"There will be none," he said, and pointed. The mast of the ship had been stepped again, but the sail was still on deck. Only a spare yard had been hoisted half-mast high across the ship. And at the outboard end of it swung, black against the red fires of the sky, the body of the man who had wrought the trouble. He had found the death which he deserved. "Hakon's word," said Asbiorn quietly. "You mind what he said." I remembered, and it came to me that Asbiorn had done right. I do not know what else could have been done with such a man. And in this matter neither I nor Gerda had any hand. "The townsfolk judged him," said Asbiorn again, "and we did Hakon's bidding. Else they had hewn him in pieces." Suddenly the red wildfires sank, and it was very dark. In the darkness there came from seaward a sound which swelled up, nearer and nearer, as it were the cry of some mighty pack of hounds, and with the wild baying, the yell of hunters and the clang of their horns. It swept over us, and passed toward the mountains while we stood motionless, listening. "It is the wild hunt," said old Gorm, gripping my arm. "It is Odin who chases the wraith of Arnkel hence." But Phelim looked up to where against the dark cliff the cross stood out bright above the hall. "If it is Odin," he said, "he flies before the might of yonder sign. This place is his no longer." The others did not heed him, but I would that what he said was the very truth. I had ever heard that one who died as did Arnkel was the quarry of Odin's hunters for evermore, and the sounds scared me. The clamour of that wild hunt died away, and we breathed more freely. Soon the wild lights burned up across the north again, and then Bertric spoke. "Sink yonder thing in the fjord, Asbiorn. Gerda should not see it thus." Therewith we went back to the guest hall, and there was naught to disturb the quiet of the night. Asbiorn saw to that matter straightway. Men say now that when the northern fires light the sky, across the fjord drifts the wraith of Arnkel, and that ever the wild hunt comes up from the sea and hounds him hence. I have heard the bay of those terrible hounds more than once indeed, but I have seen naught, and round our hall is no unrest. In the sunshine of next day Gerda would hear what had become of Arnkel, supposing that he was kept safely somewhere. I think that the hurt to me, small as it was, angered her against him more than the wrongs he had done to herself. "He is dead," I told her. "He died at the hand of Asbiorn and the men of the place, in all justice. He may be forgotten." She did not ask more, for the way in which he ended she would not wish to hear. Only she sighed, and said: "Let us forget him then. I would have forgiven him. He tried to take even my life from me indeed, but instead he has given me all I could long for. He sent me to meet you, Malcolm, on the sea." Then she laid her hand on my bound arm gently, and smiled at me.