CHAPTER XIV.

But Halfred kneeled day and night beside her couch. He held her languid hand; he listened to her faint breathing; he kissed from her lips the small drops of blood which often gathered there.

He had the board which closed the gangway between the decks taken away, and heaven and the stars shone down upon Thora's pillow.

When the day had gone ill, and much blood had flowed, and she fell asleep with the falling night, then he would mount a few steps, draw his hammer from his belt, and threaten the stars with furious words.

"If ye let her die for others' guilt, then woe to you, ye Gods, woe to all who live."

But had the sufferer gained strength, and smiled lovingly and peacefully on him; then this same ferocious man mounted upon the deck, kneeled down, and cried with outstretched arms, and tear-choked voice,

"Praise, praise, to you, ye gracious Gods! I knew it, verily, that ye live and rule justly, and would not let her die for others' guilt."

And if the day wavered between good and evil, between fear and hope, then he paced the narrow chamber with hasty steps and murmured inaudibly,

"Are there Gods! are there Gods! are there gracious Gods?"

And he believed that Thora heard this not, because she slept.

But she lay often awake, with closed eyes, and understood it all, and it troubled her sorely, in waking and dreaming.

And Halfred now told her, at her mute request, all about Dame Harthild, and the curse, and how all had happened.

When he had ended she murmured shuddering, "Much has been fulfilled! If yet more should be fulfilled, unhappy Halfred."

It seemed, however, that Thora was better.

And Halfred resolved at once to carry her upon deck, that she might breathe the fresh air, and again behold the beauty of sea and heaven.

And he had the deck carefully cleansed from all traces of the horrible fight, and ordered the sailors, the day before, to run into a coast which was bright with summer flowers, and commanded a whole mountain of flowers, as he said, to be piled upon the ship, for he would have her laid upon a hill of flowers.

And the men obeyed; and the whole deck was so thickly strewn with flowers that nowhere was a bit of wood visible.

And close by the mast rose a swelling couch of perfumed light wood-grass, and all the loveliest wood flowers, so high that it reached to Halfred's breast.

Over this he spread a rich white linen mantle, and laid the heavily breathing form upon it.

And again the moon was full, as on that night of the battle on the ship. But many storm-rent clouds were still driving across the heavens, and the sailing disk of the moon had not pierced through them.

And it was midsummer night. The first that Halfred had not spent by the black Heckla Stone in Iceland.

Thora had fallen asleep upon her flowers.

Halfred had covered her with his own mantle. And he sat close by the flower hill, and looked into the noble, pale, all bloodless face, and then quietly before him again.

"Ye have done all things well, ye merciful dwellers in the stars above. Ye have requited me, for that I never altogether doubted ye. I will not again question with ye, wherefore ye have ordained for me this second fearful thing, that I should be forced to slay my dear blood-brethren, and so many of the ship's crew.

"Because ye have saved this wonderful flower, and have not suffered her guiltless, to perish for other's guilt, for ever will I bless ye.

"And a song of praise will I compose for you, ye merciful and gracious Gods; such as never yet has resounded to your praise. Thanks to you, ye gracious Gods!"

And thus musing he fell asleep; for it was many many nights since he had slept.

Then a piercing cry awoke him, which seemed to ring from the stars. "Halfred." It fell upon his ear from high above.

He started up from slumber, and looked upwards. There he saw what filled him with horror. The full moon had, while he slept, pierced the clouds, and shone with full radiance upon Thora's face. Now Halfred saw her, standing swaying, high on the slender cross-spars, many many feet above his head.

Like a white ghost she shone in the moonlight; her widely opened eyes looked out into her future; her right hand she stretched, as though warding off, into the night. She did not hold fast by the slender towering mast, on whose giddying height naught else save the seabird, tossing, rested. And yet she stood firmly erect; but in her face was despairing woe.

"O Halfred," she wailed, in a low tone of heart-rending anguish, "O Halfred--how distracted thy looks--how fearfully tangled hair and beard! Ah! how thine eye rolls--and half naked--like a Berseker, in shaggy wolf's skin. And how stained thou art with the blood of guiltless men. And why threatenest thou the fair-haired shepherd the light-hearted boy? Beware--beware the sling--guard thyself--turn thy head--the swing whistles--the stone flies--O Halfred--thine eye." And bending far forward she stretched, as though she would protect, both arms into the air. Now she must fall--so it seemed.

"Fall not, Thora!" cried Halfred upwards.

Then, as though lightning struck, swift as an arrow, with a wild shriek, she fell downwards from the giddy height of the mast.

The white forehead struck upon the deck, her head and golden hair were bathed in blood.

"Thora! Thora!" cried Halfred, and raised her up, and looked into her eyes. Then he fell senseless with her upon his face among the flowers--for she was dead.