"For that both Count Henrik and I should thank the Lord," said the Swedish knight solemnly. "The country which gives birth to such heroes may have to pay dearly for the boast. In our country we have storms also, at times; and alas! have to deplore the devastations they cause. It is the same case here probably? I suspect that Denmark hath dearly bought this sad experience, and learnt that one daring hand can make a deeper wound in a nation's heart than a whole century can heal." A rather embarrassed silence ensued. The king had heard the conversation which had been carried on by the party behind him, and sighed deeply. "It was on _this_ night, Aage," he said, in a low voice. "For nine years have I now borne Denmark's crown, and as yet I have not fulfilled that I vowed when I saw _him_ last." "Whom, my liege?" asked Aage, absently. "My murdered father!" said the king. "Rememberest thou not the hour they lifted the lid from his coffin in Viborg cathedral, and laid the sacrament on his bloody breast? It was then I bade him my last farewell. What I vowed to him was heard only by the all-knowing God; but assuredly I will either keep that vow, or lose my life." "At that time you were, as I was, a minor, my liege. If your vow to the dead was other than a pious and Christian vow, you ought not now, as a knight and sovereign, to keep it." Eric was silent. The moon shone full on his noble form, and as he sat calm and erect on his fiery steed, with the white plume in his hat, and the purple mantle over his shoulder, he almost resembled the chivalrous St. George, about to strike his lance into the dragon's throat. His manly countenance was pale, and expressive of lofty indignation. "That I vowed to the dead I must perform," he said, after a thoughtful pause. "A wise monarch should disperse the ungodly." As the king uttered these words an arrow whistled past his breast, and stuck in Drost Aage's mantle. "Murderers! traitors!" shouted the king, drawing his sword, while he reined in with difficulty his restless steed. Aage rushed with his drawn sword to that side of the king whence the arrow was sped; the three other knights rode up in alarm. "An arrow! robbers! traitors!" was echoed from mouth to mouth. They looked around on all sides of the moon-lit road, but no living being was to be seen. "Accursed traitors!" shouted Marsk Oluffsen, and dashed in suddenly among the bushes on the left side of the road, where he had perceived some white object moving. A shriek was heard, apparently from a female voice, and the Marsk's horse started aside. At the same moment two young maidens, in the dress of peasant girls, with long plaits of fair hair hanging low over their shoulders, ran, hand in hand, across the road, while a man of almost giant stature, in the dress of a Jutland peasant, with a large broad sword in his hand, sprang forward, and placed himself between the Marsk and the fugitives.