“Not as a thief did I enter thy halls, O King,” replied Frithiof proudly. “Had I come to seize thy Queen, who could have withstood me? ’Twas but to behold once again her who before the altar gave me her betrothal kiss. But ah, what slumbering fires my rashness hath awakened! Too long already have I tarried. Upon my head the gods have poured their wrath. Even the gentle Balder, lover of all mankind, spurns my prayers. ’Twas I who burned his temple. ‘Wolf in the Sanctuary,’ am I called. All joy ceases when my name is spoken. The child clings trembling to its father’s knees. Once more will I seek the broad, free ocean, whither earth and man have banished me. Out, out, my dragon! Too long in idleness thou hast lain. Again to the storm wind shalt thou spread thy pinions, and bathe thy black breast in the dashing spray! All—all on earth is lost to me forever; the tempest’s roar, the clash of arms shall whisper comfort to my soul once more! So will I live, so will I fighting fall; and mounting then to Odin’s throne, the gods, appeased, shall speak my pardon.” Chapter XIX Death of King Ring Pale on his throne sat the aged monarch, for he felt his end approaching. Ingeborg, trembling, stood beside him, and a circle of silent warriors stood about the royal pair. Sorrowfully Frithiof entered to say farewell. “This day for the last time do ye behold me,” he said; “for the last time my foot doth tread the soil of earth. Henceforth, till the Norns shall send their summons the ocean’s boundless wastes shall be my home. Take back the ring round which such memories cluster, Ingeborg; let it be a parting token from me. And thou, O King, go not with thy Queen by moonlight to the strand, nor when the pale stars shine, for at your feet the waves might chance to toss my bleaching bones.” “Nay, Frithiof,” replied the King, “such mournful plaints become not men; in maids they may be pardoned. For me the death song soundeth, not for thee. ’Tis I must hence, not thou! Take thou my realm and guard it well. Take Ingeborg as thy wife, and be a father to my infant son. Ever through life hath peace been dearest to me; well have I loved to sit with friends about the board; yet with a strong hand have I guarded throne and honor, and cloven many a shield on sea and land; nor ever hath man seen my cheek turn pale. Victory hath been mine, and glory. One boon only have the gods denied me—to mount to Valhalla from the battle-field. Death by the sword is the death of heroes; to linger on,—the straw death,—never such will Ring live to endure!” And therewith he plunged his sword into his breast. As the life-blood gushed forth he had his horn brought to him, and raising it aloft, with glowing face he cried: “To thy glory I drain this, my country, thou Northland! Ye gods of Valhalla, all hail, all hail!” [Illustration: _KING RING’S Death_]