"He is dead! the horrors of that fearful stormy night have killed him!" Thus said, about this time, some of Biorn's retainers, who had not been able to bring him back to his senses since the morning of the day before: they had made a couch of wolf and bear skins for him in the great hall, in the midst of the armour which still lay scattered around.One of the esquires said with a low sigh: "The Lord have mercy on his poor wild soul!"Just then the warder blew his horn from his tower, and a trooper came into the room with a look of surprise."A knight is coming hither,"said he; "a wonderful knight.I could have taken him for our Lord Sintram--but a bright, bright morning cloud floats so close before him, and throws over him such a clear light, that one could fancy red flowers were showered down upon him.Besides, his horse has a wreath of red leaves on his head, which was never a custom of the son of our dead lord.""Just such a one," replied another, "I wove for him yesterday.He was not pleased with it at first, but afterwards he let it remain.""But why didst thou that?"
"It seemed to me as if I heard a voice singing again and again in my ear: 'Victory! victory! the noblest victory! The knight rides forth to victory!' And then I saw a branch of our oldest oak-tree stretched towards me, which had kept on almost all its red and yellow leaves in spite of the snow.So I did according to what I had heard sung; and I plucked some of the leaves, and wove a triumphal wreath for the noble war-horse.At the same time Skovmark,--you know that the faithful beast had always a great dislike to Biorn, and therefore had gone to the stable with the horse,--Skovmark jumped upon me, fawning, and seemed pleased, as if he wanted to thank me for my work;and such noble animals understand well about good prognostics."They heard the sound of Sintram's spurs on the stone steps, and Skovmark's joyous bark.At that instant the supposed corpse of old Biorn sat up, looked around with rolling, staring eyes, and asked of the terrified retainers in a hollow voice, "Who comes there, ye people? who comes there? I know it is my son.But who comes with him? The answer to that bears the sword of decision in its mouth.
For see, good people, Gotthard and Rudlieb have prayed much for me;yet if the little Master come with him, I am lost in spite of them.""Thou art not lost, my beloved father!" Sintram's kind voice was heard to say, as he softly opened the door, and the bright red morning cloud floated in with him.
