.

Angantyr took the treasure and filled it with gold. Giving it to
Frithiof, he said: "This welcome gift is a tribute to you, my friend,
but not to King Helge. And now I beg you, Frithiof, to pass the long
winter hours with us, your friends and the friends of your fathers."

The Return

When lovely spring with her blue skies came again, Frithiof left his
kind host Angantyr and sailed over the deep billows. Full of joy is
one who has travelled far when his bark turns homeward. Memory shows
the smoke from his mother's hearth-fire and the fountain where his
childish feet played.

Six days Frithiof sailed, and on the seventh he saw his loved land. He
saluted the cliffs and the forest dancing in the sunlight, but thought
of Ingeborg. As _Ellide_ rounded the headland, Frithiof stood at the
prow, shading his eyes from the sun and looking for his old home, loved
Framness.

But he looked in vain! Of the stately hall ashes alone remained.
Sadly did the hero thread the blackened ruins. Then his faithful dog,
Bran, ran up to welcome him. A powerful dog was he, and often had he
been master of wolves. The milk-white steed with swan-like neck and
golden mane came bounding up the valley. Both asked for food of
Frithiof, their master; but he, poorer than they, had nothing to give
them.

Then came Hilding, the foster-father with silvery hair. "My message,"
he said, "I fear will bring you little gladness. Scarce had you sailed
when King Ring came. Five shields had he to our one. Not long did the
battle last. King Helge yielded and fled. In his flight he passed
Framness and fired the lordly dwelling.

"Ring gave the brothers, Helge and Halfdan, this choice: to give their
sister to him or to lose their throne. The brothers chose, and now
Ingeborg has gone with old King Ring."

Then Frithiof blamed Ingeborg for her broken vow and declared he would
never believe her again. And yet his heart grieved for her, and he
could never forget the friend of his childhood.

"You wrong the maid," said old Hilding. "As the sea-fowl, when its
breast is wounded, dives far away from the eyes of daylight, and, with
its life-blood flowing, yet gives no sign of weakness or misery, so
Ingeborg in the darkness bore her suffering and I only saw her anguish.
When the wedding day came, she, pale as death, rode a black steed,
following the white-robed maidens and the steel-clad men.

"From off the saddle I took the sad maid and