. Frithjof, the viking of Norway : and Roland, the paladin of France. ng in Balders eyesthan two hearts plighting their troth forlife and death. The prayer which Ingeborg offeredfrom the depth of her pure heart, and themany soothing words uttered in her friendsfamiliar voice, partly banished the maidens 4^ Frithjof anxious fears. It did not seem natural toher to fear when he was with her. Norcould she feel that she was doing anywrong in conversing with him as she haddone all her life unchidden. So the hourssped swiftly on in loving, innocent com-muning. Still she did not forget the dan-ger whi
. Frithjof, the viking of Norway : and Roland, the paladin of France. ng in Balders eyesthan two hearts plighting their troth forlife and death. The prayer which Ingeborg offeredfrom the depth of her pure heart, and themany soothing words uttered in her friendsfamiliar voice, partly banished the maidens 4^ Frithjof anxious fears. It did not seem natural toher to fear when he was with her. Norcould she feel that she was doing anywrong in conversing with him as she haddone all her life unchidden. So the hourssped swiftly on in loving, innocent com-muning. Still she did not forget the dan-ger which Frithjof was challenging by hisdaring deed, and it was she who noted thesigns of coming day,—the larks earlysong, the first rosy streak of dawn ; butnot before the sun had burst forth in un-clouded splendour could Frithjof tear him-self away. But not for long. Emboldenedby the success of this first venture, he re-peated it again and again, and these nightlymeetings became the one joy of the twoyoung creatures so wantonly parted byone mans wicked pride of VIII FAREWELL ONE night Ingeborg waited more anx-iously than usual. She waited the first hours her heart beat high withhope. As the night waxed older it sanklower and lower. The hours draggedmore and more slowly, and hope all butdied. Daybreak ! she thought, and Frith-jof cometh not. Ah me, but man is hard !For the sake of his pride—the thing hecalls his honour !—he is ever ready, with-out a qualm, to crush a faithful woman clings to his breast as thehumble lichen to the rock, with a hundredlittle tender rootlets, drawing its susten-ance from the tears of night. It had been Ting-day. The people 47 4^ Frithjof were to have met, presided over by theKings, at Beles grave. With many prayersand tears untold, and a thousand coaxingways, Ingeborg had succeeded in winningFrithjofs promise that he would seekthe Kings, there, in the presence of thedead and before the face of the living, tooffer them his
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