After this for a while they wept in each other’s arms, for their hearts were broken.

“Give me some token,” he murmured; “let me wear something that you have worn until my death.”

She opened her cloak, and there upon her breast hung that necklace which had lain upon the breast of the Wanderer in his tomb, the necklace of gold and inlaid shells and emerald beetles, only there were two rows of shells and emeralds, not one.  One row she unclasped and clasped it again round his neck, breaking the little gold threads that bound the two strands together.

“Take this,” she said, “and I will wear the half which is left of it even in my grave, as you also shall wear your half in life and death.  Now something comes upon me.  It is that when the severed parts of this necklace are once more joined together, then we two shall meet again upon the earth.”

“What chance is there that I shall return from my northern home, if ever I win so far, back to this southern land?”

“None,” she answered.  “In this life we shall kiss no more.  Yet there are other lives to come, or so I think and have learned through the wisdom of my people.  Begone, begone, ere my heart breaks on yours; but never let this necklace of mine, which was that of those who were long before me, lie upon another woman’s breast, for if so it will bring sorrow to the giver, and to her to whom it is given no good fortune.”

“How long must I wait before we meet again?” he asked.

“I do not know, but I think that when all that jewel once more grows warm above my immoral heart, this temple which they call eternal will be but a time-eaten ruin.  Hark, the priestess calls.  Farewell, you man who have come out of the north to be my glory and my shame.  Farewell, until the purpose of our lives declares itself and the seed that we have sown in sorrow shall blossom into an everlasting flower.  Farewell.  Farewell!”

Then a woman appeared in the background beckoning, and all my dream vanished away.  Yet to my mind came the thought that it was to the lady who gave the necklace that Death stood near, rather than to him to whom it was given.  For surely death was written in her sad and longing eyes.

So that dream ended.  When I, Olaf, awoke in the morning, it was to find that already everyone was astir, for I had overslept myself.  In the hall were gathered Ragnar, Steinar, Iduna and Freydisa; the elders were talking together elsewhere on the subject of the forthcoming marriage.  I went to Iduna to embrace her, and she proffered me her cheek, speaking all the while over her shoulder to Ragnar.

“Where were you last night, brother, that you came in near the dawn, all covered with mud?” asked Ragnar, turning his back on Iduna, without making any answer to her words.

“Digging in the Wanderer’s grave, brother, as Iduna challenged me to do.”

Now all three of them turned on me eagerly, save Freydisa, who stood by the fire listening, and with one voice asked if I had found anything.