"
"I am Dalfin of Maghera, father. The torque has come back to me,
for Dubhtach is avenged."
At that the hermit gave somewhat like a smothered shout, and his
stately way fell from him altogether. He went on his knee before
Dalfin, and seized his hand and kissed it again and again, crying
words of welcome.
"My prince, my prince," he said, with tears of joy running down his
cheeks. "It was told me that you had gone across the seas--but I
did not know it was for this."
Dalfin reddened, and raised the hermit from the sand.
"Father," he said quickly, "I am not the avenger. It is a long
tale--but the lady, who is a queen in Norway, shipwrecked with us
here by a strange fate, has to do with the winning back of the
torque."
"A queen!" said the hermit quickly. "Then the rule of which I spoke
must needs be broken; nay, not broken, but set aside. Now, where
are your men?"
"Never a man have we. There is Malcolm here, and Bertric, a Saxon
thane, who is my friend also and a good Christian, and the poor
young queen, and no more."
The hermit threw up his hands.
"All drowned!" he cried. "Alack, alack! May their souls rest in
peace!"
"We sailed without them, father. There were none, and so they are
all safe at home."
"Good luck to them--for if they had been here they were drowned,
every man of them," said the hermit with much content, looking at
me with some wonder when I laughed.
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