"It will come, that glory-I see it now-the golden cross she bears upon the hills of snow. There are foot-steps before her-they are thine, son of my hopes-child of my long-enduring faith! Ansgarius-my Ansgarius-thou art the blessed -the chosen one!"

At this sudden proposition, Sir Loys looked aghast, and the Lady of Aveyran uttered a suppressed shriek; for the Vikings were universally regarded with terror, as barbarous heathens; and many were the legends of young maidens carried off by them with a short and rough wooing. Hialmar glanced at the terror-stricken faces

Her voice failed suddenly, and she sank, on bended knees, at the feet of the Virgin. Ansga-around, and his own grew dark with anger. rius, startled, almost terrified, lifted up his head, so that the lamplight illumined her face. son looked on his dead mother.

CHAPTER II.

The

"Is there here any craven son of France who dares despise a union with the mighty line of Hialmar?" he cried, threateningly. "But the ship of the Viking rides on the near seas, and the seaeagle will make his talons strong, and his pinions

LET us pass over a few years, before we stand broad, yet." once more in the gray towers of Aveyran.

It was a feast, for Sir Loys was entertaining a strange guest—an old man, who came unattended and unaccompanied, save by a child and its nurse. He had claimed, rather than implored, hospitality; and though he came in such humble guise, there was a nobility in his bearing which impressed the knight with perfect faith in his truth, when the wanderer declared his rank to be equal with that of Sir Loys himself.

"Who I am and what I seek, I will reveal ere I depart," abruptly said the wanderer; and with the chivalrous courtesy of old the host sought to know no more, but bade him welcome to Aveyran. The old man sat at the board, stern and grave, and immovable as a statue; but his little son ran hither and thither, and played with the knight's wife and her maidens, who praised his fair silken hair, his childish beauty, and his fearless confidence. But wherever he moved, there followed him continually the cold, piercing eyes of the nurse-a tall woman, whose dress was foreign, and who never uttered a word, save in a tongue which sounded strange and harsh in the musical ears of the Provençals.

The feast over, the guest arose, and addressed the knight of Aveyran

"Sir Loys, for the welcome and good cheer thou hast given, receive the thanks of Hialmar Jarl, chief of all the Vikings of the north."

Sir Loys half-drew his sword, and then replaced it. He was too true a knight to show discourtesy to an aged and unarmed guest.

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'Hialmar," he answered, calmly, "thy words are somewhat free, but mine shall remember thy gray hairs. Thou seest my four daughters; but I cannot give one as thy son's bride, seeing they are already betrothed in the fashion of our country; and a good knight's pledge is never broken.” "And are there no more of the line of Aveyran ?" inquired Hialmar.

Sir Loys was about to reply, when, from a side-table that had been spread with meagre, lenten fare, contrasting with the plenty-laden board, there rose up a man in a monk's dress. From under the close cowl two piercing eyes confronted the Lord of Aveyran. They seemed to force truth from his lips against his will.

"I have one child more," he said, " a poor, worthless plant, but she will be made a nun. Why dost thou gaze at me so strangely, Father Ansgarius?" added the knight, uneasily. "Ulrika-Heaven rest her soul !"-and he crossed himself almost fearfully" thy mother Ulrika seems to look at me from thine eyes."

"Even so," said the monk, in a low tone. "Then, Loys of Aveyran, hear her voice from my lips. I see in the words of this strange guest the working of Heaven's will. Do thou dispute it not. Send for the child Hermolin."

The knight's loud laugh rang out as scornfully as years before in the little turret-chamber.

At this name, once the terror of half of Europe, the knight made a gesture of surprise, and a thrill of apprehension ran through the hall. Hialmar saw it, and a proud smile bent his lips. "Children of the south, ye need not fear," though the sea-eagle is in your very nest; he is old and gray-his talons are weak now," said the Jarl, adopting the metaphorical name which had been given him in former times, and which was his boast still.

"What!" said he, though he took courteous care the words should not reach Hialmar's ears, am I to be swayed hither and thither by old women's dreams and priestly prophecies? I thought it was by thy consent, good father, that she was to become a nun, and now thou sayest she shall wed this young whelp of a northern bear."

