oked at him sorrowfully, and said, "What can my skill
and strength avail if they be tried against you, and for the greatest
earthly prize, which one of us alone can win? Alas! I have long
foreboded with a heavy heart the sad truth, that you also are journeying
to the tournament of the fair Hildegardis."

"Edchen," answered Froda, with a smile, "my gentle, loving youth, see
you not that I already wear on my breastplate the image of a liege lady?
I strive but for renown in arms, and not for your fair Hildegardis!"

"MY fair Hildegardis!" answered Edwald, with a sigh. "That she is not,
nor ever will be--or should she, ah! Froda, it would pierce your heart.
I know well the northland faith is deep-rooted as your rocks, and hard
to dissolve as their summits of snow; but let no man think that he can
look unscathed into the eyes of Hildegardis. Has not she, the haughty,
the too haughty maiden, so bewitched my tranquil, lowly mind, that I
forget the gulf which lies between us, and still pursue her; and would
rather perish than renounce the daring hope to win that eagle spirit for
my own?"

"I will help you to it, Edchen," answered Froda, smiling still. "Would
that I knew how this all-conquering lady looks! She must resemble the
Valkyrien of our heathen forefathers, since so many mighty warriors are
overcome by her."

Edwald solemnly drew forth a picture from beneath his breastplate, and
held it before him. Fixed, and as if enchanted, Froda gazed upon it,
with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes; the smile passed away from his
countenance, as the sunlight fades away from the meadows before the
coming darkness of the storm.

"See you not now, my noble comrade," whispered Edwald, "that for one of
us two, or perhaps for both, the joy of life is gone?"

"Not yet," replied Froda, with a powerful effort; "but hide your magic
picture, and let us rest beneath this shade. You must be somewhat spent
with your late encounter, and a strange weariness oppresses me with
leaden weight." They dismounted from their steeds, and stretched
themselves upon the ground.

The noble Froda had no thought of sleep; but he wished to be undisturbed
whilst he wrestled strongly with himself, and strove, if it might be, to
drive from his mind that image of fearful beauty. It seemed as if this
new influence had already become a part of his very life, and at last
a restless dreamy sleep did indeed overshadow the exhausted warrior. He
fancied himself engaged