All day, while the party was going on at the seine-maker's, Jan of
Ruffluck kept to his hut. But at evening he went out and sat down
up on the flat stone in front of the house, as was his wont. He was
not ill exactly, but he felt weak and tired. The hut had become so
overheated during the long, hot sunny day that he thought it would
be nice to get a breath of fresh air. He found, however, that it
was not much cooler outside, but he sat still all the same, mostly
because there was so much out here that was beautiful to the eye.
It had been an excessively hot and dry month of June and forest
fires, which always rage every rainless summer, had already got
going. This he could tell by the pretty bluish-white smoke banks
that rose above the hills at the other side of the lake. Presently,
away off to southward, a shimmery white curly cloud head appeared,
while in the west, over against Great Peak, huge smoke-blended
clouds rolled up and up. It seemed to him as if the whole world
were afire.
No flames could be seen from where he sat, but there was no
mistaking that fire had broken out and could hold sway indefinitely.
He only hoped it would confine itself to the forest trees, and not
sweep down upon huts and farmsteads.
He could scarcely breathe. It was as if such quantities of air had
been consumed that there was very little of it left. At short
intervals he sensed an odour, as of something burning, that stuck
in his nostrils. That odour did not come from any cook stove in the
Ashdales! It was a salutation from the great stake of pine needles,
and moss, and brushwood that sizzled and burned many miles away.
A little while ago the sun had gone down, red as fire, leaving in
its wake enough colour to tint the whole sky, which was now rose
hued not only across that corner of it where the sun had just been
seen, but over its entire expanse. At the same time the waters of
Dove Lake had become as dark as mirror glass in the shadow of the
towering hills. In this black-looking water ran streaks of red
blood and molten gold.
It was the sort of night that makes one feel that the earth is not
worthy a glance; that only the heavens and the waters that mirror
them are worth seeing.
As Jan sat gazing out at the beauties of the light summer night he
suddenly began to wonder. Could it be that he saw aright? But it
actually looked as if the firmament were sinking. Anyway, to his
vision it was much nearer to the earth than usual.
Could it be possible that something had gone wrong? Surely his eyes
were not deceiving him! The great pink dome of sky was certainly
moving down toward the earth, and all the while it was becoming
hotter and more oppressive. He already felt the terrible heat that
seemed to come from the red-hot dome that was sinking toward him.
To be sure Jan had heard a good deal of talk about the coming
destruction of the world and had often pictured it as being
effected by means of thunder-storms and earthquakes that would hurl
the mountains into the seas and drive the waters of the lakes and
rivers over plains and valleys, so that all life would become
extinct. But he never imagined the end should come in this way: by
the earth's burial under the vault of heaven with its inhabitants
all dying from heat and suffocation! This, it seemed to him, was
the worst of all.
He put down his pipe, though it was only half-smoked, but remained
quietly seated in the one spot. For what else could he do? This was
not something which he could ward off--something he could run away
from. One could not take up arms and defend one's self against it,
nor find safety by creeping into cellars or caves. Even if one had
the power to empty all the oceans and lakes, their waters would not
suffice to quench the fires of the firmament. If one could uproot
the mountains and prop them, beam-like, against the sky, they could
not hold up this heavy dome if it was meant that it should sink.
Singularly enough no one but himself seemed to be aware of what was
happening.
Ah, look! What was that that went shooting up above the crest of
the hill over yonder? A lot of black specks suddenly appeared in
among the pale smoke clouds. These specks whirled round each other
with such rapidity that to Jan's eyes they looked like a succession
of streaks moving in much the same way as when bees swarm.
They were birds of course. The strange part of it was that they had
risen in the night and soared into the clouds.
They probably knew more than the human kind, thought Jan, for they
had sensed that something was about to happen.
Instead of the air becoming cooler, as on other nights, it grew
warmer and warmer. Anything else was hardly to be expected, with
the fiery dome coming nearer and nearer. Jan thought it had already
sunk to the brow of Great Peak.
But if the end of the world was so close at hand and there was no
hope of his getting any word from Glory Goldie, much less of his
seeing her, before all was over, then he would pray for but a
single grace--that it might be made clear to him what he had done
to offend her, so that he could repent of it before the end of
everything pertaining to the earth life. What had he done that she
could not forgive nor forget? Why had the crown and sceptre been
taken away from him?
As he put these queries to himself his glance fell upon a bit of
gilt paper that lay glittering on the ground in front of him. But
his mind was not on such things now. This must have been one of the
paper stars he had borrowed of Mad Ingeborg. But he had not given
a thought to this empty show since last autumn.
It kept getting hotter and hotter, and it was becoming more and
more difficult to breathe. "The end is nearing," thought Jan.
"Maybe it's just as well it wasn't too long coming."
A great sense of lassitude came over him. Unable to sit up any
longer, he slipped down off the stone and stretched himself out on
the ground. He felt it was hardly fair to Katrina not to let her
know what was taking place. But Katrina had gone to the seine-maker's
party and was not back yet. If he only had the strength to drag
himself thither! He would have liked to say a word of farewell to
Ol' Bengtsa, too. He was very glad when he presently saw Katrina
coming down the lane, accompanied by the seine-maker. He wanted to
call out to them to hurry, but not a sound could he get past his
lips. Shortly afterward the two of them stood bending over him.
