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.