the north, the strong and daring north, without tude. But still in the clouds, to which she lifted fear, and in the fulness of hope, for it was Olof's her eyes, in the waves which dashed almost land. against her feet, she only saw and heard Olof's And he, the one, sole master of this golden face and Olof's voice. Then she would remember mine of love, this true woman's heart, pure as the parting words of Ansgarius, when he stood rich, and rich as beautiful, how was it with watching the ship, that, as he still fervently behim? He took it as a long-preserved posses-lieved, bore, dove-like, the olive-branch of peace, sion, which came to him as a right, whose value and pure faith to that northern land— The he never troubled himself to estimate. Jarl Hialmar lived to behold his son the bravest of the young northern warriors, and then sank into the embrace of the Volkyriæ. He died in battle, one hand on his sword, and the other grasping a long lock of woman's hair. On this relic he made the son of the dead Clotilde swear, by the soul of his mother, to claim from the lord of France, either by fair words or force of arms, his plighted bride; and so Olof, longing for adventurous deeds in any cause, went forth with all the eagerness of youth on his quest. A little while he rejoiced in his prize, like a child toying with a precious jewel; a little while he softened his bold, fierce nature into the semblance of gentleness and love; and then, looking in his face, whereon was set the seal of almost angelic beauty, Hermolin believed in the realization of all her dreams. The golden-haloed saint of her peaceful youth lived again in the beloved Olof. And so it was, that in the wild fulness of this new joy, this blessed, human love, Hermolin, the child vowed to the Virgin, the pious maiden of the convent, became merged in Hermolin, the wife of the young northern Jarl. It was less the pupil of Ansgarius, sent forth, heaven-guided, on her holy mission, than the devoted woman, who would fain cling through life and death unto her heart's chosen. Gradually the shadow of an earthly love was gliding between the pure spirit and heaven's light, and when it is so, ever with that souleclipse darkness comes. "My child," he said, "love thy husbandworship only God." And conscious of its wild idolatry the heart of Hermolin trembled, so that it dared not even pray. At last the vessel neared the land of the north, with its giant snow-mountains, its dark pine-forests, its wild, desolate plains. To the eyes of the young Provençale it seemed, in its winter-bound stillness, like the dead earth lying, awfully beautiful, beneath her white-folded shroud. Hermolin felt as though she stood at the entrance of the land of shadows, with its solemn gloom, its eternal silence; and yet, while she gazed, her soul was filled with a sublime rapture. She crept to the side of her young spouse, folded his hand in her bosom, and looked up timidly in his face "Oh, my Olof," she whispered, "this then is our home-this is thy land—how beautiful it is— how grand!" The young Jarl looked down on his fair wife, and smiled at her evident emotion, with the careless superiority with which he might have regarded the vagaries of a wayward child. "Yes," he answered, "it is a goodly land; these pine-forests are full of bears, and the seakings have had many a well-fought battle with the land-robbers in the defiles of the mountains. It was there that the sword of Olof was first reddened," the Jarl continued, proudly, while his lips curled and his eyes grew dilated. A little did Hermolin shrink, even from that beloved hand she was folding to her heart; but immediately she drew closer to him, and wound his arm around her neck. "Do not say this, my Olof," she murmured, caressingly; "let us talk rather of that glad time when there shall be no more warfare, the time of which I have often told thee, my beloved, when the golden cross shines on the white snow, and thou and I — But Olof silenced her with a burst of halfderisive laughter. "Not I, my fair wife, not I, Thou mayst dream among thy pretty toys, thy When the ship yet rode upon the seas, Olof's crosses, and rosaries; such playthings are fit for mien wore less of bridegroom tenderness, and he women and children, but the son of Hialmar trusts grew chafed and restless at times. He lingered to the faith of his fathers. Do as thou wilt, little not at Hermolin's side, to listen while she spoke one, only let me handle the hunting-spear, and of her childish