"Thorwald, my grandfather, won it on the high seas from Danish Vikings," she answered eagerly. "What is the story?" "It is the royal torque of our house," he said. "It was lost when my kinsman, Dubhtach of the Spearshafts, fell at Howth. In the song are the names of Danish princes who fell ere it was won from us, and they are not a few. Now your folk have avenged the loss, and the luck of the O'Neills has come back. And, faith, it was time it did, for mighty little luck have we had since it went from us." Then he bent his knee in princely fashion, and kissed the hand of the giver, and so set the torque on his neck. It bent easily, and fastened with hooked ends. Plain enough it was that he felt that he had recovered a treasure. "See," said Bertric, "here is wind coming." There were thunder clouds working up from the north and east, and a haze was gathering overhead. Soon, in the stillness, the thunder rumbled across the sea, and the heavy drops of the first rain fell, bringing with them cold draughts of wind, which filled the sail for a moment, uselessly, and were gone. Then across the northern sea grew and spread a line of white which swept down on us swiftly, and with a roar the squall, which came before the wall of rain, was on us. Something lifted forward and fled downwind like a broken-winged red and white bird. Gerda's awning had gone; and Dalfin shouted. But we could not heed that. We were wrestling with the helm, for the wind was heavy and unsteady, and the thunder rolled round us and above us, while the lightning shot in jagged streaks from cloud to sea incessantly. The rain came in torrents, whitening the sea; but Gerda stood with her arm round the high sternpost, with her yellow hair flying and the water streaming from her, seeming to enjoy the turmoil. The rain swept past, and the wind fell suddenly, as it had come. For a few minutes the sail hung and flapped, and then the worst happened. I heard Bertric cry to us to hold on, and a fresh squall was on us. It came out of the south as if hurled at us, taking the sail aback. The forestay parted, and then with a crash and rending of broken timber the mast went some six feet from the deck, falling aft and to port, and taking with it half the length of the gunwale from amidships. After that crash we stood and looked at one another, each fearing that there must be some hurt. But there was none. We had been well aft, and the falling masthead and yard had not reached us, though it had been too near to be pleasant. Maybe the end of the yard, as it fell, missed me by a foot or so. But though Gerda's face was pale, and her eyes wide with the terror of the wreck, she never screamed or let go her hold of the sternpost to which she had been clinging. She was a sea king's daughter. Chapter 8: Storm And Salvage.