Ansgarius replied not to this contemptuous speech, but his commanding eyes met the knight's, and once again the bold Sir Loys grew humble; as if the dead Ulrika's soul had passed into that of her son, so as to sway her foster-child still.

"It is a strange thing for a servant of Holy Church to strive to break a vow, especially which devotes a child to the Virgin. I dare not do so great a sin!" faintly argued the Lord of Aveyran.

But it seemed as though the cloudy, false subterfuge with which the knight had veiled his

meaning fell off, pierced through and through by hands, and though he strove to make his tone the lightning of those truth-penetrating eyes. Sir calm, as became a right courteous knight, yet Loys reddened to the very brow, with confusion there was in it somewhat of wrathful sarcasm, as as much as with anger. he addressed his guest.

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Isabelle," he muttered, "desire one of thy maidens to bring hither our youngest child."

The silent, meek lady of Aveyran had never a word of opposition to any of her lord's behests. She only lifted up her placid eyes in astonishment at this unusual command, and then obeyed it.

Hermolin was brought, trembling, weeping, too terrified even to struggle. Oh, sad and darkened image of childhood, when a gleam of unwonted kindness and love seemed to strike almost with fear the poor desolate little heart, accustomed only to a gloomy life of coldness and neglect. For the dislike, almost hatred, that fell like a shadow on her unwelcome birth, had gathered deeper and darker over the lonely child. No father's smile, no mother's caresses, were her portion. Shut out from the sunshine of love, the young plant grew up frail, wan, feeble, without beauty or brightness. No one ever heard from Hermolin's lips the glad laughter of infancy: among her sisters, she seemed like a shadow in the midst of their brightness. As she stood in the doorway, cowering under the robe of her conductor, her thin hands hiding her pale face, so unlike a child's in its sharp outline, and her large restless eyes glancing in terror on all before her, the Norsewoman's freezing gaze was the first turned towards her.

"By Odin! and it is such poor, worthless gifts as this that the Christians offer to their gods!" she muttered in her own language.

"Jarl Hialmar, there stands my youngest child -though her looks would seem to belie the noble blood she owns. Heaven may take her, or thouI care little which, so as I am no more burthened with a jewel I covet not."

The Norseman eyed with curiosity and doubt the frail, trembling child, who stood still enshielded by Olof's arms. It might be that the magic of that boyish love drew also the father's pity towards the little Hermolin; or, perchance, the sorrowful, imploring look of those deep, lustrous brown eyes, brought back the memory of others, which long ago had drooped in darkness-the darkness of a life without love. The Jarl's face wore a new softness and tenderness when he beheld Hermolin ; she felt it, and trembled not when Olof led her to his father's knees.

Hialmar, still irresolute, turned to the nurse, who stood behind, watching every movement of her foster-son.

“Ulva,” he said, in his Norse language, “thou hast been faithful, even as a mother, to thy lord's child. What sayest thou-shall we take this poor unloved babe as a bride for the last of the race of Hialmar ?"

Ulva's cold eyes regarded Hermolin; they wandered with jealous eagerness over the slight drooping form; the white thin arms, that seemed wasting away like the last snow-wreaths of winter; the quick-flitting roses that deepened and faded momentarily on the marble cheek; and she said, in her

"What art thou saying, Ulva?" sharply asked heart— the Viking.

"Nothing, my lord," she answered, submissively, "but that the young Olof has at last found himself a bride. Look there."

"It is well; death will come before the bridal; and then, the vow fulfilled, Olof shall take a northern maiden to his bosom, and the footstep of the stranger shall not defile the halls of his fathers." Then Ulva bent humbly before the Viking, saying aloud

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My lips are not worthy to utter their desire; but has not the young Olof himself chosen. `The great Odin sometimes speaks his will by the lips of babes, as well as by those of aged seers. may be so now!"

