Let me take it, that he may know how you rest in peace." But Sigurd stirred not nor spoke; and slowly I put out my hand on the sword to take it very gently, but his grasp was yet firm on it.
Then, as I bent to see if it had tightened when I would draw the sword away, I could see beneath the helm the face of the dead, shrunken indeed and brown, but as of one at rest and beyond anger.
Once more then I took the jarl's sword in my right hand, and raised his hand with my left, putting my own weapon by against the wall.
And then the hilt slipped from the half-open fingers, and the sword was mine, and my hand held the jarl's.

And it seemed to me that he gave it me, and that I must thank him for such a gift.

The sword though it was sheathed, was not girt to him, and its golden-studded belt was twisted about it, and it was no imperfect giving.
So I spoke in a low voice: "Jarl Sigurd, I thank you.

If my might is aught, the sword will be used as you would have used it.

Surely I will say to Einar that you rest in peace, and we will come here and close your mound again in all honour." I set back his hand then, and it seemed empty and helpless, not as a warrior's should be.