When I had spoken such words as these to him, I flung my arms about him, and we embraced each other.  Then that picture fades.

It was the hour of sacrifice.  The victim lay bound upon the stone in the presence of the statue of the god, but outside of the doors of the little temple, that all who were gathered there might see the offering.

The ceremonies were ended.  Leif, the head priest, in his robe of office, had prayed and drunk the cup before the god, dedicating to him the blood that was about to fall, and narrating in a chant the crimes for which it was offered up and all the tale of woe that these had brought about.  Then, in the midst of an utter silence, he drew the sacrificial sword and held it to the lips of Odin that the god might breathe upon it and make it holy.

It would seem that the god did breathe; at least, that side of the sword which had been bright grew dull.  Leif turned it to the people, crying in the ancient words: 

“Odin takes; who dare deny?”

All eyes were fixed upon him, standing in his black robe, and holding aloft the gleaming sword that had grown dull.  Yes, even the patient eyes of Steinar, bound upon the stone.

Then it was that some spirit stirred in my heart which drove me on to step between the priest and his prey.  Standing in the doorway of the chapel, a tall, young shape against the gloom behind, I said in a steady voice: 

“I dare deny!”

A gasp of wonderment went up from all who heard, and Steinar, lifting himself a little from the stone, stared at me, shook his head as if in dissent, then let it fall again, and listened.

“Hearken, friends,” I said.  “This man, my foster-brother, has committed a sin against me and my House.  My House is dead—­I alone remain; and on behalf of the dead and of myself I forgive him his sin, which, indeed, was less his than another’s.  Is there any man among you who at some time has not been led aside by woman, or who has not again and again desired to be so led aside?  If such a one there be, let him say that he has no forgiveness in his heart for Steinar, the son of Hakon.  Let him come forward and say it.”

None stirred; even the women drooped their heads and were silent.

“Then, if this is so,” I went on, “and you can forgive, as I do, how much more should a god forgive?  What is a god?  Is he not one greater than man, who must know all the weakness of man, which, for his own ends, he has bred into the flesh of man?  How, then, can he do otherwise than be pitiful to what he has created?  If this be so, how can the god refuse that which men are willing to grant, and what sacrifice can please him better than the foregoing of his own vengeance?  Would a god wish to be outdone by a man?  If I, Olaf, the man can forgive, who have been wronged, how much more can Odin the god forgive, who has suffered no wrong save that of the breaking of those laws which will ever be broken by men who are as it has pleased him to fashion them?  On Odin’s behalf, therefore, and speaking as he would speak, could he have voice among us, I demand that you set this victim free, leaving it to his own heart to punish him.”