"Dawn on the sea!" he murmured—"The white waves gleam and sparkle beneath the prow, and the ship makes swift way through the water! It is dawn in my heart—the dawn of love for thee and me, my Thelma—fear not! The rose of passion is a hardy flower that can bloom in the north as well as in the south, believe me! Thelma—Thelma!"
He suddenly opened his eyes, and realizing his surroundings, raised himself half-erect.
"Set sail!" he cried, pointing with a majestic motion of his arm to the diadem glittering in the sky. "Why do we linger? The wind favors us, and the tide sweeps forward—forward! See how the lights beckon from the harbor!"
He bent his brows and looked almost angrily at Svensen. "Do what thou hast to do!" and his tones were sharp and imperious. "I must press on!"
An expression of terror, pain, and pity passed over the sailor's countenance—for one instant he hesitated—the next, he descended into the hold of the vessel. He was absent for a very little space,—but when he returned his eyes were wild as though he had been engaged in some dark and criminal deed. Olaf Güldmar was still gazing at the brilliancy in the heavens, which seemed to increase in size and lustre as the wind rose higher. Svensen took his hand—it was icy cold, and damp with the dew of death.
"Let me go with thee!" he implored, in broken accent. "I fear nothing! Why should I not venture also on the last voyage?"
Güldmar made a faint but decided sign of rejection.
"The Viking sails alone to the grave of his fathers!" he with a serene and proud smile. "Alone—alone! Neither wife, nor child, nor vassal may have place with him in his ship—even so have the gods willed it. Farewell, Valdemar! Loosen the ropes and let me go!—thou servest me ill—hasten—hasten—I am weary of waiting—"
His head fell back,—that mysterious shadow which darkens the face of the dying a moment before dissolution, was on him now.
Just then a strange, suffocating odor began to permeate the air—little wreaths of pale smoke made their slow way through the boards of the deck—and a fierce gust of wind, blowing seawards from the mountains, swayed the Valkyrie uneasily to and fro. Slowly, and with evident reluctance, Svensen commenced the work of detaching her from the pier—feeling instinctively all the while that his master's dying eyes were fixed upon him. When but one slender rope remained to be cast off, he knelt by the old man's side said whispered tremblingly that all was done. At the same moment a small, stealthy tongue of red flame curled up through the deck from the hold,—and Güldmar, observing this, smiled.