"For ages and ages, deep down in the ground."
"What next?" asked Lorelie.
"A sound ... faint ... far-off.... Now it comes nearer ... it is as of a spade digging ... it is coming down ... down ... down.... The earth above loosens ... disappears.... The blowing of fresh air ... the gleam of daylight.... Now the blue sky looks down.... Lifted up by strong hands to the glorious sunshine above.... It is the edge of a pit.... Small pieces of gold mixed with earth lie about.... It is spring-time.... The air is full of the sound of falling waters.... There are green hills around, dark here and there with pines and firs.... Above them snow shining in the sun.... There are men about ... digging ... men with deep blue eyes and flaxen hair.... They wear close-fitting tunics.... Their legs are bare, crossed by thongs of leather, ... They talk a strange language.... Now they stop digging ... laugh ... and drink mead from ox-horns."
Idris started, beginning to detect a glimmer of meaning in these utterances, hitherto as dark as a Delphic oracle.
"It is hot ... very hot.... There is a fire ... flames playing in golden and ruddy hues on the rafters above.... Many pieces of metal are stacked upon the shelves around.... Shields, spears, swords, all newly-wrought, are lying about.... The clangour of the anvil arises.... The red sparks fly around.... Men are moving to and fro, all busy.... One is pouring molten metal into a clay mould.... It is liquid, glowing gold.... He is casting a vase ... a funereal urn ... this!"
Idris had heard something of the marvels of clairvoyance, but clairvoyance like this fairly took his breath away. It was clear that Beatrice was giving the whole history of the vase, from the time when the metal composing it first issued from the earth in the shape of ore in the old Norse fatherland!
"It is a long, low, wooden hall. The lady is beautiful, with dark eyes and raven hair. There are some maidens around. They are at needlework. They have one long piece of cloth on their knees, and are sewing different coloured threads into it. The lady directs them. Now she moves towards the bed. There is some one lying on it, hidden by a bearskin. At the head is the golden vase. The lady lifts the coverlet. Beneath, there reposes a dead man, with yellow hair and beard. He lies upon his shield, his spear and sword beside him. The lady falls across the body weeping."
This scene was clear enough to Idris' comprehension. The dark-haired lady was the ancestress of Beatrice herself, Hilda the Alruna, mourning the death of her husband, Orm the Viking: and the maidens were the captive nuns who had wrought the figured tapestry that had decorated the interior of Ormfell.
"The maidens tremble as the stern-faced warriors enter the hall to carry away the body of their chief. He is borne aloft to the place of sepulture upon his brazen shield. The lady follows, clasping the urn to her bosom."
Beatrice paused for a moment, and then began another picture.