Morven passed into the
forest.

The next day, at noon, they met again.

"I have consulted the gods of night, and they have given me the power
that I prayed for, but on one condition."

"Name it."

"That thou sacrifice thy sister on their altars; thou must build up a
heap of stones, and take thy sister into the wood, and lay her on the
pile, and plunge thy sword into her heart; so only shalt thou reign."

The prince shuddered, and started to his feet, and shook his spear at
the pale front of Morven.

"Tremble," said the son of Osslah, with a loud voice. "Hark to the gods
who threaten thee with death, that thou hast dared to lift thine arm
against their servant!"

As he spoke, the thunder rolled above; for one of the frequent storms of
the early summer was about to break. The spear dropped from the prince's
hand; he sat down, and cast his eyes on the ground.

"Wilt thou do the bidding of the stars, and reign?" said Morven.

"I will!" cried Siror, with a desperate voice.

"This evening, then, when the sun sets, thou wilt lead her hither,
alone; I may not attend thee. Now, let us pile the stones."

Silently the huntsman bent his vast strength to the fragments of rock
that Morven pointed to him, and they built the altar, and went their
way.

And beautiful is the dying of the great sun, when the last song of the
birds fades into the lap of silence; when the islands of the cloud are
bathed in light, and the first star springs up over the grave of day!

"Whither leadest thou my steps, my brother?" said Orna; "and why doth
thy lip quiver; and why dost thou turn away thy face?"

"Is not the forest beautiful; does it not tempt us forth, my sister?"

"And wherefore are those heaps of stone piled together?"

"Let others answer; I piled them not."

"Thou tremblest, brother: we will return."

"Not so; by these stones is a bird that my shaft pierced today,--a bird
of beautiful plumage that I slew for thee."

"We are by the pile; where hast thou laid the bird?"

"Here!" cried Siror; and he seized the maiden in his arms, and, casting
her on the rude altar, he drew forth his sword to smite her to the
heart.

Right over the stones rose a giant oak, the growth of immemorial ages;
and from the oak, or from the heavens, broke forth a loud and solemn
voice, "Strike not, son of kings! the stars forbear their own: the
maiden thou shalt not slay; yet shalt thou reign over the race of
Oestrich; and thou shalt give Orna