I could not catch them.
Dalfin rose up and called to me, and I went toward them, leaving
Gerda and Bertric to wait for what might happen.
"This is Malcolm of Caithness, a good Scot," said he.
"Malcolm, we are in luck again, for it seems that we have fallen
into the hands of some good fathers, which is more than I expected,
for I never heard that there was a monastery here."
I made some answer in the Gaelic, more for the comfort of the Irish
stranger than for the sense of what I spoke. And as he heard he
smiled and did as he had done to Dalfin, signing and saying words I
could not understand. I had no doubt that it was a welcome, so I
bowed, and he smiled at me.
"I was sorely terrified, my sons," he said. "I thought you some of
these heathen Danes--or Norse men, rather, from your arms. But I
pray you do not think that I fled from martyrdom."
"You fled from somewhat, father," said Dalfin dryly; "what was it?"
The father pointed and smiled uneasily.
"My son," he said slowly, "I came to this place to be free from the
sight of--of aught but holy men. If there were none but men among
you, even were you the Lochlann I took you for--and small wonder
that I did--I had not fled. By no means."
"Why," said Dalfin, with a great laugh, "it must be Gerda whom he
fears! Nay, father, the lady is all kindness, and you need fear her
not at all.
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