When I had spoken such words as these to him, I flung my arms about him,
and we embraced each other. Then that picture fades.



It was the hour of sacrifice. The victim lay bound upon the stone in
the presence of the statue of the god, but outside of the doors of the
little temple, that all who were gathered there might see the offering.

The ceremonies were ended. Leif, the head priest, in his robe of office,
had prayed and drunk the cup before the god, dedicating to him the blood
that was about to fall, and narrating in a chant the crimes for which
it was offered up and all the tale of woe that these had brought about.
Then, in the midst of an utter silence, he drew the sacrificial sword
and held it to the lips of Odin that the god might breathe upon it and
make it holy.

It would seem that the god did breathe; at least, that side of the sword
which had been bright grew dull. Leif turned it to the people, crying in
the ancient words:

"Odin takes; who dare deny?"

All eyes were fixed upon him, standing in his black robe, and holding
aloft the gleaming sword that had grown dull. Yes, even the patient eyes
of Steinar, bound upon the stone.

Then it was that some spirit stirred in my heart which drove me on to
step between the priest and his prey. Standing in the doorway of the