the heroes in Valhalla might know who honored them by his coming."
She paused, her superb bosom heaving tumultuously. Then with a visible effort she calmed herself.
"But you speak my tongue, and know the old tales of the Skalds. Are you, then, a Swede?"
"I speak the tongue, and the old tales of the Skalds, the ancient minstrels, I learned from my grandmother, who was of your race."
"Of my race?" her tone held a curious inflection. "Ah, yes! All women are of one race . . . perhaps."
"But I spoke of supper," I said, moving toward the kitchen.
"But — no!" She barred my progress with one of her lovely hands laid flat against my chest. "It is not meet and fitting, Jarl Wulf, that you should cook for me, like any common house-carle! Rather, let your niece, Heldra, prepare for you a repast."
"'Heldra'? That, then, is your name?"
"Heldra Helstrom, and your loving niece," she nodded.
"But why call me Jarl Wulf?" I demanded, curious to understand. She had bestowed the name seriously, rather than in playful banter.
"Jarl Wulf you were, in a former life," she asserted flatly. "I knew you on the shore, even before Ran's horse stood me on my feet!"
"Surely, then, you must be Ragnar Wave-Flame born again," I countered.
"How may that be?" she retorted. "Ragnar Wave-Flame never died; and surely I do not look that old! The sea-born witch returned to the sea-caves whence she came, when the dragon-ship burned out. . . . But ask me not of my-self, now.
"Yet one thing more I will say: The warp and woof of this strange pattern wherein we both are depicted was woven of the Norns ere the world began. We have met before — we meet again, here and now — we shall meet yet again; but how, and when, and where, I may not say."
"Of a truth, you are 'fey'," I muttered.
"At times — I am," she assented. Then her wondrous sapphire eyes gleamed softly into my own hard gray eyes, her smile was tender, wistful, womanly, and my doubts were dissipated like wisps of smoke. Yet I shook an admonitory forefinger at her:
"Witch at least I know you to be," I said in mock harshness. "Casting glamyr on an old man."
"No need for witchery," she laughed. "All women possess that power!"
During the "repast" she spread before me, I told her that regardless of who I might have been in a dim and remote past of which I had no memory, in this present life I was plain John Craig, retired professor of anthropology, ethnology and archeology, and living on a very modest income. I explained that while I personally admired her, and she was welcome to remain in my home for ever, yet in the village near by were curious minds, and gossiping tongues, and evil thoughts a-plenty, and if I were to tell the truth of her arrival
"But I have nowhere to go, and none save you to befriend me; all I loved or owned is out there." Again she indicated the general direction of the reef. "And you say that I may remain here, indefinitely? I will be known as your niece, Heldra, no? Surely, considering the differences in our age and appearance, there can be no slander."
Her eyes said a thousand things no words could convey. There was eagerness, sadness, and a strange tenderness. . . . I came to an abrupt decision. After all, whose business was it? . . .
