The light and joyous dreams of morning still played round Edwald's head when it seemed as though a clear light encompassed him.

He remembered Aslauga, but it was Froda, the golden locks of whose helmet shone now with no less sunny brightness than the flowing hair of his lady.

"Ah!" thought Edwald in his dream, "how beautiful has my brother-in-arms become!" And Froda said to him, "I will sing something to you, Edchen; but softly, softly, so that it may not awaken Hildegardis.

Listen to me.
"'She glided in, bright as the day, There where her knight in slumber lay; And in her lily hand was seen A band that seemed of the moonlight sheen.
"We are one," she sang, as about his hair She twined it, and over her tresses fair.
Beneath them the world lay dark and drear: But he felt the touch of her hand so dear, Uplifting him far above mortals' sight, While around him were shed her locks of light, Till a garden fair lay about him spread-- And this was Paradise, angels said.'" "Never in your life did you sing so sweetly," said the dreaming Edwald.
"That may well be, Edchen," said Froda, with a smile, and vanished.
But Edwald dreamed on and on, and many other visions passed before him, all of a pleasing kind, although he could not recall them when, in the full light of morning, he unclosed his eyes with a smile.

Froda alone, and his mysterious song, stood clear in his memory.