let us pass on to some worthier subject for our discourse."

Again there was silence for a while; then whisperingly and doubtfully
single voices strove to renew their broken-off discourse, but without
success. Two of the youngest and most joyous began a roundelay; but
the storm howled and raged so wildly without, that this too was soon
interrupted. And now they all sat silent and motionless in the lofty
hall; the lamp flickered sadly under the vaulted roof; the whole
party of knights looked like pale, lifeless images dressed up in
gigantic armour.

Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only priest
among the knightly throng, and said, "Dear Lord Biorn, our eyes and
thoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderful
manner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God. You
perceive that we cannot withdraw them; and you would do well to tell
us exactly what you know concerning the fearful state of the boy.
Perchance, the solemn tale, which I expect from you, might do good to
this disturbed assembly."

Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, "Sir
chaplain, you have more share in the history than either you or I
could desire. Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these light-
hearted warriors with so rueful a tale."

But the chaplain approached nearer to the knight, and said, in a firm
yet very mild tone, "Dear lord, hitherto it rested with you alone to
relate, or not to relate it; but now that you have so strangely
hinted at the share which I have had in your son's calamity, I must
positively demand that you will repeat word for word how everything