“Sister, pray that no harm may come to him. He is a noble and worthy young man. Come, brave sir, take some food and a little rest beneath our roof; to-morrow I will show you your road, and we will set out in search,—you of the Devil, and I of my bear.”

XXIX.

This ghost, thenceforth the theme and dread of many a long winter evening, was no other than Ordener, the noble son of the Norwegian viceroy, who, while both kingdoms fancied him absorbed in paying tender attentions to his haughty betrothed, had come alone and unknown to risk his life for her to whom he had given his heart and his future, for the daughter of a proscribed man.

Evil omens, sad forebodings, had thus far accompanied him. He had left the fisherman and his family, and as they parted, good Maase knelt and prayed for him. Kennybol and his six comrades, who had pointed out the right road, quitted him within half a mile of Walderhog, and those dauntless hunters who sallied forth to face a bear with a laugh on their lips, gazed in terror upon the fearless traveller as he followed that unhallowed path.

The young man entered Walderhog cave as he might have entered a long-wished-for haven. He felt a transport of delight as he thought that he was about to accomplish the object of his life, and that in a few moments he might perhaps shed his last drop of blood for his Ethel. About to attack a brigand dreaded by an entire province, it might be a monster, a very demon, it was not that frightful image which filled his fancy; he saw only the figure of the sweet captive maid, praying perhaps for him before her prison altar. Had the object of his devotion been any other than it was, he might have weighed for an instant, only to scorn them, the dangers in search of which he had journeyed so far; but what room is there for reflection in a youthful heart throbbing with the double stimulus of heroic sacrifice and noble love?

He advanced proudly into the vaulted cavern, which echoed and re-echoed the sound of his footsteps, not deigning even a glance at the stalactites and the century-old columns of basalt which towered above him amid mosses, lichen, and ivy,—a confused medley of weird forms, from which the superstitious credulity of the Norwegian countryfolk had more than once created hosts of evil spirits or long processions of ghosts.

With the same indifference he passed the tomb of King Walder, to which so many mournful legends cling, and he heard no voice save the long-drawn sigh of the north wind through those gloomy galleries.

He traversed winding passages, dimly lighted by crevices half stopped with grass and heather. Ever and anon he stumbled over strange objects, which rolled from beneath his foot with a hollow sound, and assumed in the darkness the shape of broken skulls or long rows of white teeth with fleshless gums.

But his soul was undismayed. He was only surprised that he had not yet encountered the much-dreaded inhabitant of this horrible cave.

He reached a sort of circular hall, hewn from the rock. Here the subterranean road which he had thus far followed came to an end, and the rocky walls were without exit, save for a few wide fissures, through which he saw the mountains and woods outside.

Amazed that he should have thus traversed the fatal cavern in vain, he began to despair of finding the brigand. A singular monument in the middle of the underground hall caught his attention. Three long, massive bowlders, standing upright, supported a fourth, broad and square, as three pillars might uphold a roof. Beneath this gigantic tripod was an altar, also formed of a single block of granite, with a round hole in the middle of its upper surface. Ordener recognized it as one of those colossal Druidic structures which he had often seen in travelling through Norway, the most amazing instances being found in France, at Lokmariaker and Karnak,—wondrous fabrics which have grown old, resting upon the earth like tents pitched for a day, and made solid by their mere weight.

The young man, lost in thought, leaned mechanically against this altar, whose stone lips were stained dark brown, so deep had they drunk of the blood of human victims.

All at once he started. A voice, apparently proceeding from the stone, fell upon his ear: “Young man, you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.”

He rose quickly, and his hand sought his sword, while an echo, clear but faint as the voice of a dying man, repeated: “Young man, you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.” At this instant a hideous face appeared on the other side of the Druid altar, a face crowned with red hair, and disfigured by a brutal sneer.

“Young man,” it again repeated, “you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.”

“And with a hand which touches a sword,” calmly responded Ordener.

The monster emerged from beneath the altar, revealing his thick-set, muscular limbs, his wild, blood-stained dress, his hooked hands, and his heavy stone axe.

“It is I,” he cried, with a growl like that of a wild beast.

“And I,” answered Ordener.

“I expected you.”

“I did more,” replied the bold young man; “I sought you out.”

The brigand folded his arms.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“And you are not frightened?”

“Not now.”

“Then you were afraid to come here?” And the monster tossed his head with a look of triumph.

“Afraid I might not find you.”

“You bid me defiance, and your feet have trampled on dead bodies!”

