Ingolf be-took himself to work as a defence. He wrapped himself in business as in a coat of mail, and work shielded him to a certain extent. But the unavoidable vacant hours were like rents in his armour. And the weapons Ingolf had to fight against immediately found every exposed place.
Leif was not the man to notice that something had happened when nothing had really done so. He only felt boredom and emptiness, and the difficulty there is in making time pass when like a refractory horse it begins rearing on its hind-legs. Either he sat alone with Helga and let the hours fly, or he simply lay and lazed somewhere, staring into space and wondering what purpose there can be in a useless day. His mind became every day more unbalanced, and his temper was like a sportive squirrel. Sometimes his restlessness and impatience impelled him to tease and vex those who surrounded him. Not even Helga escaped; on the contrary, just because she was the most helpless before him, it was she who suffered most. Not rarely his words made her cry. Afterwards he sat silent and helpless, unable to repair what he had done, and feeling intolerable pain.
Leif's only excuse was that he was Leif and had lost his balance. The hopeless melancholy of youth was upon him.
Years passed and nothing happened. Hitherto each year had had one event. They visited Gaulum, or Atle's sons visited them. One winter Leif and Ingolf were invited to the feast at Gaulum; the next winter they were the hosts. Hitherto in Leif's mind there had been a halo about these feasts; he had awaited them with eagerness and taken part in them with a happy fervour of abandonment. Now he hardly cared to think of them any more, and had quite ceased to take pleasure in them.
For there had gradually risen in Leif's mind, although he carefully concealed it, a strong ill-will against Atle's sons, especially Holmsten. Holmsten had always been a thorn in his side. Holmsten's voice and vocabulary, his smile, his way of being silent, and his whole character had an irritating effect on Leif. At times, when he was not especially sensitive, he could, as it were, lock such feelings out. But there were other times when he stood and actually shivered with irritation merely at seeing and hearing Holmsten. But, faithful to his oath of brotherhood and promise to Ingolf, he suppressed all feelings of that kind as best he could. In any case, they never broke out. Thus it happened that Holmsten once in a humourous mood made merry over Leif's appearance. He meant nothing serious by it, but an innocent remark about Leif's large nose slipped thoughtlessly out of his mouth. When he saw what effect it had upon Leif, who became quite red in the face, he was immediately sorry, and said nothing. When Leif had thus come to know what he looked like, his eyes were suddenly opened to see how handsome Atle's sons were. From that day it was that he began to hate them in his heart, especially the youngest. He now noticed also how they looked at Helga, when they were on a visit. He did not like those looks. Of course he could well understand that they could scarcely keep their eyes from Helga. But Helga was his, and that made a difference. And although Atle's sons could not know that, yet at any rate they ought not to look at Helga so. It was especially Holmsten with whom Leif found himself angry--Holmsten, whose existence from the time that Leif was a boy had rankled like a thorn in his mind. Holmsten was undeniably the handsomest of the brothers, perhaps because he, as the youngest, was now at the handsomest age. Moreover, it was Holmsten whose look fastened on Helga with the greatest pertinacity.
