“Yes, Hilda. Doth it not please thee?” “It is like the king,” said Hilda. “Lofty and grand! Far beyond the simple ken of a maiden’s knowledge, even as the king is beyond a maiden’s understanding. Siegbert, what is the little song that thou dost sing?” “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,” chanted Siegbert. “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World without end. Amen. Amen.” Egwina joined in, and Hilda looked at them wonderingly. “Do ye know that as ye were singing, methought that ye looked alike,” said she. “Hast thou a brother, maiden?” “No,” answered Egwina, sadly. “None of kith and kin have I. Oft hath it saddened my heart, and it hath brought mickle grief to me that I had none.” “Hadst thou never one?” began Siegbert, when Hilda interrupted him. “I weary of the harp and even of song, Siegbert. Prithee carry me into the courtyard, and let me be in the sunshine.” Siegbert lifted her up. Egwina stood, not knowing what to do. “Come thou also,” said Hilda. “I weary not of thy presence. The music doth tire me, but thy talk doth not.” Out under the trees they went, Siegbert bolstering up Hilda with pillows. “How bright is the sun!” said she. “How good its warmth feels!” She lay for a few moments basking in its rays. Then throwing out her hands, exclaimed with sudden energy: “O sun! Thou bright star of day! If the Saxon God be the Supreme One and Odin not the All-Powerful, darken thy rays I entreat. Turn day into night, that I may know truth, truth. It shall be a sign, and my life shall be the offering.” A silence fell upon Egwina and Siegbert and those of the jarls who were near enough to hear the words. Involuntarily all glanced at the sun. Brightly it shone as ever. A scornful laugh broke from Hilda’s lips. “What is your Saxon God?” she cried. “Powerless is He, or the sun would darken. What! hath He not so much power as that? Out upon Him!” “Behold!” exclaimed Siegbert, abruptly. All eyes were turned toward the sky. An undeniable shadow was stealing over the sun. A hush fell upon them. Almost breathless, Hilda watched the bright orb. The breeze rustled the leaves in the tree-tops with a soft, murmuring sound, as if uneasy at the phenomenon. Deeper grew the shadow, for over the sun’s bright disc spread a darkening cloud. The loud laughter of Dane and the song of skald were hushed. Knowing naught of the cause, the jarls rushed forth from the mead hall with Guthrum at their head. Awed and panic-stricken, many threw themselves on the ground in paroxysms of terror. “’Tis Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods!” cried Guthrum in fear. “Dim groweth the sun! Soon will the stars fall, and time shall be no more!” With hoarse cries the Danes repeated, “Ragnarok! Ragnarok!”