from his tower, and a trooper came
into the room with a look of surprise. "A knight is coming hither,"
said he; "a wonderful knight. I could have taken him for our Lord
Sintram--but a bright, bright morning cloud floats so close before him,
and throws over him such a clear light, that one could fancy red flowers
were showered down upon him. Besides, his horse has a wreath of red
leaves on his head, which was never a custom of the son of our dead
lord."

"Just such a one," replied another, "I wove for him yesterday. He was
not pleased with it at first, but afterwards he let it remain."

"But why didst thou that?"

"It seemed to me as if I heard a voice singing again and again in my
ear: 'Victory! victory! the noblest victory! The knight rides forth
to victory!' And then I saw a branch of our oldest oak-tree stretched
towards me, which had kept on almost all its red and yellow leaves in
spite of the snow. So I did according to what I had heard sung; and I
plucked some of the leaves, and wove a triumphal wreath for the noble
war-horse. At the same time Skovmark,--you know that the faithful beast
had always a great dislike to Biorn, and therefore had gone to the
stable with the horse,--Skovmark jumped upon me, fawning, and seemed
pleased, as if he wanted to thank me for my work; and such noble animals
understand well about good prognostics."

They heard the sound of Sintram's spurs on the stone steps, and
Skovmark's joyous bark. At that instant the supposed corpse of old
Biorn sat up, looked around with rolling, staring eyes, and asked of the
terrified retainers in a hollow voice, "Who comes there, ye people? who
comes there? I know it is my son. But who comes with him? The answer
to that bears the sword of decision in its mouth. For see, good people,
Gotthard and Rudlieb have prayed much for me; yet if the little Master
come with him, I am lost in spite of them."

"Thou art not lost, my beloved father!" Sintram's kind voice was heard
to say, as he softly opened the door, and the bright red morning cloud
floated in with him.

Biorn joined his hands, cast a look of thankfulness up to heaven, and
said, smiling, "Yes, praised be God! it is the right companion! It is
sweet gentle death!" And then he made a sign to his son to approach,
saying, "Come here, my deliverer; come, blessed of the Lord, that I may
relate to thee all that has passed within me."

As Sintram now sat close by his father's couch, all who were in the