“I am not he, though often we are companions,—ay, walk together right near and friendly. But to you be it said, he thinks me mad. If sometimes I urge him, and say to him, ‘Take!’ then he hesitates and points upwards towards the stars. And again, if I say, ‘Take not!’ then, to a certainty, he seizes on it in some awkward manner, and so he spoils my best joys and pleasures. But, in spite of this, we remain in some measure brothers in arms, and, indeed, all but kinsmen.”
“Give me hold of thy hand, and let me help thee to get up.”
“Ho, ho! my active young sir, that might bring you no good. Yet, in fact, you have already helped to raise me. Give heed awhile.”
Wilder and ever wilder were the strugglings on the ground; thick clouds hurried over the moon and the stars, on a long unknown wild journey; and Sintram’s thoughts grew no less wild and stormy, while far and near an awful howling could be heard amidst the trees and the grass. At length the mysterious being arose from the ground. As if with a fearful curiosity, the moon, through a rent in the clouds, cast a beam upon Sintram’s companion, and made clear to the shuddering youth that the little Master stood, by him.
“Avaunt!” cried he, “I will listen no more to thy evil stories about the knight Paris: they would end by driving me quite mad.”
“My stories about Paris are not needed for that!” grinned the little Master. “It is enough that the Helen of thy heart should be journeying towards Montfaucon. Believe me, madness has thee already, head and heart. Or wouldest thou that she should remain? For that, however, thou must be more courteous to me than thou art now.”
Therewith he raised his voice towards the sea, as if fiercely rebuking it, so that Sintram could not but shudder and tremble before the dwarf. But he checked himself, and grasping his sword-hilt with both hands, he said, contemptuously: “Thou and Gabrielle! what acquaintance hast thou with Gabrielle?”
“Not much,” was the reply. And the little Master might be seen to quake with fear and rage as he continued: “I cannot well bear the name of thy Helen; do not din it in my ears ten times in a breath. But if the tempest should increase? If the waves should swell, and roll on till they form a foaming ring round the whole coast of Norway? The voyage to Montfaucon must in that case be altogether given up, and thy Helen would remain here, at least through the long, long, dark winter.”
“If! if!” replied Sintram, with scorn. “Is the sea thy bond-slave? Are the storms thy fellow-workmen?”
“They are rebels, accursed rebels,” muttered the little Master in his red beard. “Thou must lend me thy aid, sir knight, if I am to subdue them; but thou hast not the heart for it.”