My father held me, Olaf, while I took the betrothal kiss, because I must.

But, as you know, there was no marriage." "Aye, I know that," I said, "because Steinar told me so." "And, save for that one kiss, Olaf, I am still the maid whom once you loved so well." Now I stared at her.

Could this woman lie so blackly over dead Steinar's corpse?
When all was said and done, was it not possible that she spoke the truth, and that we had been but playthings in the hands of an evil Fate?
Save for some trifling error, which might be forgiven to one who, as she said, loved the worship that was her beauty's due, what if she were innocent, after all?
Perhaps my face showed the thoughts that were passing through my mind.
At the least, she who knew me well found skill to read them.

She crept towards me, still on her knees; she cast her arms about me, and, resting her weight upon me, drew herself to her feet.
"Olaf," she whispered, "I love you, I love you well, as I have always done, though I may have erred a little, as women wayward and still unwed are apt to do.

Olaf, they told me yonder how you had matched yourself against the god, with his priests for judges, and smitten him, and I thought this the greatest deed that ever I have known.