ground. Then with a rush came the sense of his own loss, and he burst into uncontrolled weeping. “O my beloved! O my more than brother! What hand could slay thee? What heart could be hard enough to harm thee?”
Thorgills went over to where Maidoch sat in her tearful terror. She looked up, as he said with touching gentleness: “Dear lady, this hath been a cruel sight for thy tender eyes. Let me lead thee to thy Lady Aastrid.” And scarcely knowing what she did, or what import the act might have to the scald, Maidoch rose and placed her hand in Thorgills’, and together they went to the tent of Thane Sigvalde’s wife.
For many days King Olaf diligently sought to discover the murderer of Father Meilge. Thorgills and Maidoch were the only witnesses, and all the scald could tell the king was that he had seen no man near the priest when he found him dying. Maidoch was so silent that Thorgills believed she was as ignorant as himself as to the identity of the murderer. He feared to question her too closely, for she seemed so horror-stricken at the crime; and he even dissuaded the king from sending to interrogate her.
“My King,” pleaded Thorgills, “the little maid knoweth nothing of what hand did strike the blow. She hath never seemed to know how Father Meilge met his death. I believe she found him dying, done to death by some wicked man, and her terror and her
