“No,” I answered, laughing.  “Yet why should they not do so, as they live at all?  If so, perhaps I am that Wanderer, in whose body I seemed to be, only then I am sure that the lady with the golden shells was not Iduna.”  And again I laughed.

“No, Olaf, she was not Iduna, though perchance there was an Iduna, all the same.  Tell me, did you see aught of that priestess who was with the lady?”

“Only that she was tall and dark, one of middle age.  But why waste words on this midnight madness?  Yet that royal woman haunts me.  I would that I could see her again, if only in a dream.  Also, Freydisa, I would that Iduna had not taken the necklace.  I fear lest it should bring misfortune.  Where is she now?  I will tell her again.”

“Wandering with Steinar, I think, and wearing the necklace.  Oh!  Olaf, like you I fear it will bring woe.  I cannot read your dream—­as yet.”

It was the day before that of my marriage.  I see them moving about, the shapes of all those long-forgotten men and women, arrayed in their bravest garments and rude ornaments of gold and silver, for a great company had been bidden, many of whom came from far.  I see my uncle, Leif, the dark-browed priest of Odin, passing between the hall and the temple where on the morrow he must celebrate the marriage rites in such a fashion as would do honour to the god.  I see Iduna, Athalbrand and Steinar talking together apart.  I see myself watching all this life and stir like one who is mazed, and I know that since I had entered the Wanderer’s grave all things had seemed unreal to me.  Iduna, whom I loved, was about to become my wife, and yet between me and Iduna continually was thrust a vision of the woman of my dream.  At times I thought that the blow from the bear’s paw had hurt my brain; that I must be going mad.  I prayed to the gods that this might not be so, and when my prayers availed me nothing I sought the counsel of Freydisa.

She listened to my story, then said briefly,

“Let be.  Things will go as they are fated.  You are no madder than the rest of men.  I can say no more.”

It was the custom of that time and land that, if possible, the wife to be should not pass the night before her marriage under the same roof as her future husband.  Therefore Athalbrand, whose mood had been strange of late, went with Iduna to sleep in his beached ship.  At my request Steinar went with them, in order that he might see that they were brought back in good time in the morning.

“You will not fail me in this, Steinar?” I said, clasping his hand.

He tried to answer something, but the words seemed to choke in his throat and he turned away, leaving them unspoken.

“Why,” I exclaimed, “one might think you were going to be married, not I.”

“Aye,” broke in Iduna hurriedly.  “The truth is that Steinar is jealous of me.  How is it that you can make us all love you so much, Olaf?”