w? Now will I break thee thine accursed axe--and thee
thereafter, an ye will!"

So saying, Ulf the Mighty caught up the axe and wheeling it full-armed,
smote and buried it in a young tree close by--wrenched it free and
smote again. And lo! with prodigious crack and rending of fibres the
tall tree swayed, crashing to earth. Now while Ulf yet stood to stare
amazed upon this wondrous axe, upon its sharp-glittering, flawless
edge, Walkyn had risen, dagger in hand; but even as he crouched to
spring, a voice spake--a gentle voice but commanding; and in the
fire-glow stood the white Abbess, tall and gracious, the silver
crucifix agleam upon her bosom.

"Children!" she sighed; and looking from scowling Walkyn to frowning
Ulf she reached a slim hand to each. "O children," said she, "lay by
your steel and give to me your hands!"

Fumbling and awkward, Walkyn sheathed his dagger while Ulf laid the
mighty axe upon the grass very tenderly, as it had been a sleeping
child; so came they both, shame-faced, unto the lady Abbess and gave
her each a hand. Holding them thus she looked with sad, sweet eyes from
one grim face to the other, and drew them nearer the fire.

"Walkyn, son of God," said she, "behold here Ulf whose valiant heart
and mighty strength have been our salvation! Ulf, child of Heaven, whom
God hath made so mighty, behold here brave Walkyn who did protect the
weak and helpless and fighteth for the right! Come then, as ye are
children of God, go ye in brotherly love together henceforth, and may
heaven bless ye, valiant sons!"

Thus saying, she set their hands one in another, and these hands
gripped and held.

Quoth Ulf, sighing:

"Forsooth, I did but mean to try the balance of thine axe, Walkyn. And
truly it is a mighty weapon and a peerless--one that even my strength
cannot break!"

Quoth Walkyn, grim-smiling:

"There is in this world no axe like unto it save one that was my
brother's--and shall be thine henceforth, Ulf the Strong. Come now, and
I will give it unto thee." Then bent they reverently before the Abbess,
saluted Beltane and, side by side, strode away together.

"Would all feuds might so end, sweet son," sighed the Abbess, her
wistful eyes down-bent upon the fire.

"Would there were more sweet souls abroad to teach men reason!" quoth
Beltane.

"Why sit you here, my son, wakeful and alone and the hour so late?"

"For that sleep doth fly my wooing, holy mother."

"Then fain would I share thy vig