Egil

brow is bleeding, and he limps. Turning to bar the

door, he lets fall a bloodied wolf’s skin. Immediately

he snatches it up caressingly; gazes around, listens

enraged to the horns, limps swiftly to the hearth,

hesitates; then, as a sudden horn-blast resounds close

by, falls on his knees, digs ferociously in the ashes

with his two hands like an animal, thrusts the wolf’s

skin in the cavity, and covers it over with the ashes,

carefully replacing the charred brands on top. Swiftly,

then, binding up his bleeding brow and thigh, he unbars

the door, seizes a whip from a corner, and springs

stealthily out of the window. At the same moment, horses

are heard to gallop up to the lodge; the door bursts

open; Yorul and Rolf appear on the sill.

Yorul

Rolf

[Pg 51]

YORUL

He came this way. Look here, Rolf, in the sand—

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