Again Thora laughed in scorn. Then the other pilgrim approached the door. Very meekly he spoke.
