Yet, come to me nearer, O Sweyn, whose cradle I rocked to the chaunt of my rhyme." The outlaw turned aside his face, and obeyed.
She sighed as she took his passive hand in her own, and examined the lines on the palm.

Then, as if by an involuntary impulse of fondness and pity, she put aside his cowl and kissed his brow.
"Thy skein is spun, and happier than the many who scorn, and the few who lament thee, thou shalt win where they lose.

The steel shall not smite thee, the storm shall forbear thee, the goal that thou yearnest for thy steps shall attain.

Night hallows the ruin,--and peace to the shattered wrecks of the brave!" The outlaw heard as if unmoved.

But when he turned to Harold, who covered his face with his hand; but could not restrain the tears that flowed through the clasped fingers, a moisture came into his own wild, bright eyes, and he said, "Now, my brother, farewell, for no farther step shalt thou wend with me." Harold started, opened his arms, and the outlaw fell upon his breast.
No sound was heard save a single sob, and so close was breast to breast, that you could not say from whose heart it came.