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Rh and, O my King! thou hast not lived to see thy work accomplished.”

One evening the abbess knelt in the cloister church. The long absence of Thorgills, and his failure to return with any tidings of King Olaf, sorrowed her spirit. As she prayed, she remembered her noble kinsman’s zeal for the faith, and her own courage seemed to waver as she thought of Olaf’s defeat and his death in exile. Through the sad reveries of the abbess came a soft whisper, as from some distant region. Over the faintness of her spirit flowed like a refreshing and uplifting strain the sound of an echoing voice that seemed to say over and again: “Christ is eternal! Faith is deathless! Christ is eternal!”

As the abbess left the chapel she was told by the portress that a visitor desired to see her in the guestroom. Entering that quiet spot, where visitors were received, Aastrid saw sitting near the wall the figure of a pilgrim. His brown garb was travel-stained and faded. His sandals were well worn and dusty. His hood was drawn down over his brows, and covering his eyes was a broad bandage.

“Poor man!” thought the abbess, “he is blind or hath suffered some injury to his sight.”

Hearing her footstep, the pilgrim rose.

“Didst thou wish to see me, holy man?” asked the abbess.

The pilgrim stood with bowed head, as if unable to answer.