, by the gleam of the deep lightning.

Also sometimes the murmur would swell, and from the heart of it would
come a fierce, hoarse, tearing, shattering roar, strangely discordant, of
'War! War! give us war, O king!'

Then Svend stepping forward, his arms hidden under his long cloak as they
hung down quietly, the smile on his face broadening somewhat, sent from
his chest a mighty, effortless voice over all the raging:

'Hear, O ye people! War with all that is ugly and base; peace with all
that is fair and good.--NO WAR with my brother's people.'

Just then one of those unhelmetted, creeping round about stealthily to
the place where Svend stood, lifted his arm and smote at him with a
dagger; whereupon Svend clearing his right arm from his cloak with his
left, lifted up his glittering right hand, and the traitor fell to the
earth groaning with a broken jaw, for Svend had smitten him on the mouth
a backward blow with his open hand.

One shouted from the crowd, 'Ay, murderer Svend, slay our good nobles, as
you poisoned the king your father, that you and your false brethren might
oppress us with the memory of that Devil's witch, your mother!'

The smile left Svend's face and heart now, he looked very stern as he
said:

'Hear, O ye people! In years past when I was a boy my dream of dreams
was ever this, how I should make you good, and because good, happy, when
I should become king over you; but as year by year passed I saw my dream
flitting; the deep colours of it changed, faded, grew grey in the light
of coming manhood; nevertheless, God be my witness, that I have ever
striven to make you just and true, hoping against hope continually; and I
had even determined to bear everything and stay with you, even though you
should remain unjust and liars, for the sake of the few who really love
me; but now, seeing that God has made you mad, and that his vengeance
will speedily fall, take heed how you cast out from you all that is good
and true-hearted! Once more--which choose you--Peace or War?'

Between the good and the base, in the midst of the passionate faces and
changing colours stood the great terrace, cold, and calm, and white, with
its changeless statues; and for a while there was silence.

Broken through at last by a yell, and the sharp whirr of arrows, and the
cling, clang, from the armour of the terrace as Prince Harald staggered
through unhurt, struck by the broad point on the helmet.

'What, War?' shouted Sve