“To-morrow they may tread upon your own.”

The little man quivered with rage. Ordener stood motionless, in an attitude of haughty calm.

“Take care!” muttered the brigand; “I will burst upon you and rend you as Norwegian hailstones do a lady’s parasol.”

“Such a shield would be all-sufficient for me.”

Something in Ordener’s eye seemed to daunt the monster. He plucked the hairs from his mantle, as a tiger might devour grass before it springs upon its prey.

“You teach me what pity means,” he said.

“And you teach me what it is to scorn.”

“Child, your voice is soft, your face is fair, like the voice and the face of a girl; what death will you choose?”

“Your own.”

The small man laughed.

“Know you not that I am a demon, that my spirit is the spirit of Ingulf the Destroyer?”

“I know that you are a robber, that you commit murder for the love of gold.”

“You are wrong,” broke in the monster; “it is for love of blood.”

“Were you not paid by the d’Ahlefelds to slay Captain Dispolsen?”

“What are you talking about? What names are these?”

“Do you not know Captain Dispolsen, whom you killed on Urchtal Sands?”

“That may be, but I have forgotten him, as I shall forget you three days hence.”

“Do you not know Count d’Ahlefeld, who paid you to steal an iron casket from the captain?”

“D’Ahlefeld! Stay; yes, I know him. I drank his son’s blood only yesterday, from my son’s skull.”

Ordener shuddered with horror.

“Were you not content with your wages?”

“What wages?” asked the brigand.

“Hark ye; the sight of you offends me; I must have done. You stole, a week since, an iron casket from one of your victims, a Munkholm officer, did you not?”

At the word “Munkholm” the brigand started.

“An officer from Munkholm?” he muttered. Then he asked, with a look of surprise, “Are you too an officer from Munkholm?”

“No,” said Ordener.

“So much the worse!” and his face clouded.

“Enough of this,” rejoined the persistent Ordener; “where is the casket that you stole from the captain?”

The little man meditated for a moment.

“By Ingulf! here’s a paltry iron box that occupies many minds. I will promise you there’ll not be so much search for that which holds your bones, if ever they be collected in a coffin.”

These words, as they showed Ordener that the robber knew the casket to which he referred, revived his hope of obtaining it.

“Tell me what you did with that casket. Is it in Count d’Ahlefeld’s possession?”

“No.”

“You lie, for you laugh.”

“Believe what you will. What matters it to me?”

The monster had assumed a mocking air which awakened Ordener’s suspicions. He saw that there was nothing to be done but to rouse him to fury if possible, or to intimidate him.

“Hear me,” said he, raising his voice; “you must give me that casket.”

The other answered with a savage sneer.

“You must give it to me!” the young man repeated in tones of thunder.

“Are you accustomed to issuing orders to buffaloes and bears?” replied the monster, still sneering.

“I would give this command to the very Devil in hell.”

“You may do so ere long, if you like.”

Ordener drew his sword, which gleamed in the darkness like a flash of lightning.

“Obey me!”

“Nay,” cried Hans, brandishing his axe; “I might have broken your bones and sucked your blood when you first appeared, but I restrained my wrath; I was curious to see the sparrow attack the vulture.”

“Wretch,” exclaimed Ordener, “defend yourself!”

“’Tis the first time I was ever told to do so,” muttered the brigand, gnashing his teeth.

With these words, he sprang upon the granite altar and gathered himself together, like a leopard awaiting the hunter on a high cliff, ready to spring upon him unawares.

From this vantage-ground he glared at the young man, apparently seeking the best side from which to attack him. All would have been over with Ordener had he hesitated an instant. But he gave the brigand no time to consider, and threw himself violently upon him, aiming the point of his sword at his face.

Then began the most fearful fight which imagination can picture. The little man, standing upon the altar, like a statue on its pedestal, looked like one of those horrid idols which, in barbarous ages, received in that same spot impious sacrifices and sacrilegious offerings.

His movements were so rapid that upon whatever side Ordener attacked him, he always met the monster face to face, and encountered his blade. He would have been hewn in pieces at the first onslaught, had he not had the lucky forethought to wrap his mantle loosely around his left arm, so that the greater part of his furious opponent’s blows were foiled by this floating shield. Thus for some moments both made useless though tremendous efforts to wound each other. The small man’s fiery gray eyes seemed starting from their sockets. Surprised to meet with such vigorous and bold resistance from a foe apparently so feeble, his savage sneers changed to silent rage. The brutal immobility of the monster’s features, and Ordener’s dauntless composure contrasted strangely with the swiftness of their motions and the vigor of their attack. Not a sound was heard but the clash of weapons, the young man’s quick steps, and the hurried breathing of both adversaries, when the little man uttered a fearful roar. The blade of his axe had caught in the folds of the cloak. He braced himself; he shook his arm frantically, but only succeeded in entangling the handle with the blade in the clinging stuff, which, with every fresh effort, wound itself closer and closer about it.

