CHAPTER VI

A “VIKING’S FUNERAL” “All night long, in a dream untroubled of hope, He brooded, clasping his knees.” I stooped over Michael, whose eyes were closed again. Was he dead—his last act the saving of my life? I don’t think I felt very much, at the moment. My mind was numb or blank, and I wasn’t certain that the whole affair was not a nightmare. . . . Michael opened his eyes. “Stout Fella,” he whispered. “Got the letters?” I told him that he would deliver them in person. That we were the sole sur…