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 Father Tuathal had left Maidoch, a thrall came up to him and asked, “Art thou a Christian priest?”

“Aye, truly, I am.”

“There lies one dying, in a dwelling further down the road. He is called Thore Klakka. He was the steward of Jarl Haakon, and the friend likewise of King Olaf. He hath been favored too by Jarl Erik, and he hath full gold. Now is he dying, and he is calling for the priest of the White Christ.”

“I will go to him,” said Father Tuathal, and the thrall went on to show the way.

“Thore Klakka!” mused the priest, as he walked along. “I do remember him. He came with us from Ireland, and Thorgills liked him not. In truth, there was an absence of trust in all that were with King Olaf, for this Thore. I mind me now of his untruthful eyes. Poor wretch!—dying and asking for the priest of Christ. Perhaps God’s mercy hath touched him at the last.”

Father Tuathal entered the handsome dwelling of Thore Klakka. In an inner room, upon a richly