Then the King opened his eyes, and told Frithiof that for some time he had known him, and that he honored him for resisting temptation. Frithiof, however, felt that he could no longer bear to be near Ingeborg, since she belonged not to him, and soon he came to take leave of her and her husband. But good King Ring said that the time of his own death was come, and he asked Frithiof to take his kingdom and Ingeborg, and to be good to his son. Then he plunged his sword in his breast, and so died. Before long the people met to elect a new king, and would have chosen Frithiof, but he would only be regent till Ring’s son should be of age. Then Frithiof went away to his father’s grave, and prayed to Balder, and he built a wonderful new temple for the god, but still peace did not come to him. And the priest told him that the reason of this was because he still kept anger and hatred in his heart toward Ingeborg’s brothers. Helge was dead, but the priest prayed him to be reconciled to Halfdan. They were standing thus talking in the new temple when Halfdan unexpectedly appeared, and when he caught sight of his foe, he turned pale and trembled. But Frithiof, who for the first time saw that forgiveness is greater than vengeance, walked up to the altar, placed upon it his sword and shield, and returning, held out his hand to Halfdan, and the two were reconciled. At that moment there entered the temple one dressed as a bride, and Frithiof lifted up his eyes and saw that it was Ingeborg herself. And Halfdan, his pride of birth forgotten and his anger conquered by his foe’s forgiveness, led his sister to Frithiof and gave her to be his wife, and in the new Temple of Balder the Good the lovers received the blessing of the priest.” “How well you tell it! It is a wonderful story,” said Blanche; and there was real, genuine pleasure in her dark eyes as she looked across at him. It was such a contrast to her ordinary life, this quiet Norway, where all was so simple and true and trustworthy, where no one seemed to strain after effects. And there was something in Frithiof’s strength, and spirit, and animation which appealed to her greatly. “My Viking is adorable!” she used to say to herself; and gradually there stole into her manner toward him a sort of tender reverence. She no longer teased him playfully, and their talks together in those long summer days became less full of mirth and laughter, but more earnest and absorbing. Cecil saw all this, and she breathed more freely. “Certainly she loves him,” was her reflection.