"Thou ravest still in the fever of thy wounds," interrupted the old master-at-arms. "_Thou_ weighed down with guilt--thou, the most faithful of all? No! I tell you, you children of too young days, who have lost the old strength of your fathers with your fathers' old belief, and now know of no comfort for your hearts--I tell you, your distrustful speeches grieve me!" and his eyes flashed with a strange radiance as he continued, "All that rejoices or pains us here upon earth is scarcely worth our notice. Here below there is but one thing necessary, and that is, to have been a true man, and no perjurer, and to die on the battle-field, and not upon a straw bed. Then the Walkyri bear the faithful hero from the bloody field, and carry him on rosy clouds to Odin's halls, where the Einheriar greet him with full cups. There he daily rides forth at dawn to the hunting-field or the fencing-court, and at eve he returns to the banquet and the song in the golden halls. And lovely virgins caress the youths, and the elders chat about wise primeval times with the old primeval heroes. And there I shall meet again all the valiant companions of my youth; bold Winithar and Waltharis of Aquitania, and Guntharis of Burgundy. There I shall again behold him for whom I have so longed. Sir Beowulf; and I shall see the Cheruskians of ancient days, the first who ever beat the Romans, and of whom the singer of the Saxons still sings. And again I shall carry the shield and spear of my master, the King with the eagle eyes. And thus we shall live for all eternity in light and joy, the earth below and all its woes forgotten." "A fine poem, old heathen!" said Totila, with a smile. "But if all this can no longer console us for actual and heart-rending suffering? Speak thou also, Teja, thou gloomy guest. What is thy opinion of our sorrows? Thy sword never fails us; why dost thou withhold thy words? What makes thy comforting harp dumb, thou singer of singers?" "My words?" answered Teja, rising; "my words and my thoughts would be perhaps harder to bear than all our suffering. Let me yet be silent, my sun-bright Totila. Perhaps a day will come when I may answer thee. Perhaps, also, I may once more play on my harp, if but a string will vibrate." And he left the tent; for outside in the camp a confused and inexplicable noise of calling and questioning voices arose. The friends looked silently after Teja. "I guess his thoughts," at last said old Hildebrand, "for I have known him from his boyhood. He is not as other men. And in the Northland there are many who think like him, who do not believe in Thor and Odin, but only in necessity and in their own strength. It is almost too heavy a burden for a human heart to bear, and it makes no one happy to think as he does. I wonder that he can sing and play the harp notwithstanding."