His excited voice sank by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn
whisper, and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on the
ground, he looked at it burning, with an air of mournful and utter
desolation. Profoundly touched, as he immediately understood the
condition of his companion's wandering wits, Errington spoke to him
soothingly.

"You mistake me," he said in gentle accents; "I would not steal
anything from you, nor have I come to kill you. See," and he held
out his hand, "I wouldn't harm you for the world. I didn't know this
cave belonged to you. Forgive me for having entered it. I am going
to rejoin my friends. Good-bye!"

The strange, half-crazy creature touched his outstretched hand
timidly, and with a sort of appeal.

"Good-bye, good-bye!" he muttered. "That is what they all say,--even
the dead,--good-bye; but they never go--never, never! You cannot be
different to the rest. And you do not wish to hurt poor Sigurd?"

"Certainly not, if YOU are Sigurd," said Philip, half laughing; "I
should be very sorry to hurt you."

"You are SURE?" he persisted, with a sort of obstinate eagerness.
"You have eyes which tell truths; but there are other things which
are truer than eyes--things in the air, in the grass, in the waves,
and they talk very strangely of you. I know you, of course! I knew
you ages ago--long before I saw you dead on the field of battle, and
the black-haired Valkyrie galloped with you to Valhalla! Yes; I knew