past, or talk to her of the future-guide the ship, and drain the mead-cups. Odin of their northern home. He never now, in lover- loves the bold arm of a warrior better than the like playfulness, made her teach him then the al-puling lips of a saint, and the blood of an enemy most forgotten speech of his mother's land, or is more precious in his sight than a thousand whilaughed when her sweet lips tried in vain to frame the harsh accents of the north. Many a time, Hermolin stood lonely by the vessel's side, trying to bring back to her soul those holy and pure land!" thoughts which had once made a heaven of soli- And the young Viking stood on his vessel's ning prayers. But see, there are my good soldiers awaiting us. Hark! their shouts of welcome. Verily, I am glad to see again my father's deck, magnificent in his proud and fearless beauty, the long corridor, she heard the laughter of her retreating maiden-train; she listened while they mocked at the terrors of the Jarl's young bride, and said how much fitter had been a fearless Norse maiden, than a poor shrinking child of the south, to tread the halls of the son of Hialmar. Hermolin's cheek flushed, and her terror changed to pride-not for herself, but for him. acknowledging his followers' wild acclaims, as They shall never say the wife of Olof is afraid. I will be strong-I will teach my heart to beat as it were with the bold northern blood. My Olof, thou shalt not blush for me." But still the young cheek blenched at the shrieks which seemed to mingle in the tempestuous blast, and still, when the blazing fagots cast fantastic shapes on the walls, Hermolin started and trembled. Hour after hour passed, and Olof came not. Her fears melted into sorrow, and she poured forth the tears of an aching and lonely heart. Hermolin neither wept nor struggled against her misery. There was no anger in her heart, only utter despair. She looked at Olof where he stood, the very ideal of proud and glorious manhood, in all things resembling the dream-image of so many years. Hermolin's soul clung to it, and to him, with a wild intensity, that made her love Wild storm of the north, howl over that poor seem almost terrible in its strength. And thus, broken flower, but thou canst not wither the lifewhile she thought of her life to come, Hermolin fluid which will yet make its leaves green, and shuddered less at the unveiling of his heart's its blossoms fair-the essence of its being-its change, than at the knowledge of the deep faith-hope-its strength-its enduring love. fulness that would make enduring sorrow the portion of her own. "I love him," she moaned, "through all-in spite of all-I love him! Olof, my noble, my beautiful; the light of my life. Oh, God, have mercy-have mercy on me!" CHAPTER V. Be still, oh, north wind; howl not at the ironbound lattice; she hears not thee. Blinding snow, sweep not in such mad gusts over the mountains; thou canst not dim her eyes and freeze her heart more than an inward anguish has already effected. If Hermolin dwelt among the rose-bowers of Provence, instead of the chill, ghostly halls of the Viking, there would be the same icy burthen on her soul-the same dark shadow over all things on which her eyes look. The heart makes its own sunshine-its own eternal gloom. Still, as ever, alone, Hermolin retraced the gloomy halls, as she glided, like a spirit of light come to reänimate the dead, past the mailed shadows, that kept memorial watch over the Viking's halls, with her faint gleaming lamp, and her floating hair, which every blast seemed to lift with a spirit hand. Led by the distant sound of voices, Hermolin came to the festival hall. Her terror-stricken fancy had pictured Olof in the storm; his stalwart frame paralyzed; his gold hair mingling with the snow-wreaths, and death-a terrible death-stealing over him. But as she stood in the shadowhung entrance, Hermolin saw her lord. He sat among his young warriors, the blithest of all, quaffing many a cup of sparkling mead, his laugh ringing loud, but still musical; and his beautiful face resplendent with mirth and festive gayety. But for the first time its sunshine fell on Hermolin all joylessly. There was a deadly coldness at her heart, which no power could take away. Her lips murmured a thanksgiving that Olof was safe; but no smile sealed the joyful amen of the orison. Silently as she came she glided away, and the sinner knew not how near him, yet all unregarded, had passed the angel's wing. The Jarl's bride was