Dyceworthy--all was plain--and, notwithstanding her
deliberate wickedness, she had lived her life without punishment! This
was what made Gueldmar's blood burn, and pulses thrill. He could not
understand why the Higher Powers had permitted this error of justice,
and, like many of his daring ancestors, he was ready to fling defiance
in the very face of Odin, and demand--"Why,--O thou drowsy god, nodding
over thy wine-cups,--why didst thou do this thing?"
Utter fearlessness,--bodily and spiritual,--fearlessness of past,
present, or future, life or death,--was Gueldmar's creed. The true Norse
warrior spirit was in him--had he been told, on heavenly authority, that
the lowest range of the "Nastrond" or Scandinavian Hell, awaited him, he
would have accepted his fate with unflinching firmness. The
indestructibility of the soul, and the certainty that it must outlive
even centuries of torture, and triumph gloriously in the end, was the
core of the faith he professed. As he glanced upwards, the frozen
tree-tops, till then rigidly erect, swayed slightly from side to side
with a crackling sound--but he paid no heed to this slight warning of a
fresh attack from the combative storm that was gathering together and
renewing its scattered forces.
Pages:
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973