nted over my dumb corpse," he had
said. "My blood would ooze from me at every pore were I touched by the
fingers of a Lutheran! Save this goodly body that has served me so well
from the inferior dust,--let the bright fire wither it, and the glad sea
drown it,--and my soul, beholding its end afar off, shall rejoice and be
satisfied. Swear by the wrath and thunder of the gods!--swear by the
unflinching Hammer of Thor,--swear by the gates of Valhalla, and in the
name of Odin!--and having sworn, the curse of all these be upon thee if
thou fail to keep thy vow!"

And Valdemar had sworn. Now that the oath was kept--now that his
promised obedience had been carried out to the extremest letter, he was
as one stupefied. Shivering, yet regardless of the snow that began to
fall thickly, he kept his post, staring, staring in drear fascination
across the Fjord, where the _Valkyrie_ drifted, now a mass of flame
blown fiercely by the wind, and gleaming red through the flaky
snow-storm.

The aurora borealis faded by gradual degrees, and the flaming ship was
more than ever distinctly visible. She was seen from the shore of
Bosekop, by a group of the inhabitants, who, rubbing their dull eyes,
could not decide Whether what they beheld was fire, or a new phase of
the capricious, ever-changing Northern Lights,--the rapidly descending
snow rendering their vision bewildered and uncertain. Any way, they
thought very little about it,--they had had excitement of another kind
in the arrival of Ulrika from Talvig, bringing accounts of the godly
Lovisa Elsland's death.

Moreover, an English steam cargo-boat, bound for the North Cape, had,
just an hour previously, touched at their harbor, to land a
passenger,--a mysterious woman closely veiled, who immediately on
arrival had hired a sledge, and had bidden the driver to take her to the
house of Olaf Gueldmar, an eight miles journey through the drifted snow.
All this was intensely interesting to the good, stupid, gossiping
fisher-folks of Bosekop,--so much so, indeed, that they scarcely paid
any heed to the spectacle of the fiery ship swaying suggestively on the
heaving water, and drifting rapidly away--away towards the frosted peaks
of Seiland.

Further and further she receded,--the flames around her waving like
banners in a battle--further and further still--till Valdemar Svensen,
from his station on the pier, began to lose sight of her blazing
timbers,--and, starting from his reverie, he ran ra