his hands, and shrieked
in a piercing voice, "Knight and father! father and knight! Death and
another are closely pursuing me!"

An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole assembly, save that the boy
screamed ever the fearful words. But one of Biorn's numerous retainers,
an old esquire, known by the name of Rolf the Good, advanced towards the
terrified child, took him in his arms, and half chanted this prayer: "O
Father, help Thy servant! I believe, and yet I cannot believe." The boy,
as if in a dream, at once loosened his hold of the knight; and the good
Rolf bore him from the hall unresisting, yet still shedding hot tears
and murmuring confused sounds.

The lords and knights looked at one another much amazed, until the
mighty Biorn said, wildly and fiercely laughing, "Marvel not at that
strange boy. He is my only son; and has been thus since he was five
years old: he is now twelve. I am therefore accustomed to see him so;
though, at the first, I too was disquieted by it. The attack comes upon
him only once in the year, and always at this same time. But forgive me
for having spent so many words on my poor Sintram, and let us pass on to
some worthier subject for our discourse."

Again there was silence for a while; then whisperingly and doubtfully
single voices strove to renew their broken-off discourse, but without
success. Two of the youngest and most joyous began a roundelay; but
the storm howled and raged so wildly without, that this too was soon
interrupted. And now they all sat silent and motionless in the lofty
hall; the lamp flickered sadly under the vaulted roof; the whole party
of knights looked like pale, lifeless images dressed up in gigantic
armour.

Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only priest
among the knightly throng, and said, "Dear Lord Biorn, our eyes and
thoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderful
manner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God. You
perceive that we cannot withdraw them; and you would do well to tell
us exactly what you know concerning the fearful state of the boy.
Perchance, the solemn tale, which I expect from you, might do good to
this disturbed assembly."

Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, "Sir
chaplain, you have more share in the history than either you or I could
desire. Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these light-hearted
warriors with so rueful a tale."

But the chaplain app