As Father Meilge finished speaking, Maidoch rose and looked around. “If I leave thee, my father, to go for the priest, thou wilt be all alone. Ah! there is the Lord Thorgills, the scald of King Olaf.” She waved her handkerchief, and Thorgills, wondering greatly why she should call him, came rapidly up to the grove. As he caught sight of the dying priest, he started back.
“What hath befallen Father Meilge?”
“He is dying,” Maidoch whispered, and Father Meilge unclosed his eyes.
“Go thou,” he said to Thorgills, “and bring to my aid Father Tuathal. Go quickly, for my life is going fast.”
Thorgills stood as if unable to move. “But who hath so harmed thee? Thou, the friend of the king, and a priest, who hath dared—?”
“Go quickly, my son,” the dying voice entreated; and Thorgills sped away to find Father Tuathal.
“Maidoch, child,” said the dying martyr, “if thou must stay in this wild land, it were well for thee to have the care and the shield of a Christian lord. So if thou canst place thy hand in that of yon faithful Thorgills, it were a safe future for thee. Thy noble father will follow me soon.”
“Oh, no! No! no!” the girl cried, weeping passionately. “I cannot wed, I cannot live in Norway. No, my father! I would die in so sinful a land. Thou, God’s priest, slain before my eyes! Oh, the horror
