est: she had probably assisted him in his escape, for it
was her horse that was missing from the stables. By what power had all
this been accomplished? The Viking's wife thought upon the wondrous
works she had heard had been performed by the immaculate Christ, and
by those who believed on him and followed him. Her changing thoughts
assumed the shapes of life in her dreams; she fancied she was still
awake, lost in deep reflection; she imagined that a storm arose--that
she heard the sea roaring in the east and in the west, the waves
dashing from the Kattegat and the North Sea; the hideous serpents
which encircled the earth in the depths of the ocean struggling in
deadly combat. It was the night of the gods--RAGNAROK, as the heathens
called the last hour, when all should be changed, even the high gods
themselves. The reverberating horn sounded, and forth over the
rainbow[3] rode the gods, clad in steel, to fight the final battle;
before them flew the winged Valkyries, and the rear was brought up by
the shades of the dead giant-warriors; the whole atmosphere was
illuminated around them by the Northern lights, but darkness conquered
all--it was an awful hour!

[Footnote 3: The Bridge of Heaven in the fables of the Scandinavian
mythology.--_Trans._]

And near the terrified Viking's wife sat upon the floor little Helga
in the ugly disguise of the frog; and she shivered and worked her way
up to her foster-mother, who took her in her lap, and disgusting as
she was in that form, lovingly caressed her. The air was filled with
the sounds of the clashing of swords, the blows of clubs, the whizzing
of arrows, like a violent hail-storm. The time was come when heaven
and earth should be destroyed, the stars should fall, and all be
swallowed up below in Surtur's fire; but a new earth and a new heaven
she knew were to come; the corn was to wave where the sea now rolled
over the golden sands; the unknown God at length reigned; and to him
ascended Baldur, the mild, the lovable, released from the kingdom of
death. He came; the Viking's wife beheld him--she recognised his
countenance: it was that of the captive Christian priest. "Immaculate
Christ!" she cried aloud; and whilst uttering this holy name she
impressed a kiss upon the ugly brow of the frog-child. Then fell the
magic disguise, and Helga stood before her in all her radiant beauty,
gentle as she had never looked before, and with speaking eyes. She
kissed her foster-mother's hands,