As he walked moodily along, he was aroused by the sound of a musical voice. He looked up and saw a very beautiful woman standing before him. “Thou art in a black trouble, art thou not?” she said. “Thou dost seem to have sunk all the sunlight in thy gloom.” Thorgills stared at the speaker in amazement. Truly she was very beautiful, tall, graceful, with merry blue eyes and such coils and tendrils of golden red hair piled upon her well-poised head. She was robed in a silken gown of violet, and her hair was twined with many jewels. Thorgills doffed his cap, in reverence at the lady, but while he found her very fair to look upon, his poet’s searching eye told him that there was that in her face that spoke of evil in her life. Her eyes, bright and clear blue, shone like a leopard’s when about to spring.
“It is as thou dost say, fair lady, I am gloomy. I have had some dark thoughts; but the light of thy beauty would drive away gloom.”
The lady smiled in evident pleasure. “Thou hast a right pretty courtesy. I know thee who thou art,—the scald of King Olaf, the Lord Thorgills.”
“It is even so, fair lady; and what name is so honored as to be borne by thee?”
The woman laughed softly. “I am Thora of Rimul.”
“She whom my brother scalds call ‘the fairest of women?’ I too should have so called thee if my eyes had ever before been gladdened by thy beauty.”
