Princelike, and in all ways a good
comrade, was Dalfin.
So it came to pass that very early in the next dawning the ship
slid away from under the lee of the islands and headed southward on
her voyage, with cheers and good wishes to set her forth. The last
message we had from shore came from Dalfin the Prince, and that was
an Irish brogue of untanned deerskin, laced with gold, which flew
through the dusk like a bat to Gerda's feet from the deck of one of
Hakon's ships as we passed her. Words in the Erse came also from
the dim figure who cast it, whereat Phelim and I laughed. Gerda
asked what they were, and we had to tell her.
"Good luck to you for the thief of my heart," he cried. "If I had
not got one, and may never set eyes on your sweet face more, I
would wish you the same today and tomorrow."
"Not much heart-broken is Dalfin," said Bertric, laughing.
Thereafter is little which need be told of that voyage in the
still, autumn weather of the north. We passed, at times sailing,
and now and then with the oars going easily, and always in bright
weather, through the countless islands which fringe the Norway
shores, some bare and rocky, and some clad with birch and fir even
to the edge of the waves. Far inland the great mountains rose,
snow-capped now, and shone golden and white and purple in the
evening sun; and everywhere the forests climbed to meet the snow,
and the sound of the cattle horns came at the homing hour to tell
of the saeters hidden in the valleys.
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