It

The noble boy, whose fearless, frank, and generous spirit even now shone out, had darted forward, and now, with his arms clasped round Hermolin's neck, was soothing her fears, and trying to encourage her with childish caresses. The little girl understood not a word of his strange Norse tongue, but the tones were gentle and loving. She looked up at the sweet young face that bent "It shall be!" cried Hialmar. 66 Sir Loys, I over, half-wondering at something which seemed take thy daughter to be mine, according as thou new to her in the blue eyes and bright golden saidst. Thy church must seek another votary; for hair. Twining her fingers in one of Olof's abun-Hermolin shall be Olof's bride."

dant locks, she compared it with one of her own So saying, he enclosed both the children in his long dark curls, laughed a low musical laugh, and finally, reassured, put up her little mouth to kiss him, in perfect confidence. Olof, proud of his success, led the little maiden through the room, amidst many a covert smile and jest.

But when the two children came near Sir Loys, Hermolin shrank back, and clung, weeping, to Olof's breast. There was no love in the father's heart, but there was much of pride and bitterness. The child's unconscious terror proclaimed aloud all the secrets of her cheerless life; it angered him beyond endurance. He clenched his gauntleted

embrace, at which young Olof laughed, and clapped his hands, while the little Hermolin, half afraid, half wondering, only looked in the boy's bright face, and her own was lit up with confidence and joy. So, during the whole ceremony of betrothal, the baby-bride still seemed to draw courage and gladness from the fearless smile of her boy-lover, never removing her gaze from that sweet countenance, which had thus dawned upon her, the first love sunshine her young life had ever known.

When Olof was parted from his childish spouse, she clung to him with a wild, despairing energy,

so.

Yet she knew also that it would not be always

almost terrible in one so young. He called her | lament which told of her unseen mother's death, by the new name they had taught him to use she joined the vespers for the departed soul. But towards her, and which he uttered, and she heard all those tokens of the outside world were to her -both now unconscious of the solemn life-bond it only phantasms of life. Far above them all, and implied. Yet still it appeared to have a soothing looking down upon them, as a star looks down on influence; her tears ceased, and her delicate frame the unquiet earth, dwelt Hermolin. was no longer convulsed with grief. She lay in his arms, still and composed. But at that moment there bent over them a tall dark shadow; it seemed to the child's vivid imagination one of those evil spectral forms of which she had heard, and Ulva interposed her strong grasp. The last sight that Hermolin saw was not the beaming face, already so fondly beloved, of her young bridegroom, but the countenance of the Norsewoman had turned round upon her, with the gloomy, threatening brow, and the white teeth glittering in a yet more fearful smile. No wonder that, years after, it haunted the child, coming between her and the sunny image which from that time ever visited her dreams, less like a reality than an angel from the unknown world.

CHAPTER III.

The nuns regarded her as set apart, and not one of themselves. Round her neck she wore the betrothal ring, which as, day by day, her small childish hand grew to maiden roundness, she used to draw on, in a mood too earnest to be mere sport, wondering how soon the finger would fit the token, and with that, what strange change would come. And as her childhood passed by, Hermolin began to see a deeper meaning in the exhortations of one she loved dearest in the world—the monk who had been her confessor, friend, and counsellor all her life-Father Ansgarius.

There had come a change over the son of Ulrika. Who can tell how strong is a mother's prayer? The answering joy which her life could not attain to, was given to her death. A flower sprung up from the mother's dust, which brought peace, and holiness, and gladness into the bosom of the son. After her death, Ansgarius believed. He believed, not with the arid, lifeless faith of an assenting intellect, but the full, deep earnestness of a heart which takes into itself God's image, and is all-penetrated with the sunshine of His presence. The great and learned man saw that there was a higher knowledge still-that which made him even as a little child, cry, "O thou All-wise, teach me!

a woman's, guided the early years of Hermolin— the child of prayers. And so it is; God ever answers these heart-beseechings, not always in the manner we will it even as the moisture which rises up to heaven in soft dew, sometimes falls down in rain, but it surely does fall, and where earth most needs it. Gradually as her young soul was nurtured in peace and holiness, Ansgarius unfolded the future mission, in which he believed, with all the earnestness that singles out from the rest of mankind the true apostle-the man sent.

