Hereward looked round and saw Teague MacMurrough standing close to him, harp in hand. He took it from him courteously enough, put a silver penny into the minstrel’s hand, and running his fingers over the strings, rose and began,-- “Outlaw and free thief, Landless and lawless Through the world fare I, Thoughtless of life. Soft is my beard, but Hard my Brain-biter. Wake, men me call, whom Warrior or watchman Never caught sleeping, Far in Northumberland Slew I the witch-bear, Cleaving his brain-pan, At one stroke I felled him.” And so forth, chanting all his doughty deeds, with such a voice and spirit joined to that musical talent for which he was afterwards so famous, till the hearts of the wild Norsemen rejoiced, and “Skall to the stranger! Skall to the young Viking!” rang through the hall. Then showing proudly the fresh wounds on his bare arms, he sang of his fight with the Cornish ogre, and his adventure with the Princess. But always, though he went into the most minute details, he concealed the name both of her and of her father, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed on Ranald’s eldest son, Sigtryg, who sat at his father’s right hand. The young man grew uneasy, red, almost angry; till at last Hereward sang,-- “A gold ring she gave me Right royally dwarf-worked, To none will I pass it For prayer or for sword-stroke, Save to him who can claim it By love and by troth plight, Let that hero speak If that hero be here.” Young Sigtryg half started from his feet: but when Hereward smiled at him, and laid his finger on his lips, he sat down again. Hereward felt his shoulder touched from behind. One of the youths who had risen when he sat down bent over him, and whispered in his ear,-- “Ah, Hereward, we know you. Do you not know us? We are the twins, the sons of your sister, Siward the White and Siward the Red, the orphans of Asbiorn Siwardsson, who fell at Dunsinane.” Hereward sprang up, struck the harp again, and sang,-- “Outlaw and free thief, My kinsfolk have left me, And no kinsfolk need I Till kinsfolk shall need me. My sword is my father, My shield is my mother, My ship is my sister, My horse is my brother.” “Uncle, uncle,” whispered one of them, sadly, “listen now or never, for we have bad news for you and us. Your father is dead, and Earl Algar, your brother, here in Ireland, outlawed a second time.” A flood of sorrow passed through Hereward’s heart. He kept it down, and rising once more, harp in hand,--