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Updated: June 14, 2025
You wouldn't help him to live; now will you help him to die?" The words, thrust forth with a slow, panting emphasis, hit the pastor like so many blows. "I will come," he said, with solemn resolution. "Sit down till I get ready." He had expected some expression of gratification or thanks, for Atle well knew what he had asked.
"Go and get your weapons," Atlé said, when he saw that Frithiof would have killed him. Knowing that Atlé was a true soldier and would not run away, Frithiof left him in search of his sword; but when he returned and found his opponent calmly awaiting death, he was generous, and bade him rise and live.
So Frithiof threw his sword aside, and they wrestled together, unarmed, until Atlé was brought to the ground. Then spake Frithiof: "And if I had my sword thou wouldst not long be a living man." "Fetch it, then," replied Atlé. "I swear by the gods that I will not move until thou dost return."
A broad figure, surmounted by a sou'wester, loomed up in the dark. "What do you want?" asked Mr. Holt, with forced calmness. "I want to know," answered a gruff, hoarse voice, "if you'll come to my son now, and help him into eternity?" The pastor recognized Atle Pilot's voice, though it seemed harsher and hoarser than usual. "Sail across the fjord on a night like this?" he exclaimed.
"But, man," cried the pastor, seeing that the boat was empty, "where are your boatmen?" "I am my own boatman," answered Atle, gloomily. "You can hold the sheet, I the tiller." Mr. Holt was ashamed of retiring now, when he had given his word. But it was with a sinking heart that he stepped into the frail skiff, which seemed scarcely more than a nutshell upon the tempestuous deep.
There came people who seized me, and carried me back to the Court of King Atle. They said that I wished to run away, and I was conducted to the presence of the king. I answered haughtily to his questions, and he caused me to be whipped till the blood came: in punishment, as he said, of my disobedience. Is not that barbarous enough for a savage land, Dora?"
In the depth of his heart there was a still small voice which told him that, say what he might, he had acted cruelly. If he put himself in Atle Pilot's place, bound as he was in the iron bonds of superstition, how different the case would look?
Now the watchman at Angantyr's castle had reported the ship and the gale, and Angantyr had declared that only Frithiof and Ellida could weather such a storm. One of his vassals, Atlé, caught up his weapons and hurried forth to challenge the great hero. Frithiof had no weapons, but with a turn of his wrist he threw his opponent.
There, on a gently sloping ridge, stood some ancient, half ruined stone cairns; and however closely the heather tried to creep to these, there were always rents in its web, through which were visible great, flat rocks, folds in the mountain's own rough skin. Under the biggest of these piles rested an old king, Atle by name.
"I wanted to save that poor boy, papa," were the only words that met his ears. But he needed no more to explain the mystery. It was Carina, who, repenting of her unkindness to him, had stolen into his study, while he sat in the dark, and there she had heard Atle Pilot's message. Even if this boy was sick unto death, she might perhaps cure him, and make up for her father's harshness.
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