ned?"

"Through the voice of the god, Olaf. Am I not one of Odin's virgins,
who know something of the mysteries? Yonder in his temple mayhap he will
speak through me, if you dare to listen."

"Aye, I dare. I should like to hear the god speak, true words or false."

"Then come and hear them, Olaf."

So we went up to the temple, and Freydisa, who had the right of entry,
unlocked its door. We passed in and lit a lamp in front of the seated
wooden image of Odin, that for unnumbered generations had rested there
behind the altar. I stood by the altar and Freydisa crouched herself
before the image, her forehead laid upon its feet, and muttered runes.
After a while she grew silent, and fear took hold of me. The place was
large, and the feeble light of the lamp scarcely reached to the arched
roof; all about me were great formless shadows. I felt that there were
two worlds, one of the flesh and one of the spirit, and that I stood
between the two. Freydisa seemed to go to sleep; I could no longer hear
her breathing. Then she sighed heavily and turned her head, and by the
light of the lamp I noted that her face was white and ghastly.

"What do you seek?" her lips asked, for I saw them moving. Yet the voice
that issued from them was not her own voice, but that of a deep-throated
man, who spoke with a strange accent.

Next came the answer in the voice of Freydisa.

"I, your virgin, seek to know the fate of him who stands by the altar,
one whom I love."

For a while there was quiet; then the first voice spoke, still through
the lips of Freydisa. Of this I was sure, for those of the statue
remained immovable. It was what it had always been--a thing of wood.

"Olaf, the son of Thorvald," said the deep voice, "is an enemy of us the
gods, as was his forefather whose grave he robbed. As his forefather's
fate was, so shall his be, for in both of them dwells the same spirit.
He shall worship that which is upon the hilt of the sword he stole from
the dead, and in this sign shall conquer, since it prevails against us
and makes our curse of none effect. Great sorrow shall he taste, and
great joy. He shall throw away a sceptre for a woman's kiss, and yet
gain a greater sceptre. Olaf, whom we curse, shall be Olaf the Blessed.
Yet in the end shall we prevail against his flesh and that of those who
cling to him preaching that which is upon the sword but not with the
sword, among whom thou shalt be numbered, woman--thou, and another, who
h