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And now the days passed gaily and only too swiftly for the happy Sigurd. In the company of Raedwald and amid the smiles of the ladies, Ulf was forgotten, and all the wrongs of the past vanished. The Tower of the North-west Wind was no longer a gloomy fortress, but a gay palace, and, like the summer day in the northern heavens, the sun of Sigurd’s content knew no setting.

Before the day of Raedwald’s departure arrived a wedding had taken place in the chapel of the good old Tower, and the English king, as he hauled his anchors and set his sails westward, knew not whether to mourn over the daughter he had given up or to rejoice over the son he had gained.

As for Sigurd, he could do nothing but rejoice, and some who saw him and heard him laugh said, smiling–

“The queen his wife is a fairer sweetheart than was the king his brother. Ulf and our country and all of us are forgotten in the smiles of this little English maiden.”

But three days after Raedwald had sailed a storm broke over the Tower of the North-West Wind. The summer sea lashed furiously against the rocks, and far up the fiord the angry breakers rushed in, so that no boat could live upon their surface for an hour.

That night as Sigurd sat heedless of the hurricane without and feasted with his lords and ladies, they came and told him that a raft had been driven ashore at the foot of the castle, with a man upon it half dead. Sigurd bade them instantly bring him to the castle, and give him fire and clothing and food, to revive him in his unhappy plight.

This they did, and presently came to the hero with the hews that the man lived and desired to speak with his deliverer. So Sigurd ordered him to be brought up. And as the tempest raged without, his heart rejoiced to know that one man at least had been saved from its ravages.

The man was of the common order, and though clothed in a rough woodman’s suit it was plain to see he was a soldier.

He fell at the feet of the prince and poured forth his thanks for the shelter given him that night.

“And who art thou?” asked Sigurd, to whom such thanks were never welcome.

“I am a servant of King Ulf thy brother.”

At the mention of the king’s name the faces of those present fell, and Sigurd asked, sternly–

“And what is thy errand here?”

“I was sent,” said the man, “with two others, to spy into your state here. The king has heard of your merrymakings and of your alliance with the English king. He bade us see how you were armed and how prepared for a sudden assault, and then return secretly and report it to him.”

“And is it thus you perform your errand?” cried Sigurd. “Where are thy companions?”

“Drowned, my liege, in the fiord, as I had been but for your gracious help.”

“And when is the king coming to assault this tower?” demanded an English noble who sat near.

“Never,” said the man, shortly.

“And why?” asked Sigurd.

“Oh, my liege,” said the man, dropping once more on his knees, “please Heaven, in a week’s time there will be no king in all this land but Sigurd.”

The hero started from his seat and seized the man roughly.

“What is it you say?” he cried. “Speak out, and that plainly, or it will be worse for you!”

“On this day week,” said the trembling serf, “Ulf is to visit his castle of Niflheim. He goes there alone, as you, my liege, came hither, to receive his bride. But he will never return the way he came, for Bur and Harald, your friends, my prince, have vowed to slay him there, and at one blow rid the land of a tyrant and give it a just and good king.”