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You must kill, you
must steal! See how the blood drips, drop by drop, from the heart of
Sigurd! And the jewel you steal--ah, what a jewel!--you shall not find
such another in Norway!"
His excited voice sank by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn whisper,
and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on the ground, he
looked at it burning, with an air of mournful and utter desolation.
Profoundly touched, as he immediately understood the condition of his
companion's wandering wits, Errington spoke to him soothingly.
"You mistake me," he said in gentle accents; "I would not steal anything
from you, nor have I come to kill you. See," and he held out his hand,
"I wouldn't harm you for the world. I didn't know this cave belonged to
you. Forgive me for having entered it. I am going to rejoin my friends.
Good-bye!"
The strange, half-crazy creature touched his outstretched hand timidly,
and with a sort of appeal.
"Good-bye, good-bye!" he muttered. "That is what they all say,--even the
dead,--good-bye; but they never go--never, never! You cannot be
different to the rest.


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