Suddenly there came a crash of branches at his side, a man stepped out of the trees, and before he had time to draw a weapon, the sharp, impatient voice of his guide exclaimed,—­

“Is this all the way you have made?  Your foster-brother has escaped, or has by this time been captured, I care not which.  I saw him not.”

“But supposing I were more careful of his safety?” Estein demanded, with a note of anger in his voice.

“Push on!” replied the other.  “The alarm is raised, and neither you nor Helgi can be found, so perchance he has not yet suffered for his folly.  I came not out to hear you talk.”

He started off as he spoke, and Estein, perceiving the hopelessness of further search, followed him with a heart little lightened.

“If they have not found him yet,” he thought, “he has perhaps escaped.  But why did he not wait for me?  If he had been alive, he surely would have met me.”

For some time he followed his mysterious guide in melancholy silence.  There was only room for them to walk in single file, and it took him some trouble to keep up.  Sometimes it seemed to him that they would leave the path and go straight through the trackless depths of the wood, with a quickness and assurance that astonished him.  Then again they would apparently fall upon a path for a time, and perhaps break into a trot while the ground was clear.

At last they came into a long, open glade, where a stream brawled between snow-clad banks, and the vague form of some frightened animal flitted silently towards the shade.  The moon had come out of the clouds, and by its light Estein tried to scan the features of his companion.  So far as a fur cap would let his face be seen, he seemed dark, unkempt, and singularly wild of aspect, but there was nothing in his look to catch the Viking’s memory.  He said not a word, but, with a swinging stride, hastened down the glade, Estein close at his shoulder.

“Where do we go?” Estein asked once.

“You shall see what you shall see.  Waste not your breath,” replied the other impatiently.

Again they turned into the wood, and went for some considerable distance down a choked and rugged path which all at once ended in a clearing.  In the middle stood a small house of wood.  The frosted roof sparkled in the moonlight, and a thin stream of smoke rose from a wide chimney at one end, but there was never a ray of light from door or window to be seen.  The man went straight up to the door and knocked.

“This then is the end of our walk,” said Estein.

“It would seem so indeed,” replied the other, striking the door again impatiently.

This time there came sounds of a bolt being shot back.  Then the door swung open, and Estein saw on the threshold an old man holding in his hand a lighted torch.  For an instant there passed through his mind, like a prospect shown by a flash of lightning, a sharp memory of the hermit Andreas.  Instinctively he drew back, but the first words spoken dispelled the thought.