ions be all
hurled against him, conscious that he was invulnerable, and of his own
indwelling strength.

At the close of one of these martial exercises, old Rolf advanced
towards Folko, and beckoning him with an humble look, said softly, "They
call you the beautiful mighty Baldur,--and they are right. But even the
beautiful mighty Baldur did not escape death. Take heed to yourself."
Folko looked at him wondering. "Not that I know of any treachery,"
continued the old man; "or that I can even foresee the likelihood of
any. God keep a Norwegian from such a fear. But when you stand before
me in all the brightness of your glory, the fleetingness of everything
earthly weighs down my mind, and I cannot refrain from saying, 'Take
heed, noble baron! oh, take heed! Even the most beautiful glory comes to
an end.'"

"Those are wise and pious thoughts," replied Folko calmly, "and I will
treasure them in a pure heart."

The good Rolf was often with Folko and Gabrielle, and made a connecting
link between the two widely differing parties in the castle. For how
could he have ever forsaken his own Sintram! Only in the wild hunting
expeditions through the howling storms and tempests he no longer was
able to follow his young lord.

At length the icy reign of winter began in all its glory. On this
account a return to Normandy was impossible, and therefore the magical
storm was lulled. The hills and valleys shone brilliantly in their white
attire of snow, and Folko used sometimes, with skates on his feet, to
draw his lady in a light sledge over the glittering frozen lakes and
streams. On the other hand, the bear-hunts of the lord of the castle and
his son took a still more desperate and to them joyous course.

About this time,--when Christmas was drawing near, and Sintram was
seeking to overpower his dread of the awful dreams by the most daring
expeditions,--about this time, Folko and Gabrielle stood together on
one of the terraces of the castle. The evening was mild; the snow-clad
fields were glowing in the red light of the setting sun; from below
there were heard men's voices singing songs of ancient heroic times,
while they worked in the armourer's forge. At last the songs died away,
the beating of hammers ceased, and, without the speakers being seen, or
there being any possibility of distinguishing them by their voices, the
following discourse arose:--

"Who is the bravest amongst all those whose race derives its origin from
our