BENEATH the shadow of her convent walls the child Hermolin grew up. Her world was not that of her kindred; between her and them a line of separation was drawn that might not be crossed. She lived all alone. This was the destiny of her childhood and dawning youth. It was her father's will; she knew it, and murmured not. She lifted up to heaven those affections which she was forbidden to indulge on earth; and when she came to the Virgin's feet, her prayers and her love were-0 thou All-merciful, love me!” less those of a devotee to a saint, than that of a Thus a spirit, strong as a man's, and gentle as child whose heart yearned towards a mother. She spent in vague reveries those sweet, tender fancies which might have brightened home; and for all brother and sister-love, her heart gathered its every tendril around the remembered image, which, starlike, had risen on her early childhood. It was her first memory; beyond it all seemed a shapeless dream of pain and darkness. The image was that of Olof. They had told her that she was his betrothed that he alone of all the world laid claim to her; and though she understood not the tie, nor the fulfilment that might come one day, still she clung to it as to some strange blessedness and joy that had been once and would be again, of which the bright beautiful face, with its goldenshadowed hair, was a remembrance and an augury. Once, in a convent picture-rude, perhaps, yet most beautiful to her-the child fancied the limned head bore a likeness to this dream-image, and from that time it was impressed more firmly on her imagination. It mingled strangely with her vows, her prayers, and, above all, with her shadowy pic-nation of the saint before whose likeness she daily tures of the future, over which, throughout her childhood, such mystery hung.

Hermolin knew that she had been devoted to the service of Heaven. From her still convent she beheld the distant towers of Aveyran; she saw the festive train that carried away her eldest sister a bride; she heard from over the plains the dull

And

Hermolin listened humbly, reverently, then joyfully. On her young mind the story of Ulrika's dream impressed itself with a vivid power, from which her whole ideas took their coloring. deeper, stronger, more engrossing became her worship of that golden-haired angel-youth, who, with her, was to bear unto the snow-covered mountains the holy cross. She had no thought of human love in her mind, Olof was only an earth-incar

prayed; and who would come one day, and lead her on her life's journey, to fulfil the destiny of which Ansgarius spoke. But when, as years passed, her beautiful womanhood expanded leaf by leaf, like the bud of a rose, to which every day there comes a deeper color and a lovelier form, Hermolin was conscious of a new want in

she folded her hands upon her young bosom, while her confessor gave her the benediction.

"And now, my child, I have somewhat to say to thee; wilt thou listen ?"

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"Child, child, dare not make a toy of that holy relic; never look at it but with prayers. Remember whose dying fingers once closed over it-on whose cold breast it once lay-ay, along with thee!"

her soul. It was not enough that the beloved ideal should haunt her thoughts, and look on her in her slumbers-a glorious being to be regarded with a worship deep, wild, as only the heart of dreaming girlhood knows. Hermolin had need Yes, here, my father," she answered, seating of a more human and answering love. In all that | herself at his feet, while her fingers played with a she saw of the world's beauty-in all the new, coarse rosary of wooden beads, which she had glad feelings which overflowed her heart-she worn all her life. After a long silence, it caught longed for some dear eyes to look into-some the eye of the monk, and he burst forthdear hand to press-that her deep happiness might not waste itself unshared. Looking out from her bower in the convent garden, she sometimes saw, in the twilight, young lovers wandering along the green hillside, singing their Provençal lays, or sitting side by side in a happy silence, which is to the glad outburst of love what the night, with her pure, star-lit quiet, and her deep pulses-beating all the fuller for that mysterious stillness--is to the sunny, open, all-rejoicing day. And then Hermolin's bosom thrilled with an unwonted emotion; and she thought how strange and beautiful must be that double life, when each twin heart says to the other, "I am not mine own, but thine -nay, I am not thine, but thyself a part of thee!"

But all these fancies Hermolin folded up closely in her maiden bosom, though she knew not why she did so. And even when the time came that the token-ring ever clasped her delicate finger with a loving embrace, she still lived her pure and peaceful life, awaiting the perfecting of that destiny which she believed was to come.

