At this name, Kennybol, pale, breathless, his hair standing on end, his face bathed in perspiration, and his hands stained with blood, started back. “Hans of Iceland!” “Come,” said Hacket, “don’t be alarmed! He is here to help you. You must look upon him as a friend and comrade.” Kennybol did not heed him. “Hans of Iceland here!” he repeated. “To be sure,” said Hacket, with ill-suppressed laughter; “are you afraid of him?” “What!” for the third time interrupted the hunter; “do you really mean it,--is Hans of Iceland here, in this mine?” Hacket turned to the bystanders: “Has our brave Kennybol lost his wits?” Then, addressing Kennybol: “I see that it was your dread of Hans of Iceland which made you so late.” Kennybol raised his hands to heaven. “By Ethelreda, the holy Norwegian saint and martyr, it was not fear of Hans of Iceland, but Hans of Iceland himself, I swear, that delayed me so long.” These words caused a murmur of surprise to run through the crowd of miners and mountaineers surrounding the two speakers, and clouded Hacket’s face as the sight and the rescue of Ordener had but a moment before. “What! What do you mean?” he asked, dropping his voice. “I mean, Mr. Hacket, that but for your confounded Hans of Iceland I should have been here before the owl’s first hoot.” “Indeed! and what did he do to you?” “Oh, do not ask me. I only hope that my beard may turn as white as an ermine’s skin in a single day if I am ever caught again hunting a white bear, since I escaped this time with my life.” “Did you come near being eaten by a bear?” Kennybol shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. “A bear! a terrible foe that would be! Kennybol eaten by a bear! For what do you take me, Mr. Hacket?” “Oh, pardon me!” said Hacket, with a smile. “If you knew what had happened to me, good sir,” interrupted the old hunter, in a low voice, “you would not persist in telling me that Hans of Iceland is here.” Hacket again seemed embarrassed. He seized Kennybol abruptly by the arm, as if he feared lest he should approach the spot where the giant’s huge head now loomed up above those of the miners. “My dear Kennybol,” said he, solemnly, “tell me, I entreat you, what caused your delay. You must understand that at this time anything may be of the utmost importance.” “That is true,” said Kennybol, after a brief pause.