_Jarngrim_.--A great friend of mine was Sighvat.
_Thorolf_.--And a short time ago, when you stood over the body of Tumi Sighvatsson, at Reykholar. You turned your back to the church. And whither are you journeying now?
_Jarngrim_.--Thither where tidings are near. Whenever I come down the mountain side there arises tumult in the valleys; wherever I remain all day great battles are fought. The Norns have decreed all that. But now men say that the White God is about to come from the south, with great splendor, and that he will bring with him peace. I ween it will prove a lie.
_Thorolf_.--Decreed by the Norns! You must be an old man?
_Jarngrim_.--I was Ingolf's the First Settler's pilot on his journey to Iceland.
_Thorolf_.--I am not a book-learned man; yet must you, then, be exceedingly old and yet are not gray-haired.
_Jarngrim_.--I and my likes grow not gray.
_Jarngrim_.--This is the cave by Kolbein's stream.
_Thorolf_ (_shudders_).--I have heard it mentioned! But what do you here?
_Jarngrim_.--I gather shields for my roof.
_Jarngrim_.--Those that drop from the hands of men slain in battle.
_Thorolf_ (_in fear and wrath_).--You plunder the dead!
_Thorolf_.--Are you Woden, then, the father of all devils? (_Draws his sword and strikes at him, but the blow strikes the roof of the cave_.)
_Jarngrim_ (_who has not stirred while the blow was struck_).--Rarely avails the blow which is struck too high.
_Thorolf_ (_holds his shield before his body, with his sword behind it, and peers under the hood of_ JARNGRIM).--You startled not!
_Jarngrim_.--But you have changed color. I never blink my eyes.
_Thorolf_.--Yet it may go ill with but one eye, you evil spirit!
_Jarngrim_.--Many are the eyes of day, _the night has but one_! Let not the fire die down, Thorolf! The mead you will drink with me to-night has become warm! Is well-nigh ready.
(JARNGRIM _walks into the cave. As soon as his back is turned a black patch is seen between his shoulders_. THOROLF _strikes another blow at him, but his sword strikes the rock wall_. JARNGRIM _and the ravens vanish_.)
_Thorolf_.--Is he hiding here, the hell-hound?
_Thorolf_.--I have spoken with Woden and he has foretold me my death.
_First Man_.--You have not spoken with any one, since we came here. But we have heard avalanches in the distance, nor is that strange in weather such as this.