When he saw me I shook my head ever so little in token that he should not own us.  If Olaf thought best we could do that for ourselves.

Then they cuffed the poor thrall, and asked him if he knew us; and for answer he did but point out over the mere, whose waters looked black as ink beyond the fire lit circle of trees and shore.

“Let us go hence, lord Danes,” he said trembling, “then will I say what I can.  The Lady is wroth with men who come here at night.”

“We care for no ladies,” said the leading Dane.  “What are you feared of?”

“The White Lady who dwells in the mere.  To look on her in her wrath is death,” Brand said—­and one might well see that his terror was real.

The Danes looked on one another, and there were white faces among them.  Then, as luck would have it, one said: 

“This must be the mere of which I have heard strange tales.  Let us go,” and he began to edge away towards the fire.

Then the leader said: 

“Let us find out if these men are worth taking with us,” and he came and questioned us again, and again we answered not.

“I will make you speak,” he said savagely.  “Take them up and make ready to cast them into the water.”

Now I wondered where Ottar was.  Surely he must be back with more men soon.

“Aye, throw them in, and let us be going,” said one or two, for they had been asking Brand many questions, and now were eager to leave the place and its terrors.

So one brawny Dane took my feet and another my shoulders and began to lift me; while I could not so much as struggle, so tightly was I bound.

“Hold!” said the leader.  “Will you throw away a sword like that?”

It was certain now that they were in haste, for they had forgotten to strip me in their wish to have done.

They set me down again, and that was the saving of us.  For even as they loosed their grip on me, one who stood near the water cried out in a sharp voice: 

“Listen—­what is that!”

And they all stayed motionless as had we when the bird scared us.

There was a sound of wondrously sweet singing from away across the mere.  Such a voice it was as I had never heard before, neither like the singing of man or woman, nor had the song words that I could catch.

The Danes forgot us as they heard that, and huddled together in twos and threes, looking out to whence the sound came.  As for Brand the thrall, he fell on his knees and hid his face against a tree trunk, crying faintly: 

“It is the White Lady.”

So too thought I; and now I will not say that I feared her, for she was of my own race, and maybe she came to my help.

Then I saw some of the Danes gasp and start, and point across the water, speechless, and I looked also.

Plain enough in the firelight stood a tall white figure on the water of the mere, coming slowly towards us, and singing the while that wondrous song.  And ever as it drew nearer the song grew wilder; and the long white-robed arm pointed towards us.