"Hildegardis!" murmured Edwald to himself, with a smile, and
at the same time he drew his sword in readiness for the combat
as soon as the robbers should awake, and beckoned to Froda to
raise the sleeping lady, and convey her to a place of safety.
But at this moment something like an owl passed whizzing over
the dark squadron, and they all started up with clattering
arms and hideous outcries. A wild unequal combat arose in the
darkness of night, for that beaming light had disappeared.
Freda and Edwald were driven asunder, and only at a distance
heard each other's mighty war-cry. Hildegardis, startled from
her magic sleep, uncertain whether she were waking or
dreaming, fled bewildered and weeping bitterly into the deep
shades of the alder-thicket.




CHAPTER VI.



Froda felt his arm grow weary, and the warm blood was flowing
from two wounds in his shoulder; he wished so to lie down in
death that he might rise up with honour from his bloody grave
to the exalted lady whom he served. He cast his shield behind
him, grasped his sword-hilt with both hands, and rushed
wildly, with a loud war-cry, upon the affrighted foe.
Instantly he heard some voices cry, "It is the rage of the
northern heroes which has come upon him." And the whole troop