alone. Even that day he had left her on the threshold of the palace, and the envious eyes of the wondering Norse handmaidens had been the only welcome in her husband's halls. Through those halls she glided like a wandering spirit, shrinking from their ghastly grandeur, that filled her young soul with fear. The white-tusked spoils of the bear-hunters seemed to grin like evil spirits from the walls; and as she passed by the empty armor of many a departed Viking, spectral shapes appeared to creep within it, until beneath the vacant helm glittered fiery eyes, and shadowy hands formed themselves out of the air, wielding the ungrasped spear. Her- dream gone by, that wild face, those piercing molin shivered with terror; her limbs moved heavily; her eyes dared not lift themselves from the ground. When Hermolin reëntered her chamber, there rose up from one corner a dark shadow. Soon it formed itself into the likeness of humanity, and confronted the young bride a woman, not yet aged, but with iron-gray locks and deeply-furrowed brow. Suddenly as the thought of a terrible It was eyes, rushed upon Hermolin's memory. The nurse bent in a half-mocking courtesy to One sun-gleam from that bright, beloved face, and the horrible phantoms would have fled like dreams. But it came not. Hermolin reached "Welcome, my lady, from the south, whose her chamber, and was alone. Ringing through vacant chamber I have dared to enter," said Ulva. "Perchance she likes it not; but it is too late | had by chance heard concerning the mother of Olof now." "My lord's home is ever pleasant in his wife's eyes," answered Hermolin, striving to impart strength and dignity to her trembling frame. 66 "It is well," said the nurse. "But the southern lady should know that it is not our custom for the wife of a noble Jarl to steal like a thief about the halls at night, and that the northern heroes admit no woman to their feasts. The young Olof's eyes had darted angry lightnings, had he known his bride intruded so near." 99 grew clear to her. Not with human voice did the vision speak, but it seemed that the soul of the dead overshadowed the sleeping soul of the living, and taught it the wisdom of the spirit-land. Now Hermolin saw how it was that the flower had withered, because it had no root-that the spirit had drooped because there was no in-dwelling love to be its life; and she learned more of love's nature-that its strength is in itself—that it stretches not forth its arms, saying, "Bless me, as I would fain bless-I give, therefore let me receive;" but it draws its Hermolin shrunk from the loud and fierce tones light from its own essence, and pours it out in a of the Norsewoman. But while pressing her sun-shine flood, surrounding and interpenetrating clasped hands on her breast, she felt Ulrika's the beloved with radiance, as the sun the earth, cross. It gave her strength; for it carried her from which it asks no answering brightness, save thoughts back from the desolate present to the the faint reflection of that which itself has given. pure and holy past; and from the remembered con- And while yet was present in her dream the pale vent shrine lifted them up heavenwards, as pray-shadow of the joyless wife, whom not even motherThen she turned to Ulva, and said, in that bliss could keep from the land of peace, for which sweet meekness which bears with it unutterable the broken spirit yearned, Hermolin looked towards weighther own future, and grew strong. ers. "I am a stranger, and I know thee not. But I love my lord, and all that are his; therefore I forgive these discourteous words to Olof's wife. Now I would rest and be alone." As a spirit of evil steals from the light, so Ulva crept from the presence of Hermolin, and the young wife was once more alone. "I love, therefore I can endure all—can do all,” was the resolution that shot like a sunbeam through the sleeper's soul; and at the moment a ministering angel looked into that soul, changing the proud, yet noble resolve into the humblest of prayer-"I will; O God, help me!" Then the pale spirit seemed to rejoice with exNo, not alone, though she sank prostrate on the ceeding gladness, while mingling with her divine floor, and laid her young brow on the cold stone, joy, a human mother-love made it still more sublime not even a silent lifting up of the eyes showing and tender. And, behold! there stood beside her whither the heart fled in its desolation. Yet that another soul, whose dark-glorious orbs were added stone was