At last, on a day when it was not his wont to visit the convent, Ansgarius appeared. He found the young maiden sitting at her embroidery beneath the picture which was her delight. Often and of ten the gaudy work fell from her hands, while she looked up at the beautiful and noble face that seemed to watch over her.

Ansgarius came and stood beside his young pupil. His emotions were restless, and his eyes wandering; and there was an unquiet tremulousness in his voice, which spoke more of the jarring world without, than of the subdued peace which ever abided within the convent walls. Hermolin was seized with a like uneasiness.

"My father," she said-for she had long since learned to give that title to her only friend-" my father, what is it that troubles thee?"

"I might say the same to thee, dear child; for thy cheek is flushed, and thine eye bright," the monk answered, evasively.

"I know not why, but my heart is not at rest," Hermolin said. “I feel a vague expectation, as if there were a voice calling me that I must answer, and arise and go."

The face of Ansgarins was lighted up with a wild enthusiasm. "It is the power of the Virgin upon the child," he murmured. "The time, the time is at hand! My daughter, wait," he said more calmly; "if the call be Heaven's, thou canst not but follow at Heaven's good pleasure."

"I remember,” said Hermolin, softly. "Forgive me, O father, forgive me-blessed soul of Ulrika ;" and, kissing the crucifix, she raised her pure eyes to heaven.

"And,

"Amen!" said Ansgarius, devoutly. O mother! strengthen me to tell this child of the past and the future-mine and hers." He remained silent for a little, and then said, suddenly—*

"Hermolin, thou knowest what she was, and how she died. Listen while I speak, not of her, the blessed one! but of myself, and my sin. I lived in darkness, I scorned the light, until it burst upon me with the brightness of her soul, shed from its glorious wings when it rose to God. In that night I lay down, and dreamed I walked along a road all foul, and strewed with briars and thorns. Then came a vision; it was the last of earthly mothers, Mary. She showed me a bright pathway on which moved glorious angels, like women in countenance. One face was that which had bent over my childhood, youth, and manhood, with untiring love. Oh, mother! how I sprang forward with a yearning heart to thee; but the vision stood between us, and I heard a voice saying, Son, thou canst never go to thy mother till thy feet are no longer defiled. Leave that thorny way, and ascend to the heavenly road.' Then I awoke, and knew what my sin had been. 0 mother-saint, pray for me in heaven, that it may not be laid to my charge!"

The monk sighed heavily, and bent down his head, already thickly strewn with the snowy footsteps of age. Then Hermolin stood up, and her face was as that of a young saint, resplendent with the inward shining of her pure, heaven-kindled soul; and she said, in a tone like one inspired

"God and thy mother have forgiven thee, since thou hast done the will of both towards me. If, as thou hast said, I must go forth at Heaven's bidding, for a life to be spent in working that holy will, all men, and the angels that wait on men, shall behold that it is thy word I speak—it is thy spirit which dwells in me.”

Ansgarius looked amazed, for never before had the maiden given such utterance to the thoughts *For this incident in the life of Ansgarius, see the “I do—I will,” said Hermolin, meekly; and "History of Sweden," translated by Mary Howitt.

which pervaded her whole life. Again he murmured, "The time is near." But even while he regarded her, another change seemed to come over the fitful spirit of Hermolin. She sank at the monk's feet, and bathed them with a shower of tears.

"Oh, father, guide me," she wept. "I am not as I was; there is a change-I feel it in my heart, and I tremble."

"It is the shadow of thy coming fate, my child," said Ansgarius, solemnly; "know thy bridegroom is at hand."

charms. Day after day she attired herself in her simple dress, and felt no grief in folding up her long silken tresses under her close veil, or enveloping her slender figure in the coarse robe and thick girdle of cord. But now her heart beat with anxiety; she fled hastily away to her own chamber. There she found the aged nun who attended her, while many rich garments, such as high-born damsels wore, lay scattered about. The glistening of them dazzled and confused Hermolin's senses. She stood motionless, while the nun silently exchanged her simple robe for the new attire; and then, while she beheld herself in this unwonted likeness, her courage failed, her whole

Hermolin sprang up with a wild gesture of joy. "Olof!-Olof! Is Olof here?" she cried. And then, with an instinctive impulse of maiden-frame trembled, and she wept passionately. ly shame-facedness, she drooped her head, and hid her burning cheeks under the novice's veil she

wore.

