buried in silence. My lips will be sealed as are the lips of the dead.”
Thore Klakka vanished out into the night. Father Meilge turned back and knelt beside the sleeping king. “O. brave, and true and noble!” he whispered, taking Olaf’s hand in his own, “how near the awful crime came to the closing of thy grand life. God and his angels keep thee safe, for the great work that lies so near thy strong, faithful heart.”
Father Meilge rose and left the tent. He stood a moment under the burning stars. “I will be silent of the crime of to-night; but I must watch yon Thore, and I must warn the king that he is not to be trusted.”
Thore Klakka, seeking his knife, saw the priest as he went by. He picked up the weapon and felt of its keen edge, muttering as he did so: “He gave me his word to be silent. How can I trust him? I believe no man’s word, but I will believe in thee, my trusty steel. Yon priest would not let thee find Olaf’s heart to-night. Thy next blow may find his own heart.”