a Bethel-pillow, and there the angel-to their earth-likeness, the beauty of eyes which winged prayers and angel-footed blessings ascended have looked on God. And, the mortal semblance and descended between her and God. There for not utterly taken away, but exalted into that perthe first time arose up from those heathen halls the fection which the smile of divinity creates out of voice of thanksgiving. The wild blast came, and very dust, Hermolin knew in her spirit it was Ulbore away amidst its thunder the sweet echoes of rika. the Virgin's vesper-hymn; they floated upwards towards the snow mountains, music-clouds of incense, that marked the consecration of that wild land. And far above the loud organ-voice of the south, with its thousand altars and myriad orisons, arose from the desolate north the clear, low tone of one woman's earnest, loving prayer. Then it seemed as though the holy ones who minister unseen to man, came and kissed her eyes into a sleep as deep and peaceful as that of the babe Hermolin on the breast of Ulrika. A veil was drawn over her senses, and the mingled sounds of the storm without, and the noisy revel within, melted to the sweetest music, and became a wondrous dream. Then bending together over the sleeper, the mother-souls kissed her brow and fled. Lift up thy voice again, O north wind, whose wings have been the airy chariots of God's messengers-lift up thy voice once more, but let it be in a grand, solemn, God-like hymn, such as should arise from the land of snows; and rifting through the sublime, harmonious cloud, let there be a sun-burst of divine melody, sweet as an angel's smile, telling of love-eternal love-its strength, its holiness, its long-suffering, its omnipotence-love which dwells in humanity, as its life, its essence, its soul-which is God. CHAPTER VI. Beside her couch, in the spot where Hermolin's BEYOND the sea-coast, the abode of the race of fast-closing eyes had watched the first glimmer of Hialmar, arises a giant mountain; pine-forests, the storm-hidden moon, the light gathered and grew, huge and dark, clothe its foot; above them tower until it became a face. Pale it was, and sad; with the gray masses of bare rock, and higher still comes damp, wave-bedewed hair, such as we picture the the region of eternal snows. There sits the spirit airy shades of those over whom the billows sweep; of white Death, sublime in beautiful desolation; and but the eyes looked out with a sweet, human yearn-over it the stars creep, solemn and never-wearied ing, and the fair lips smiled with a mournful tender- watchers throughout the perpetual night. It is a ness. Hermolin beheld without fear, for over the land of silence, without movement, without life. spirit-beauty of that face was cast an earthly like- Beneath a vast plain, whereon no trees wave, above ness she knew well, and in her dream all that she a dull-gray sky, over which not a cloud is seen to float, earth and heaven mock each other in terrible | battalions which light up northern skies. Then tranquillity, and the wind steals between them, she said "Follow," and began to traverse the snow viewless as themselves, for there is nought to inter- with almost winged speed. rupt its path. Lo! there is one trace of life on this land of death-one bold footstep marks the snow-one proud head lifts itself fearlessly up towards the leaden sky. The spirit that guides them is a woman's-one of the most daring of the daughters of the north. Alone, Ulva ascends through forest and rock, to that desolate snow-plain, to ask counsel of the only living soul who inhabits the mountain the priestess of the Nornir. At last Ulva and her guide stood on the apex of the mountain!-there three peaks lifted themselves up-the utmost boundary of the visible world; beyond, all was nothingness. The peculiar idealization of Norse-worship, which, in the grandest and most fearful objects of nature, found its divinities, had symbolized in these giant rocks the three Nornir, or destinies, Udr, Verthandi, and Skulld. As they stood out against the cold, gray sky, imagination might have traced in each a vague outline, somewhat resembling a female form, beneath the Ulva reached the verge of the plain where Svenska had formed her dwelling. It was said shadowy veil of snow, which no human hand could that the priestess of the Nornir needed no human sustenance, and that she made her couch among the snows, and that from the time when two stray bear-hunters found the maiden-babe lying on the