are many sons of these Cymrics, who may claim as near kindred to thee, surely as the Welsh.”
“True! true!” assented Eogan, “I have many times heard my father tell of these far northern Celts; and since thou hast come among us we have loved thee as we love not other Norsemen. The bards have said it is the voice of kindred blood, calling down through many centuries from the day when one race ruled from the Baltic to the Mediterranean. Lurgha sings to me of the voice of mingled blood till I think of thee as my brother, for the sake of those by-gone Cymrics, who held thy land before the Goths. But for all that, my friend, I may not go with thee now. Forgive me, that I delay thee and forget the needs of the hour. Thy faithful Norsemen may not remember the old Cymric tie as thou dost, and I think it not fitting that any but thy own Norsemen should be with thee now. But Olaf, my friend, if the hour of thy triumph has come, no hand will give thee heartier ‘God-speed,’ nor a stronger grasp of sorrow if thy hour is yet to come. Remember I am always thy friend. It is Norseman to Norseman to-day. I pray that thou goest to thy people as their king.”
As Eogan turned back, Olaf grasped his hand. “Then, my Eogan, while I hasten to learn what tidings these Norsemen bear, thou canst make lighter for me a heavy duty. Pass by the palace, and if the princess my wife be not too ill to speak with thee awhile, tell her gently of the coming of the ‘Aastrid’ and
