Father Meilge sprang forward and caught the hand that held the knife. Then he snatched the weapon away and flung it far out of the tent. When the murderer turned savagely toward him, the priest saw the evil eyes of Thore Klakka. Father Meilge’s voice was low and tense.
“Wretched man! What foul deed wouldst thou do? To slay thy king in his sleep?” Thore doggedly hung his head in sullen silence. “God’s mercy led my steps to stop thee. Think thou of what thou wouldst have done.”
“Thou wilt give me to the king that he may slay me for striving to kill him as he slept?”
“Yes, I will give thee to the King. I will give thy poor, sin-stained soul to the Eternal King, to Christ, to the living God. I will give thee to Him in the silence of my own heart and in my whispered prayers. Poor, wretched man! Go thou, and I will bear thy burden of sin with thee,—thou and I, and none other on earth.”
Thore looked in wonder at the priest. Father Meilge still held his hand in his firm, quiet grasp.
“Thou wilt not betray me? Is that what thou wouldst say? Thou wilt not reveal my deed to King Olaf?”
“O wretched soul of doubt, that knowest no trust in man and hast no faith in God! The King of Heaven needs not to be told of thy sin. Go now!” He released Thore’s hand. “Thy sin is safe with me,