white plain, she had abode there, a daughter of the unknown world. And in truth, when Ulva stood before her, the likeness of the priestess was not unbefitting her supposed descent. Even with the spiritual beauty of her form, the dweller among the snows was of a presence that harmonized with the pallid desolation around. Life seemed to flow all bloodlessly beneath the marble frame; the features, still and colorless, were almost ghastly in their motionless and perfect beauty. The pale yellow hair fell down in stirless masses, and the drapery moved as she moved, and gathering round her white spectral folds, and floating without a sound, as snowy clouds over a southern sky. Ulva fell at her feet, and gazed at her with a strange mingling of religious adoration and human love. Then the pale lips unclosed, to answer and to exhort; and the whole snow-statue became the inspired priestess. Long they talked-the woman of earth and the daughter of solitudes; and their speech was of the new, strange worship that was creeping in upon Odin's land, after the footsteps of the southern maid, who had been brought into the halls of Hialmar. "I see it coming," cried Ulva, passionately. "The shapeless horror has its foot already on the threshold of the Viking. Already Olof wars no more, but sits idly by the hearth, and listens to southern tales from the whining lips of Hermolin. Even now the meadcup and the meats due to Odin are given to the throats of sick beggars, whom our fathers suffered not to cumber earth! And my lord Olof, the babe that I reared, hears it said that the gods of his fathers are false, and pardons the accursed lie, because it comes from fair lips. Oh, priestess, to whom, if thou art the daughter of the gods, I have given year by year at least somewhat of mortal nurture, until the child I loved has grown up the sacred maiden I adore-holy Svenska, give me counsel! How shall I tread out in the dust this growing fire-how save from defilement the worship of Odin ?” Svenska lifted her face to the east, where, out of the darkness, were beginning to shoot the starry ever lift. Thus, in these solemn shapes, abiding between earth and heaven, it was not strange that their worshippers should see the emblems of the rulers of human destinies, until at last, as in all symbolized faiths, the myth and its outward type became one. But there was silence over all. Svenska bowed herself to the ground, and then said "It is vain! From north to south, from east to west, between earth and sky, float the threads which the Nornir weave. They are there, encompassing us continually, and yet we see them not. We walk with our heads aloft, but it is they who guide us; our minds may will, but it is they who control our minds. Therefore, hear my counsel, though it speaks not with an airy voice, but with a woman's tongue." "I hear-I obey," answered Ulva, tremblingly. "There are two spirits which govern manambition and love. The first is ever strongest, except in those pure and noble natures which seem less human than divine. Let the sound of battle rouse the young Viking from his dream. Let him dye the seas purple with his enemies' blood, and then Odin will be appeased. The fierce shout of northern victory will drown the beguiling whisper of a false woman's lips, and the son of Hialmar will rejoice again in the bold faith of his fathers." News came to Jarl Olof, that the King of Upsala was about to fall upon him with fire and sword. How the rumor reached him, the young Viking knew not, and for a long time he scarcely heeded it, but sunned himself in the placid, tender smile, that day by day was melting the frost off his stern northern heart-the smile of Hermolin. But then, as time passed on, the nurse, Ulva, ever seemed to stand between the husband and wife. Olof shrank from the bitterness of the proud, mocking eye, which had exercised a strange influence over him from his childhood; and sometimes, too, her tongue cast out its sharp, pointed stings, even among the honey-words which she still used towards the son of her care. When the spring came on, the young Viking yearned for his olden life of free warfare. He would fain forestall the taunts of the King of Upsala, and requite his unreasoning words with deeds; and though Hermolin shuddered at her lord's danger, and prayed him not to enter on a sinful and causeless war, still he refused to hearken. And so the sails were set, the vessel danced over the waters, and Hermolin was left to the bitterness of that