The storm had ceased; the soft light of the moon shone through the windows, and her beams played on his wild features.

Suddenly he started up, so that his heavy armour rattled with a fearful sound, and he cried out in a thundering voice, "Shall I turn monk, as she has become a nun?
No, crafty priest; your webs are too thin to catch flies of my sort." "I have nothing to do with webs," said the chaplain.

"In all openness and sincerity have I put heaven and hell before you during the space of six years; and you gave full consent to the step which the holy Verena took.

But what all that has to do with your son's sufferings I know not, and I wait for your narration." "You may wait long enough," said Biorn, with a sneer.

"Sooner shall--" "Swear not!" said the chaplain in a loud commanding tone, and his eyes flashed almost fearfully.
"Hurra!" cried Biorn, in wild affright; "hurra! Death and his companion are loose!" and he dashed madly out of the chamber and down the steps.
The rough and fearful notes of his horn were heard summoning his retainers; and presently afterwards the clatter of horses' feet on the frozen court-yard gave token of their departure.