Katrina immediately ran for water and made him drink some; and then
he got back just enough strength to tell them that the Last
judgment was at hand.
"How you talk!" said Katrina. "The Last Judgment indeed! Why,
you've got fever, man, and you're out of your head."
Then Jan turned to the seine-maker. "Can't you see either that the
firmament is sinking and sinking?"
The latter did not give him any reply, but turned instead to
Katrina, saying:
"This is pretty serious. I think we'll have to try the remedy we
talked of on the way. I may as well go down to Falla at once."
"But Lars will never consent to it."
"Why you know that Lars has gone down to the tavern. I'm sure the
old mistress of Falla will have the courage--"
Jan cut him short. He could not bear to hear them speak of
commonplace matters when such momentous things were in the air.
"Stop talking," he said. "Don't you hear the last trump? Don't you
hear the rumbling up in the mountains?"
They paused a moment and listened, just to please Jan. And then
they, too, heard a strange noise.
"There's a wagon rattling along in the woods," said Katrina. "What
on earth can that mean?"
As the rumbling noise grew more and more distinct, their
astonishment increased.
"And it's Sunday, too!" observed Katrina. "Now if this were a
weekday you could understand it; but who can it be that's out
driving in the woods on a Sunday night?"
She listened again. Then she heard the scraping of wheels against
stones and the clatter of hoofs along the steep forest road.
"Do you hear?" asked Jan. "Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear," said Katrina. "But no matter who comes I've got to
get the bed ready for you at once. It's that I have to think of."
"And I'm going down to Falla," said the seine-maker. "That's more
important than anything else. Good-bye for the present."
The old man hurried away while Katrina went in to prepare the bed;
she was hardly inside the door when the rattling noise, which she
and the seine-maker believed was caused by a common wagon, sounded
as if it were almost upon them. To Jan it was the rumble of heavy
war chariots, at whose approach the whole earth trembled. He called
in a loud voice to Katrina, who came out immediately.
"Dear heart, don't be so scared!" she said reassuringly. "I can see
the horse now. It's the old bay from Falla. Sit up and you'll see
it, too." Slipping her hand under Jan's neck she raised him to a
sitting posture. Through the elder bushes at the edge of the road a
horse could be seen running wildly in the direction of Ruffluck.
"Don't you see it's only Lars Gunnarson driving home? He must have
drunk himself full at the tavern, for he doesn't seem to know which
way he's going."
When Katrina said that a horse and wagon dashed by their gate. Both
she and Jan noticed that the wagon was empty and the horse
driverless.
All at once she let out a shriek: "Lord deliver us! Did you see
him, Jan? He's being dragged alongside the wagon!" Without waiting
for a reply she rushed across the yard into the road, where the
horse had just bolted past.
Jan let her go without a word. He was glad to be alone again. He
had not yet found an answer to his query as to why the Empress was
angry at him.
The bit of gilt paper now lay directly under his eyes. It glistened
so that he had to look at it again and again. Meanwhile his
thoughts went back to Mad Ingeborg--to the time when he had come
upon her at the Borg landing. It struck him instantly that here was
the answer he had been seeking. Now he knew what it was the little
girl had been displeased about all this while. He had been unkind
to Mad Ingeborg; he should never have refused to let her go along
to Portugallia.
How could he ever have imagined anything so mean of the great
Empress as that she would not want to have Mad Ingeborg with her!
It was that kind that she liked best to help. No wonder she was
angry! He ought to have known that the poor and unfortunate were
always welcome in her kingdom.
There was very little that could be done in this matter if no
to-morrow dawned, mused Jan. But what if there should be one? Ah,
then he would go and talk with Mad Ingeborg first thing.
He closed his eyes and folded his hands. Anyway, it was a blissful
relief to him that this anxiety had been stilled. Now it would not
be nearly so hard to die. He had no idea as to how much time had
elapsed before he again heard Katrina's voice close to him.
"Jan, dear, how do you feel now? You're not going to die and leave
me, are you?"
Katrina sounded so doleful that he had to look up at her. Then he
saw in her hand the imperial stick and the green leather cap.
"I asked the folks down at Falla to let me take these to you," she
explained. "I told them that come what might it was better for you
to have them again than to have you lose all interest in life."
"The dear little girl, the great Empress, isn't she wonderful!" Jan
said to himself. No sooner had he come to a realization of his sin
and promised to atone for it, than she again granted him her grace
and her favour.
He had such a marvellous feeling of lightness, as if a great weight
had been lifted from him. The firmament had raised itself and let
in air, at the same time drawing away the excessive heat. He was
able to sit up now and fumble for the imperial regalia.
"Now you can have them for good and all," said Katrina. "There'll
be no one to come and take them away from you, for Lars Gunnarson
is dead."