ful Helga trembled at the look, and her
remembrance awoke as though she stood before the tribunal of
judgment.

[Illustration: HELGA IS TAKEN BACK TO THE MARSH.]

Every good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had
been spoken, seemed endowed with life: she understood that it had been
love that kept her here during the days of trial, during which the
creature formed of dust and spirit, soul and earth, combats and
struggles; she acknowledged that she had only followed the leading of
temper, and had done nothing for herself; everything had been given
her, everything had happened as it were by the interposition of
Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessing her own deep
imperfection in the presence of the Power that can read every thought
of the heart--and then the priest spoke.

"Thou daughter of the moorland," he said, "out of the earth, out of
the moor, thou camest; but from the earth thou shalt arise. I come
from the land of the dead. Thou, too, shalt pass through the deep
valleys into the beaming mountain region, where dwell mercy and
completeness. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby, that thou mayest receive
Christian baptism; for, first, thou must burst the veil of waters over
the deep moorland, and draw forth the living source of thy being and
of thy birth; thou must exercise thy faculties in deeds before the
consecration can be given thee."

And he lifted her upon the horse, and gave her a golden censer similar
to the one she had seen in the Viking's castle. The open wound in the
forehead of the slain Christian shone like a diadem. He took the cross
from the grave and held it aloft. And now they rode through the air,
over the rustling wood, over the hills where the old heroes lay
buried, each on his dead war-horse; and the iron figures rose up and
gallopped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of the hills.
The golden hoop on the forehead of each gleamed in the moonlight, and
their mantles floated in the night breeze. The dragon that guards
buried treasures likewise lifted up his head and gazed after the
riders. The gnomes and wood-spirits peeped forth from beneath the
hills and from between the furrows of the fields, and flitted to and
fro with red, blue, and green torches, like the sparks in the ashes of
a burnt paper.

Over woodland and heath, over river and marsh they fled away, up to
the wild moor; and over this they hovered in wide circles. The
Christian priest held the cros