“HELGA GAVE A CRY OF TERROR.”
Raising his cap in farewell to his young hostess, Sigurd set spurs to Gullfaxi, and as the noble animal put forth his full speed, the prince turned in the saddle and shook his fist at the angry giant.
Without staying to question his daughter, the giant strode after his horse, breathing out threats of vengeance. At first he could only just keep them in sight; but, with his gigantic strides, he soon began to gain upon them when the ground grew rocky and hilly. Then Sigurd threw down Helga’s green branch, and immediately a thick forest rose between him and his enemy.
But the giant seized his axe, and began with mighty strokes to hew his way through the wood. Crash went trees and bushes; crash, crash, to right and to left, and when Sigurd looked back a second time, the giant was through the forest, and close behind him. Then Sigurd touched the white stone with his stick, and immediately such a terrible hailstorm broke loose behind him that the giant was killed on the spot, while Sigurd rode on in bright sunshine.
The giant dead, Sigurd thought he would return and fetch Helga; but while he was debating which road to take, he saw his stepmother’s dog running towards him. The dog was dusty and footsore, and whined piteously as he drew near. Sigurd dismounted, and went to meet him; the dog put his paws upon the prince’s knee, and looked up at him with tears running down his face. Then Sigurd’s heart was very heavy, for he knew misfortune was threatening his beloved stepmother. He leapt on to his horse, and rode at full speed, taking no rest, either by day or night, till at length he came out of the thick pinewoods, and saw the palace before him. In the courtyard a great crowd was assembled, and there, fastened to a stake, and surrounded by huge faggots, he saw the graceful figure of his stepmother.
“Here is Sigurd—Sigurd, the king’s lost son,” he heard voices say, as if in a dream, as he galloped furiously on.
He, however, saw nothing but the beautiful pale face of the queen as he leaped from his horse, and pushed his way through the crowd, sword in hand. He cut the bands with which Injibjörg was fastened, scattered the guards, and carried her into the palace, to his father’s room.
There he found the king lying on his couch, sick unto death for grief at the loss of his son.
“My father,” Sigurd cried, as he stood before him with his arm round his stepmother, “what is this that has been done? Why has my mother been treated thus in my absence?”
“My son,” his father cried, hardly believing that he saw him alive and well before him, “where hast thou been? The people declared the queen had taken thy life, and she was therefore condemned to death, while I was too ill to save her from their vengeance. Forgive me, Sigurd, and beg the queen also to pardon me;” and he embraced them both with the utmost affection.