“I may not eat what has been sacrificed to idols,” said the hermit.
“Ho! ho! then thou art not a worshipper of Odin? Say, dog, what art thou?”
“I am a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. He is my Saviour. To Him I live, and for Him I can die.”
“Can He save you from me?” demanded Harald.
“He can,” answered the hermit earnestly, “and will save you too, King Harald, from your sins, and all who now hear me, if they will but turn to Him.”
“Now will I test him,” said the King. “Stand forth, Hake of Hadeland, and hew me the old man’s head from his body.”
“Spare him! O spare him!” cried Hilda, throwing herself suddenly between Hake and his victim, who stood with the resigned air of a man who had made up his mind to die. “He has twice saved my life, and has never done you evil in thought or deed.”
“Stand aside, my pretty maid. Nay, then, if thou wilt not, I must grant thy request; but it is upon one condition: that this Saviour shall either come himself or send a champion to deliver the old man.—Come,” he added, turning fiercely to the hermit, “pray that thy God shall send thee a champion now, for if He does not, as I live thou shalt die.”
“I may not pray at thy bidding,” said the hermit calmly; “besides, it needs not that I should, because I have already prayed—before dawn this morning—that He would grant me His blessing in the form that seemed best to Himself.”
“And hast thou got it?”