the forms of Lord Uffe who had welcomed us, and her
betrothed, in this old hall; where below, sat our men and Lord Uffe's
together, all their hands hard from the work on great timbers--I grew
sick.

I have no heart for this part of the tale; let me go on to the ending.

For many days I stayed by our unfinished hall where the men were busy
thatching the roof and making the fireplace and windows; it was almost
done. At last one night I trod wearily up for my meat at Lord Uffe's,
while the air felt heavy and the occasional thunder that had rumbled far
away all day, growled in the west, as the sun sank. I came into the hall
when they were all seated, and without looking up at the end of the
table sat myself down silent, while the man next to me growled like the
thunder as he shoved me the meat-dish.

After dinner they called on my lord for a song. He took down his harp
from where it hung on the back of his chair, and striking it three
times--I remember all these small things--bent his head for a moment as if
listening. Then turning, and facing down the hall, he lifts his head;
and, playing softly, his voice rings out in a love song, that brings the
tears into the eyes of the women by the fire in a moment. As it rises,
it wakes even us men--what was that? Only thunder. The song goes on. It
speaks of love and despair, softly, but with a strange tenderness in the
notes that makes each man apply it to himself. The sorrowful notes
droop through the hall to the running music of the strings--he turns
toward the figure in white behind him--What a roar of thunder!--the song
goes on.

It speaks of division and of sorrow, and love unknown; it speaks of the
tenderness of love that is hid, of longing. A crash and volley of
thunder just overhead, and the hall is lit up for a moment by the
lightning--it is gone and the fire shines out again.

My lord is standing facing her; he leans forward, his eyes on hers, and
plays softly, his voice falling low. We bend forward to listen. He is
singing of love and its fulfilment; he sings of love, and the tenderness
of it. Slowly the words fall, his head is bent forward and his eyes gaze
into hers. Slowly she rises from her place, slowly she comes toward him,
her head raised, her eyes on his, slowly she sinks at his feet--the notes
fall--low----

Crash and roar! and a dying-away of the tumult into a distant roll while
the hall is lit up for a moment by the lightning. The light flickers on
the