“Alas! my son,” replied Hilding, “I fear my tidings will but aggravate thy woe, yet listen to what has passed. Scarce wert thou gone when King Ring invaded the country, his force outnumbering ours full five to one. In the Disardale we met, and bloody was the battle. The waters of the stream ran red with gore. Halfdan, as ever, laughed and jested; but so bravely did he bear him, my heart was gladdened at the sight, and twice did my shield protect him from a death-stroke. The victory might even have been ours, had not King Helge, seized with panic, fled; whereat the people’s courage, too, forsook them, and, flinging down their arms, they scattered far and wide. But in his flight King Helge paused to fire thy house. Ring then demanded of the brothers lands and crown, or that they yield him up their sister’s hand. Messengers went often to and fro, and in the end King Ring bore Ingeborg homeward as his Queen.” Frithiof laughed wildly: “Who now,” he cried, “dare talk to me of woman’s truth, since she whom I deemed true as Nanna’s self hath proven faithless? Hereafter naught but hate for mankind shall my bosom harbor; henceforth the seas shall have their fill of blood, for none who cross my path shall Angurvadel spare!” “Nay, son,” said Hilding sorrowfully, “abate thy wrath, nor seek to revenge thy wrongs upon the innocent. Rather accuse the Norns, whose doom on thee hath fallen. What Ingeborg doth suffer I alone can tell. Before all others her despair was dumb as is the turtle dove that mourns her mate. So doth the sea fowl, pierced by death’s arrow, sink beneath the waves, in those cool depths to pour away her life. ‘Atonement’—so she spake—‘hath been decreed by Balder for Frithiof’s violation of his holy place; nor may I, faint-hearted, seek to shun the sacrifice. To death he dooms me, not swift,—ah! that were easy,—but lingering—slow, to waste away with grief. To that decree I yield. Reveal to no one what I suffer. I desire pity from none. But be thou the bearer of my last farewell to Frithiof.’