Part 6 (1/2)
His hearers looked at him in amazement. His eyes flashed, his lips twitched, the whole man was transformed for the moment into the Viking of the western seas.
”Once I was a skald myself,” he said. ”You have quickened what I thought was dead.” And he rose and walked out into the night.
For a minute they were too surprised to speak. Then Osla said softly,--
”Your magic is too strong, Vandrad.” She threw him one glance that lived long in his memory, and quickly followed her father.
For more than an hour afterwards he could dimly see them pacing the sh.o.r.e in silence, her arm within the hermit's.
Next day the old man was more silent and reserved than before, but every now and then Estein saw that his eyes followed him, and the few words he spoke were couched in a kindlier manner.
”Sing to him again,” whispered Osla in the evening, and night after night the young skald sang and the hermit and his daughter listened. Sometimes when he was finished the old Viking would talk on various themes. Brief glimpses of his earlier days, s.n.a.t.c.hes of religious converse, his travels, and the strange peoples he had seen, he would touch upon before the evening prayer.
And so the time pa.s.sed away, till Estein had spent six weeks in the Holy Isle. All the while he had made no open love to Osla. She seemed merely friendly, and he was distracted between a wild desire to break down the barriers between them and a strange and numbing feeling of warning that held him back, he knew not why. So strong was it at times that he fancied two spells cast upon him, one by the island maiden, the other by some unknown spirit.
One morning he found her wandering by the cliffs that formed the seaward barrier of the isle.
”Let us sit here, Osla,” he said. ”I have a new song to sing you.”
”I must bake my cakes,” she answered. ”Can you not sing it to us to-night?”
”It concerns only you. Sit here but for a moment; it is not long, and you can escape from me when I have done.”
”Very well,” she said, with a smile and an air of resignation. ”I will listen, but do not keep me long.”
”If it will tire you, I can wait.”
”You can try me.”
”I must leave the Holy Isle soon, Osla; I have been too long away from my kinsfolk and my country. It is hard to part, but it must come some day, and these verses are my parting song.”
She was silent, and seemed intently plucking sea pinks.
”I cannot tell you why,” he went on, ”but to-day I feel that my hour has come to rove again. I would that I might live here for ever, but I know it is not fated so.”
Then he sang his farewell song:--
”Canst thou spare a sigh, fair Osla? It is fated I must go. Wilt thou think of Vandrad ever When the sea winds hoa.r.s.ely blow, Or will the memory of my love With absence fainter grow?
”Canst thou spare a tear, sweet Osla, When I sail from this fair land? Wilt thou dream of Vandrad sometimes When the waves boom on the strand? Can visions of a pleasant hour The march of time withstand?
”Osla, when I bear me bravely, 'Midst the lightning of the sword, And the armies meet like torrents When the mountain snows have thawed The thought of thine approving smile Shall be my sole reward.
”Fare thee well, sweet blue-eyed Osla! The sea-king must not stay, E'en for tresses rich as summer And for smile as bright as May; But one hope I cannot part from--We may meet again some day!”
”Then are you going?” she said, more softly than he had ever heard her speak before.
”Do you wish me to stay?”