"Thou art not Christian. Thou believest in Thor and Odin? Then there is
hope,"
"Hope of what?" Dirk was growing more and more frightened.
"Of her, my sister! Ah, my sister, can it be that I shall find thee at
last, after ten thousand miles, and thirty years of woeful wandering?"
"I have no man's sister here. At least, my wife's brother was killed--"
"I speak not of a sister in a woman's shape. Mine, alas!--O woeful prince,
O more woeful princess!--eats the herb of the field somewhere in the shape
of a mare, as ugly as she was once beautiful, but swifter than the swallow
on the wing."
"I've none such here," quoth Dirk, thoroughly frightened, and glancing
uneasily at mare Swallow.
"You have not? Alas, wretched me! It was prophesied to me, by the witch,
that I should find her in the field of one who worshipped the old gods;
for had she come across a holy priest, she had been a woman again, long
ago. Whither must I wander afresh!" And the thing began weeping bitterly,
and then ate more grass.
"I--that is--thou poor miserable creature," said Dirk, half pitying, half
wishing to turn the subject, "leave off making a beast of thyself awhile,
and tell me who thou art."
"I have made no beast of myself, most noble Earl of the Frisians, for so
you doubtless are.
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