people from the rest. There was also at the Thing a lady called Gyda, who was sister of Olaf Cuaran, or Olaf o’ the Sandal, Danish King of Dublin. She had been married to a great English earl, and after his death she ruled all his property. She had in her territory a strong, rough champion, named Alfvine, who wooed her in marriage, but she did not favour his suit, saying she would only marry again as she pleased. She said he should have his answer at the Thing, so he came in his best, sure that the Lady Gyda would soon be his wife. But Gyda went all round the company, looking in each man’s face, to see whom she would choose; but she chose none until she came where Olaf stood. She looked him straight in the face, and in spite of his common clothing she thought the face good and handsome. So she said to him: “Who are you, and what do you here?” “My name is Ole,” he replied; “but I am a stranger here.” “In spite of that,” she said; “wilt thou have me for thy wife, if I ask thee?” “I do not think I would say no to that,” he answered; “but tell me of what country you are, for I am, as I said, a stranger here.” “I am called Gyda,” said she; “and I am sister of the Danish King of Ireland. But I was married to an earl in this country. Since his death many have asked for my hand, but I did not choose to marry any of them.” Then Olaf saw that she was a young and very handsome woman, and he liked her well, and they talked a long while together, and after that they were betrothed. Alfvine was furious when he heard this, and he challenged Olaf to fight, but Olaf and his followers struck down Alfvine and his men, and he ordered Alfvine to leave the country and never return again. Then he and Gyda were wedded, and they lived sometimes in England and sometimes in Ireland. It was in Ireland that Olaf got his wolf-hound, Vige. The Irish dogs were famous all over the world for their great size and intelligence; they were large, smooth hounds, and the constant companions of men. One day Olaf and his men were sailing along the east coast of Ireland, when, growing short of provisions, they made a foray inland, his men driving down a herd of cattle to the water’s edge. One of their owners, a peasant, came up and begged Olaf to give him back his own cows, which he said were all the property he possessed. Olaf, looking at the large herd of kine on the strand, told him laughingly that he might take back his own cows, if he could distinguish them in the herd. “But be quick about it,” he added, “for we cannot delay our march for you.”