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Updated: May 7, 2025
As he bent his head and entered his cell, he smiled to himself at the pleasantness of the vision. The Holy Isle was bathed in morning sunshine, shadows of light clouds chased each other over the hills across the sound, and out beyond the headlands the blue sea glimmered restfully. On a bank of turf sloping to the rocks Estein sat with Osla, drinking in the freshness of the air.
"I cannot tell you why," he went on, "but to-day I feel that my hour has come to rove again. I would that I might live here for ever, but I know it is not fated so." Then he sang his farewell song: "Canst thou spare a sigh, fair Osla? It is fated I must go. Wilt thou think of Vandrad ever When the sea winds hoarsely blow, Or will the memory of my love With absence fainter grow?
Yet he lingered through the winter storms, and the end came upon a February evening. All the afternoon the hermit had lain with shut eyes, never speaking a word or giving a sign. It fell wet and gusty at night, and Osla, bending over the couch, could hear nothing but the wind and the roost she knew so well. At length he raised his head and asked, "Are we alone, Osla?"
Like memories of another life, thoughts of his father, of Helgi, of friends and kinsmen, came to him, pricked him for a moment, and faded into a pair of dark-blue eyes and a tall and slender figure. He still talked to Osla of voyages and battles, and caught her sometimes taking more interest than she would own in some old tale of derring-do, or a story of his own adventures.
Aunt Osla, however, was charmed with the idea, said it was a very pitiful story, quite true, and just suitable for a ballad; so Garth's verses were to be read after lunch and other ceremonies were over for other ceremonies there were to be, as all could guess who saw Fred Garson talking eagerly apart with Yaspard, then choose a lovely green spot, and say, "This will do.
Thor was admitted at once, and freed from his burden. Then the message was read; and while the Laird read, Miss Osla and Signy waited in fear and trembling, but never a word spoke the old man. "What has that boy been doing?" the boy's aunt asked at length. "Taking his turn at being captive, as I warned him might happen." "Oh, Uncle Brüs, have they taken Yaspard?" Signy cried in great excitement.
"Not so," she said, while the tears rose so fast that she could only dimly see his face; "you are better, far better, to-night." "I am death-doomed, Osla. Thord the Tall shall die in his bed to- night, an old and worthless wreck. Once I had little thought of such a death; and even now, though I die a Christian man, and my hope is in Christ Jesus, and St.
Estein spoke with difficulty, and his right hand had closed on something in his belt. "Both are dead. They died heathens, and their souls are as hopelessly lost as the soul of Olaf Hakonson. I am the last of the burners." The voice of Thord the Tall died away. Estein bent forward, his hand left his side, and something in it gleamed in the firelight. Suddenly the hermit started. "Osla!
"That is my home," said Osla, pointing to the little green island. "The early fathers called it the Holy Isle. Our house is an anchorite's cell, and our lands, as you see, are of the smallest. Are you content to come to such a place?" Estein smiled. "If you dwell there, I am content," he said. Osla tossed her head with what quite failed to be an air of impatience.
"Never, Osla, never! but fate has been too strong for me. They wait for me now, and I must leave you." "Farewell, Vandrad!" she said, looking up, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "Osla!" he cried, drawing her towards him. She yielded an instant, and then suddenly broke free and started away. "Farewell!" she said again, and her voice sounded like a sob.
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