# The North Star/Chapter 24

XXIV FATHER MEILGE’S VIGIL
The taper burned dimly in the king’s tent at Rimul, and the drowsy guards had fallen asleep. Without in the darkness a shadowy figure was creeping to the opening of the tent. Father Meilge was walking alone a little distance away. Sleep had deserted him. His heart was heavy and a cloud of depressing thought surrounded him. The hunger for his own fair land and the peaceful, holy scenes of his youth was strong upon him. His sensitive soul had been wounded by contact with the coarse lives around him. A sense of impending evil haunted him, and drove him forth to meet some coming danger.
As Father Meilge walked under the stars, dazzling in their Northern splendor, he came to the tent of the king. A bent form was crawling into the opening. Father Meilge hastened his steps and followed the muffled figure into the tent. Fast bound in the fetters of sleep lay the king upon his couch. Upon his breast, and catching the faint reflection of the taper in a starry point, shone Olaf’s golden crucifix, as if giving a luminous mark for the murderer’s knife that shone overhead. The crouching figure had risen to strike the blow.
​Father Meilge sprang forward and caught the hand that held the knife. Then he snatched the weapon away and flung it far out of the tent. When the murderer turned savagely toward him, the priest saw the evil eyes of Thore Klakka. Father Meilge’s voice was low and tense.
“Wretched man! What foul deed wouldst thou do? To slay thy king in his sleep?” Thore doggedly hung his head in sullen silence. “God’s mercy led my steps to stop thee. Think thou of what thou wouldst have done.”
“Thou wilt give me to the king that he may slay me for striving to kill him as he slept?”
“Yes, I will give thee to the King. I will give thy poor, sin-stained soul to the Eternal King, to Christ, to the living God. I will give thee to Him in the silence of my own heart and in my whispered prayers. Poor, wretched man! Go thou, and I will bear thy burden of sin with thee,—thou and I, and none other on earth.”
Thore looked in wonder at the priest. Father Meilge still held his hand in his firm, quiet grasp.
“Thou wilt not betray me? Is that what thou wouldst say? Thou wilt not reveal my deed to King Olaf?”
“O wretched soul of doubt, that knowest no trust in man and hast no faith in God! The King of Heaven needs not to be told of thy sin. Go now!” He released Thore’s hand. “Thy sin is safe with me, ​buried in silence. My lips will be sealed as are the lips of the dead.”
Thore Klakka vanished out into the night. Father Meilge turned back and knelt beside the sleeping king. “O. brave, and true and noble!” he whispered, taking Olaf’s hand in his own, “how near the awful crime came to the closing of thy grand life. God and his angels keep thee safe, for the great work that lies so near thy strong, faithful heart.”
Father Meilge rose and left the tent. He stood a moment under the burning stars. “I will be silent of the crime of to-night; but I must watch yon Thore, and I must warn the king that he is not to be trusted.”
Thore Klakka, seeking his knife, saw the priest as he went by. He picked up the weapon and felt of its keen edge, muttering as he did so: “He gave me his word to be silent. How can I trust him? I believe no man’s word, but I will believe in thee, my trusty steel. Yon priest would not let thee find Olaf’s heart to-night. Thy next blow may find his own heart.”