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Rh Queen Sigrid that she would receive Olaf at Konghelle whenever the royal suitor came.

After Thorgills’ departure, Queen Sigrid sent for the goldsmith to order some trinkets that she might wear when King Olaf came to his wooing. The ring that Thorgills had brought lay upon the table. The goldsmith, knowing nothing of its history, took the ring in his hand and threw it down contemptuously.

“It is not fitting for thy royal hand, Queen Sigrid,” he said.

“Why so?” asked the dark, haughty woman. “Why is not the ring fitting for me to wear?”

“Nothing but the purest gold should touch the hand of the royal lady of Sweden. This ring is but copper, with a thin covering of gold. If any dishonest tradesman sold thee the ring, give it back to him, or let one of thy thrall maidens place it upon her finger.” Queen Sigrid did not answer, and the man bowing respectfully took his departure.

The proud woman took up the ring and placed it in the palm of her hand. A bitter, disdainful smile was on her lips, a flash of anger in her dark eyes. “So, King Olaf, thou dost send me a ring of base metal—to me, the widow of as great a king as thou art and the mother of one who shall be greater—aye, greater than Olaf Tryggevesson.” She laid the ring aside and there was a bitterness and suspicion in her mind; and with a sense of grievance from what she