ed with a fixed and intense glow--topaz-like rays flickered and
streamed about it, as though uncertain what fantastic shape they should
take to best display their brilliancy. This tremulous hesitation of
varying color did not last long; the whole jewel-like mass swept
together, expanding and contracting with extraordinary swiftness for a
few seconds--then, suddenly and clearly defined in the sky, a Kingly
Crown blazed forth--a Crown of perfect shape, its five points distinctly
and separately outlined and flashing as with a million rubies and
diamonds. The red lustre warmly tinged the pale features of the dying
man, and startled Valdemar, who sprang to his feet and gazed at that
mystic aureola with a cry of wonder. At the same moment Olaf Gueldmar
stirred, and began to speak drowsily without opening his eyes.

"Dawn on the sea!" he murmured--"The white waves gleam and sparkle
beneath the prow, and the ship makes swift way through the water! It is
dawn in my heart--the dawn of love for thee and me, my Thelma--fear not!
The rose of passion is a hardy flower that can bloom in the north as
well as in the south, believe me! Thelma--Thelma!"

He suddenly opened his eyes, and realizing his surroundings, raised
himself half-erect.

"Set sail!" he cried, pointing with a majestic motion of his arm to the
diadem glittering in the sky. "Why do we linger? The wind favors us, and
the tide sweeps forward--forward! See how the lights beckon from the
harbor!"

He bent his brows and looked almost angrily at Svensen. "Do what thou
hast to do!" and his tones were sharp and imperious. "I must press on!"

An expression of terror, pain, and pity passed over the sailor's
countenance--for one instant he hesitated--the next, he descended into
the hold of the vessel. He was absent for a very little space,--but when
he returned his eyes were wild as though he had been engaged in some
dark and criminal deed. Olaf Gueldmar was still gazing at the brilliancy
in the heavens, which seemed to increase in size and lustre as the wind
rose higher. Svensen took his hand--it was icy cold, and damp with the
dew of death.

"Let me go with thee!" he implored, in broken accent. "I fear nothing!
Why should I not venture also on the last voyage?"

Gueldmar made a faint but decided sign of rejection.

"The Viking sails alone to the grave of his fathers!" he with a serene
and proud smile. "Alone--alone! Neither wife, nor child, nor vassal may
have place with