“He is a holy Christian man,” she said.  “Once he was a famous Viking, and his name was well known in the west seas.  Now, he would even have his name forgotten, and he is only known as Andreas, which was the name of one of the blessed apostles; and here we two live in a little lonely island, keeping aloof from all men, and striving to live as did the early fathers.”

“That must be a quiet life for you,” said Estein.

“I sometimes think so myself,” she answered with a smile.  “And what do men call you?”

For an instant Estein hesitated.  The thought passed through his mind, “She must not know me as son to the King of Sogn till I have done some deed more worthy of a prince of Yngve’s line than lose a battle with two Orkney Vikings.”  Then he said, “I am called Vandrad; [Footnote:  The Unlucky.] from my youth up I have been a sea-rover, and I fear I may prove ill suited to your father’s company.”

“My father has met sea-rovers before,” she said, with a smile in her eye.

By this time they had nearly crossed the island, and Estein saw before them another long sound.  On the far side of this lay a large and hilly island that stretched to his left hand as far as his eye could reach, and on the right broke down at the end of the strait into a precipitous headland, beyond which sparkled the open sea.  In the middle of the sound a small green islet basked like a sea monster in the evening sunshine.

As they stood on the top of the descent that ran steeply to the sea, he cast his eyes around for any signs of life on sea or on shore.  Below him, and much to the left, a cluster of small houses round a larger drinking-hall marked the residence of a chieftain of position; on the island across the water lay a few scattered farms; and on the little islet his eye could just discern a faint wreath of smoke.  The seas were deserted, and the atmosphere seemed charged with an air of calm loneliness.

“That is my home,” said Osla, pointing to the little green island.  “The early fathers called it the Holy Isle.  Our house is an anchorite’s cell, and our lands, as you see, are of the smallest.  Are you content to come to such a place?”

Estein smiled.  “If you dwell there, I am content,” he said.

Osla tossed her head with what quite failed to be an air of impatience.

“Such things are easy to say now,” she said.  “If you say them again after you have lived on a hermit’s fare for one whole day, I may begin to believe you.”

They descended the hill, and in a little creek on the shore came upon a skiff.

“This is our long ship,” said Osla.  “If you wish to show your gratitude, you may assist me to launch her.”

“Now,” she said, when Estein had run the boat into the water, “you can rest while I row you across.”

“It has never been my custom to let a girl row me,” he replied, taking the oars.

“But your wounds?”