Ansgarius continued. "A ship lies at the river's mouth, and from the towers of Aveyran I saw a train winding across the plain. It may be that of the son of Hialmar. Nay, why art thou trembling, child? Dost thou shrink from thy destiny? -thou, the chosen of the Virgin, whom I have reared up to this end with daily and nightly prayers," added Ansgarius, sternly.

An

Hermolin felt that she was not beautiful. other might, perhaps, have seen, in the small, almost child-like form, an airy grace that atoned for its want of dignity, and have traced admiringly the warm southern blood that gave richness to the clear brown skin. But Hermolin had known one only ideal of perfection; and all beauty, that bore no likeness to Olof, was as nothing in her eyes.

Soon, ringing through the still convent, she heard a bold, clear voice, and the girlish weakness passed away, while a boundless devotion sprung

which united the clinging tenderness of the human, with the deep worship of the divine, took possession of her inmost soul. When she stood before her bridegroom, she thought of herself no

young Olof, in his somewhat rough but affectionate greeting, lifted his fairy-like bride up in his strong arms, he little knew how deep and wild was the devotion of that heart, which then cast itself down at his feet, to be cherished, thrown aside, or trampled on, yet loving evermore.

But the ascetic monk, absorbed in the one pur-up in the woman's heart of Hermolin. Love, pose of his existence, knew not the wild flutterings of that young heart, nor how at the moment Hermolin was less the devotee, ready to work out her life's aim, than the timid maiden about to welcome, in her betrothed, the realization of a whole girl-more-she became absorbed in him. And when hood's dream of ideal love. Ansgarius took her by the hand, and led her to the Virgin's shrine. There, at his bidding, Hermolin, half unconscious of what she did, renewed her vows of dedication; but while she knelt, the noise of rude, yet joyful music, was heard, and up the hill wound a goodly train. First of all there rode one, who, to the strong frame and almost giant proportions of manhood, added the clear, fair face of a youth. His ON, gayly on, ploughing the same seas which long, sun-bright locks floated in the wind, and his had carried on their stormy breast the dead and the eagle's plume danced above them; his eye, bold newly-born, went the ship of the young Norse and frank, was that of one born to rule, and there chieftain. And onward to the same northern was pride even in his smile. Yet, through all home, from beneath whose blighting shadow the this change, Hermolin knew that face was the dying mother had been borne, was wafted another same which had been the sunshine of her child-southern bride. But it was not with her as with hood-the dream of her youth and her heart the wife of Hialmar. Love, mighty, all-enduring leaped towards her bridegroom.

"Olof!-my Olof!” she cried, and would have flown to meet him, with the same child-like love which had poured itself forth in tears on his neck years before, in the castle of Aveyran, but Ansgarius stood before her.

CHAPTER IV.

love, made Hermolin go forth, strong and fearless. She stood on the rocking deck, with the dark, surging, shoreless waves before her eyes, not the green, sheep-besprinkled meads, and purple vineyards of Provence, with the rude voices and the wild countenances of the Viking's crew ever haunting her, instead of the vesper chants, and the mild faced nuns, with their noiseless, sweeping garments. But Hermolin trembled not, doubted not, for Olof was near her, and his presence lighted up her world with joy. The freezing north wind seemed to blow across her brow with the softness of a balm-scented breeze, when she Never until then had Hermolin thought whether met it, standing by her husband's side, or leaning she were beautiful or no. In her calm retire- against his breast. She looked not once back to ment, she heard no idle talk about maiden's the sunny shore of Provençe, but ever onward to

"I am little versed in the world's ways," he said, "yet it seems to me that this is scarcely the guise in which a maiden should go to meet her bridegroom;" and he glanced at the coarse nun's dress which always enfolded the light form of Hermolin. The words touched a new chord in the soul of the young betrothed.