The spirit cannot lie.

You must kill, you must steal! See how the blood drips, drop by drop, from the heart of Sigurd! And the jewel you steal--ah, what a jewel!--you shall not find such another in Norway!" His excited voice sank by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn whisper, and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on the ground, he looked at it burning, with an air of mournful and utter desolation.
Profoundly touched, as he immediately understood the condition of his companion's wandering wits, Errington spoke to him soothingly.
"You mistake me," he said in gentle accents; "I would not steal anything from you, nor have I come to kill you.

See," and he held out his hand, "I wouldn't harm you for the world.

I didn't know this cave belonged to you.

Forgive me for having entered it.