ho rushed down of apoplexy (here in
London City, as I guess), with the goblet at his mouth, drinking health
and happiness at a wedding-feast, also before long.

Hakon having vanished in this dark way, there ensued a pause, both on
Knut's part and on Norway's. Pause or interregnum of some months, till
it became certain, first, whether Hakon were actually dead, secondly,
till Norway, and especially till King Knut himself, could decide what to
do. Knut, to the deep disappointment, which had to keep itself silent,
of three or four chief Norway men, named none of these three or four
Jarl of Norway; but bethought him of a certain Svein, a bastard son of
his own,--who, and almost still more his English mother, much desired a
career in the world fitter for him, thought they indignantly, than
that of captain over Jomsburg, where alone the father had been able to
provide for him hitherto. Svein was sent to Norway as king or vice-king
for Father Knut; and along with him his fond and vehement mother.
Neither of whom gained any favor from the Norse people by the kind of
management they ultimately came to show.

Olaf on news of this change, and such uncertainty prevailing everywhere
in Norway as to the future course of things, whether Svein would
come, as was rumored of at last, and be able to maintain himself if he
did,--thought there might be something in it of a chance for himself
and his rights. And, after lengthened hesitation, much prayer, pious
invocation, and consideration, decided to go and try it. The final
grain that had turned the balance, it appears, was a half-waking morning
dream, or almost ocular vision he had of his glorious cousin Olaf
Tryggveson, who severely admonished, exhorted, and encouraged him; and
disappeared grandly, just in the instant of Olaf's awakening; so that
Olaf almost fancied he had seen the very figure of him, as it melted
into air. "Let us on, let us on!" thought Olaf always after that. He
left his son, not in Russia, but in Sweden with the Queen, who proved
very good and carefully helpful in wise ways to him:--in Russia Olaf had
now nothing more to do but give his grateful adieus, and get ready.

His march towards Sweden, and from that towards Norway and the passes
of the mountains, down Vaerdal, towards Stickelstad, and the crisis
that awaited, is beautifully depicted by Snorro. It has, all of it,
the description (and we see clearly, the fact itself had), a kind of
pathetic grandeur, simplici