A hand sledge stood outside the porch,--it was
always there during the winter, being much used for visiting the
outlying grounds of the farm,--and to this, Valdemar prepared to carry
the _bonde_ in his herculean arms. But, on being lifted from his couch,
the old man, filled with strange, almost delirious force, declared
himself able to stand,--and, though suffering deadly anguish at every
step, did in truth manage to reach and enter the sledge, strongly
supported by Valdemar. There, however, he fainted--and his faithful
servant, covering his insensible form with, furs, thought he was dead.
But there was now no time for hesitation,--dead or living, Olaf
Gueldmar's will was law to his vassal,--an oath had been made and must be
kept. To propel the sledge down to the Fjord was an easy matter--how the
rest of his duty was accomplished he never knew.
He was conscious of staggering blindly onward, weighted with a heavy,
helpless burden,--he felt the slippery pier beneath his feet--the
driving snow and the icy wind on his face,--but he was as one in a
dream, realizing nothing plainly, till with a wild start, he seemed to
awake--and lo! he stood on the glassy deck of the _Valkyrie_ with the
body of his "King" stretched senseless before him! Had he brought him
there? He could not remember what he had done during the past few mad
minutes,--the earth and sky whirled dizzily around him,--he could grasp
nothing tangible in thought or memory.
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