esides them many soldiers were there who talked mysteriously
at street corners, and seemed to have other business than merry-making
on hand.

Sigurd passed unheeded through the streets, keeping his face hid in his
cloak, and avoiding all points where the crowd seemed large or curious.

He was hastening thus stealthily down a by-street which led towards
Niflheim, when he suddenly became aware of a small group of men before
him, under the shadow of a high wall, in eager talk.

He halted, for, by their eager gestures and cautious looks, he judged
them to be desperate men, whom it would be well for him to avoid rather
then meet. Withdrawing quickly into a deeper shade, he waited with
impatience till their conference should be over.

As he waited he heard them speak.

"By this time," said one, "he should have learned what is in store."

"Doubtless," said another. "Yet I am glad it was no earlier, for it
will all be over before he can prevent it."

"Ulf once dead," said the first, "Sigurd cannot help being the king,
however much he may dislike it."

"Nay, he dislikes not being king, but he is so foolishly tender about
his brother."

The other laughed.

"There are others, I trust, will not be foolishly tender with his
brother this night. At what hour is the deed to be done?"

"By midnight."

At this Sigurd, who had heard it all, could not refrain from starting
where he stood.

The men heard him in an instant, and finding themselves thus discovered,
rushed with one accord on the hero.

Before Sigurd could draw his sword or offer any resistance he was
overpowered and held fast by his assailants who, for fear he should cry
aloud and alarm the town, threw a cloak over his head and led him off
quickly to the castle.

Here, when the guards came out and inquired what it all meant, "This
man," they said, "we know to be an enemy of the king's, who has come
disguised to this town to do him some harm; keep him fast till the
morning."

The guard, without so much as uncovering Sigurd's face, hurried him
through the gate, and brought him to a dark dungeon, into which they
thrust him, turning the key twice upon him.

Then Sigurd cast himself on the floor in despair.

To find himself thus confined, after all the fatigues he had suffered
and all the perils he had escaped, was fearful indeed, the more so
because he knew his brother was close at hand, and yet must die with no
brotherly hand to help him. For himself he