.. "In a week more, it is possible that
England may be won!"... "What do you care for their wretched land, chief?"...
"Chief, how much longer must we lie here?"
When that question was finally out, every man heaved a sigh of relief,
straightening in his place like a dog that is pricking his ears, and there was
a pause.
A fell look came into the Jotun's face as he gazed back at them; and for a
time it seemed that he would either answer with his fist or not at all. But at
length he began to speak in a voice as keen and hard as his sword.
"You know my temper, and that I must have my will. Always I have thought it
shame that my kinsman's odal should lie in English hands, and now I have made
up my mind to put an end to it. You know that I am in no way greedy for
property. When I obtain the victory, you shall have every acre and every stick
on it to burn or plunder or keep, as best pleases you. But I do not want to
reproach myself longer with my neglect; and whether it take two weeks or
whether it take twenty--" He interrupted himself to bend forward, shading his
eyes with his hands. "If I am not much mistaken," he said in quite another
voice, "yonder is Brass Borgar at last! Yonder, near those oak-trees."
In an instant they had all turned to scan the moon-lit open. And now that they
were silent, the thud of hoofs became distinct.
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