Give me them back, then, Berserker as you are,
and go sleep off your wine."
"That will I," laughed Hereward boisterously.
"You are tipsy," said she, "and do not know what you say."
"You are angry, and do not know what you say. Hearken proud lass. I will
take care of one thing, and that is, that you shall speak the truth."
"Did I not say that you were tipsy?"
"Pish! You said that I was a Berserker. And truth you shall speak; for
baresark I go to-morrow to the war, and baresark I win that mare or die."
"That will be very fit for you."
And the two turned haughtily from each other.
Ere Torfrida went to bed that night, there was a violent knocking. Angry
as she was, she was yet anxious enough to hurry out of her chamber, and
open the door herself.
Martin Lightfoot stood there with a large leather case, which he flung at
her feet somewhat unceremoniously.
"There is some gear of yours," said he, as it clanged and rattled on the
floor.
"What do you mean, man?"
"Only that my master bid me say that he cares as little for his own life
as you do." And he turned away.
She caught him by the arm:--
"What is the meaning of this? What is in this mail?"
"You should know best. If young folks cannot be content when they are well
off, they will go farther and fare worse," says Martin Lightfoot.
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