Dan flushed, but opened the book and began--gabbling a little--at 'The Discoverer of the North Cape.' 'Othere, the old sea-captain, Who dwelt in Helgoland, To King Alfred, the lover of truth, Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, Which he held in his brown right hand.' 'But--but--this I know! This is an old song! This I have heard sung! This is a miracle,' Sir Richard interrupted. 'Nay, do not stop!' He leaned forward, and the shadows of the leaves slipped and slid upon his chain-mail. "'I ploughed the land with horses, But my heart was ill at ease, For the old seafaring men Came to me now and then With their sagas of the seas."' His hand fell on the hilt of the great sword. 'This is truth,' he cried, 'for so did it happen to me,' and he beat time delightedly to the tramp of verse after verse. "'And now the land," said Othere, "Bent southward suddenly, And I followed the curving shore, And ever southward bore Into a nameless sea."' 'A nameless sea!' he repeated. 'So did I--so did Hugh and I.' 'Where did you go? Tell us,' said Una. 'Wait. Let me hear all first.' So Dan read to the poem's very end. 'Good,' said the knight. 'That is Othere's tale--even so I have heard the men in the Dane ships sing it. Not those same valiant words, but something like to them.' 'Have you ever explored North?' Dan shut the book. 'Nay. My venture was South. Farther South than any man has fared, Hugh and I went down with Witta and his heathen.' He jerked the tall sword forward, and leaned on it with both hands; but his eyes looked long past them. 'I thought you always lived here,' said Una, timidly. 'Yes; while my Lady Aelueva lived. But she died. She died. Then, my eldest son being a man, I asked De Aquila's leave that he should hold the Manor while I went on some journey or pilgrimage--to forget. De Aquila, whom the Second William had made Warden of Pevensey in Earl Mortain's place, was very old then, but still he rode his tall, roan horses, and in the saddle he looked like a little white falcon. When Hugh, at Dallington, over yonder, heard what I did, he sent for my second son, whom being unmarried he had ever looked upon as his own child, and, by De Aquila's leave, gave him the Manor of Dallington to hold till he should return. Then Hugh came with me.' 'When did this happen?' said Dan.