A few moments afterwards the same servant, followed by the men and women of the palace, rushed in upon the king. Olaf lifted his head confronting the horror-stricken group.
“What now?” he cried, astounded at the interruption. For answer the men groaned, and the women wrung their hands and wept aloud. Olaf gazed at them as if in a nightmare, and placed his hand on his brow, as if to banish some horrible fancy.
“Why stand ye there and cry aloud? What is it hath taken away your slow, churlish wits?” Thorgills the scald, pressed his way through the group and stood before Olaf.
“Well, Thorgills, thou art not used to lose thy wit. What hath happened? Speak!”
The harper shuddered as he answered, pointing to the room beyond: “There is that in yon chamber were a sad sight for the king, after his wedding day.”
“What is it? Hath aught happened to the Lady Gudrun?”
A silence more impressive than language answered him. Olaf moved towards the door. “Stay! stay! my King,” the harper pleaded. “It were not a sight for thee, unready. Thy bride of yestermorn, the Lady Gudrun, is dead, stabbed to the heart, and the red dagger is in her own hand, showing she hath cut off her own life. May the White Christ have mercy on us all, for an awful thing it were to steal the life God alone can give and God only can take away.”