first parting. A parting it was, not like that when soul is knitted unto soul, to cling in true faith and love, through distance and absence, and time-nay, even through that life-severance which drops the veil of immortality between flesh and spirit—but it was a separation when a few leagues, a few weeks, are sundrance enough to blot out the past, and form a bar between the two to which the perfect bond of union is unknown. Therefore, when Hermolin saw her lord's ship fade like a speck upon the seas, it seemed as though the first dawning dream of Olof's affection faded too, and she became overwhelmed with the burthen of lonely love. But while the terrible words were yet halfformed, he caught Hermolin's wild, imploring glance, and saw that, half hidden beneath the robe, her fingers closed despairingly over Ulrika's cross. "God judge thee, I dare not," he added more softly, in the Provençal tongue. "Oh, daughter of my love, that I should meet thee with almost a curse on my lips! But no! it shall be a blessing-it must be, thou child of many prayers!" The softened tone, the long-forgotten tongue, pierced the heart of the Jarl's wife. She sank on her knees and sobbed. Olof looked at her, half wondering, half angrily. Forgive me, my lord, my beloved! But this man's speech is that of my own far land, and it makes me weep," she answered. "As thou wilt, as thou wilt," answered Olof, coldly; "but thy tears should flow alone. Prisoner, leave the hall." And as the followers of the Viking removed Ansgarius, the Jarl strode carelessly from his wife's presence, without another glance at her drooping and grief-stricken form. Oh, meek woman's heart, content with so little and giving so much, who shall requite thee? Yet what guerdon needest thou, to whom the act of loving is alone bliss, and hope, and strength? Go on thy way, thou true one, and wait until the end. "Oh, Mother of Mercies!" cried Hermolin, The Viking's ship returned in triumph, laden" did I pray for this joyful day and my lord's rewith prey. Hermolin, when she flew to her lord and nestled in his breast, shedding joyful tears, forgot all but the bliss of Olof restored to her love. She sat with him in his hall of state while he apportioned the spoil, and decided the fortune of the captives; and while the duty pained her gentle heart, and almost wrung her conscience, Hermolin strove to stifle all other feelings for the love she bore to him, and comport herself in everything as became the wife of the great northern Jarl. turn, and lo! it is a time of bitterness and woe! And thou, the strong-hearted, bold-tongued, thou wilt be slain, Ansgarius, it may be by the hand of my Olof! Holy Mother of Consolation, all is darkness before me! I faint! I die! Oh, guide me through the gloom !" "At evening Wait, thou tried and patient one. Olof sat at night, dreaming alone over the firelight in his hall, when he heard the voice of Ulva whispering in his ear— "Is the Jarl sleeping while his wife is opening the prison doors? Why should my Lord Olof waste his strength and shed his blood to take captives, when the Lady Hermolin sets them free?" Olof, half roused from his slumber spoke an Among the captives was a man who, standing behind the rest, directed every glance of his piercing eyes towards the Viking's wife. Chains weighed down his small spare limbs, and his frame was worn and wasted; yet still, the lightnings of those wondrous eyes glittered above the ruins made by time. At last the prisoners were dismissed-grilyall but this man. Olof glanced carelessly at him; but Hermolin beheld only the face of her lord, until the stern reply to the Jarl's question attracted her notice. "My name, wouldst thou, son of Hialmar? Ask thy wife; she knows it well, if her heart has not lost its home-memories, as her tongue its southern speech. Hermolin, are thine eyes too proud to look upon Ansgarius?" Trembling, half with fear and half with joy, Hermolin sprang forward, and would have fallen at his feet, but Olof restrained her. 66 Ulva, hold thy peace! Hermolin is asleep in the chamber." "Come and see;" and the nurse, strong in her influence, led Olof to his wife's deserted room. "A loving welcome for a long-absent lord!" said the sneering voice; "and it was no pale vision I saw gliding, lamp in hand, until it entered the prison of the southern captive, at the sight of whom she wept this morn, as I heard from her maidens." "Woman!" thundered Olof, one word more against my pure wife, and I slay thee with this |