The dreadful brigand felt the young man’s steel upon his breast.

“Once more I ask you,” said the triumphant Ordener, “will you give me that iron casket which you stole like a coward?”

The small man was silent for an instant; then he said, with a roar: “Curse you, no!”

Ordener rejoined, still retaining his victorious and threatening attitude: “Consider!”

“No; I tell you no!” repeated the brigand.

The noble youth lowered his sword.

“Well,” said he, “release your axe from the folds of my mantle, and let us fight it out.”

With a disdainful laugh, the monster answered:—

“Child, you play the generous man, as if I wanted your indulgence!”

Before the astonished Ordener could turn his head, the brigand had placed his foot on the shoulder of his loyal victor, and at one bound stood twelve paces away from him. With another leap he sprang at Ordener, and hung his entire weight upon him, as the panther hangs with teeth and claws to the flanks of the royal lion. His nails dug deep into the young man’s shoulders, his bony knees were pressed into his flesh, while his fierce face showed Ordener a bloody mouth and cruel teeth ready to tear him limb from limb. He ceased to speak; no human words issued from his heaving chest; a low roar mingled with hoarse, passionate yells alone expressed his rage. He was more hideous than a wild beast, more monstrous than a demon; he was a man deprived of all semblance of humanity.

Ordener tottered beneath the small man’s onslaught, and would have fallen at the unexpected shock, had not one of the heavy pillars of the Druid monument happened to be just behind to sustain him. He stood therefore half overthrown and gasping beneath the weight of his fearful foe. To gain any idea of the horrible spectacle offered at this moment, it must be remembered that all which we have described occurred in far less time than is required to write it.

As we said, the noble youth tottered, but he did not quake. He hastily addressed a farewell thought to Ethel. The thought of his love was like a prayer; it restored his strength. He threw his arms about the monster; then seizing his sword by the middle of the blade, he pressed the point straight down upon his spine. The wounded brigand uttered a fearful scream, and with a sudden leap, which shook off Ordener, freed himself from his bold adversary’s arms, and fell back some paces, taking in his teeth a fragment of the green cloak, which he had bitten in his fury.

He leaped up, supple and agile as a young deer, and the battle began again, for the third time, more terrible than ever. By chance there was, close by, a pile of huge stones over which moss and weeds had grown for centuries undisturbed. Two ordinary men could scarcely have lifted the smallest of these rocks. Hans seized one in both arms and raised it above his head, poising it toward Ordener. His expression was frightful. The stone, flung with great violence, moved heavily through the air; the young man had just time to spring aside. The granite bowlder broke to fragments against the subterranean wall with a tremendous noise, which was echoed back for many moments from the depths of the cavern.

Ordener, stunned and amazed, had barely time to recover before a second mass of stone was poised in the brigand’s grasp. Vexed that he should seem to stand like a coward to be pelted, he rushed toward the small man, with uplifted sword, to change this mode of warfare; but the fearful missile, launched like a thunderbolt, as it moved through the dense, dark air of the cave encountered the bare and slender blade; the steel was dashed to pieces like a bit of glass, and the monster’s fierce laugh rang out. Ordener was disarmed.

“Have you,” cried the monster, “aught to say to God or the Devil ere you die?”

And his eye darted flame, and all his muscles swelled with rage and joy, and he flung himself with a thrill of impatience upon his axe, which, wrapped in the cloak, lay upon the ground. Poor Ethel!

All at once a distant roar was heard outside. The monster paused. The noise increased; shouts of men were mingled with the plaintive moan of a bear. The brigand listened. The cries of pain continued. He hastily seized his axe, and sprang, not toward Ordener, but toward one of the crevices in the rock. Ordener, overwhelmed with surprise to find himself thus unnoticed, hurried in his turn to one of these natural doors, and saw in a neighboring glade a large white bear at bay, surrounded by seven hunters, among whom he thought he recognized Kennybol, whose words had made such an impression upon him the night before.

He turned back. The brigand had left the cave, and a fearful voice outside shouted: “Friend! Friend! I am here! I am here!”