this mighty one whom we have robbed."

"There's his armour," I said. "I'd have that armour; it is wonderful."

"Then stop and get it by yourself," she answered, "for my lamp dies."

"At least, I will take the sword," I exclaimed, and snatched at the belt
by which it was girt about the body. The leather had rotted, and it came
away in my hand.

Holding it, I clambered over the stone after Freydisa, and followed her
down the passage. Before we reached the end of it the lamps went out, so
that we must finish our journey in the dark. Thankful enough were both
of us when we found ourselves safe in the open air beneath the familiar
stars.

"Now, how comes it, Freydisa," I asked, when we had got our breath
again, "that this Wanderer, who showed himself so threateningly upon the
crest of his grave, lies patient as a dead sheep within it while we rob
his bones?"

"Because we were meant to take it, as I think, Olaf. Now, help me to
fill in the mouth of that hole roughly--I will return to finish this
to-morrow--and let us away to the hall. I am weary, and I tell you,
Olaf, that the weight of things to come lies heavy on my soul. I think
wisdom dwells with that Wanderer's bones. Yes, and foresight of the
future and memories of the past."

CHAPTER IV

IDUNA WEARS THE NECKLACE

I lay sleeping in my bed at Aar, the sword of the Wanderer by my side
and his necklace beneath my pillow. In my sleep there came to me a very
strange and vivid dream. I dreamed that I was the Wanderer, no other
man, and here I, who write this history in these modern days, will say
that the dream was true.

Once in the far past I, who afterwards was born as Olaf, and who am
now--well, never mind my name--lived in the shape of that man who in
Olaf's time was by tradition known as the Wanderer. Of that Wanderer
life, however, for some reason which I cannot explain, I am able to
recover but few memories. Other earlier lives come back to me much more
clearly, but at present the details of this particular existence escape
me. For the purpose of the history which I am setting down this matters
little, since, although I know enough to be sure that the persons
concerned in the Olaf life were for the most part the same as those
concerned in the Wanderer life, their stories remain quite distinct.

Therefore, I propose to leave that of the Wanderer, so far as I know
it, untold, wild and romantic as it seems to have been. For he must have
been a great man