Olaf silently pointed to the star, single and silvery in the red sky. “It is the North Star,” cried the sailor. “It is rising.”
“The North Star hath risen!” said Olaf.
Thorgills started in his sleep, repeating the king’s words. “The North Star hath risen! The North Star hath risen!”
Fiachtna on the deck below looked up and saw the silvery white star in a world of crimson cloud. He caught Maidoch’s arm, as she slept upon the cushions, and the girl awoke. She looked into her father’s face, and then glanced up to where he pointed. On the upper deck stood the tall figure of the king, with his shining coat of mail, his winged helmet and the glittering cross upon his breast. Just above his head rested the star. It was so fair a vision the girl fell back asleep and the old man slumbered in peace, thinking of the protecting power of this great Christian monarch.
Thorgills dreamed of all treachery conquered and the helmsman repeated over and over again: “The North Star is rising! The North Star is rising!”
Olaf looked again at the pearl-white star, and noted with quickened pulse that the outline of the shore became clearer. Then he too fell into slumber, murmuring in his happy dreams:
“My Norraway! My Norraway! Thy North Star hath risen!”
