at the farm, and to give a turn and a shake to the two or three little
cocks of hay which had been mown behind the house. His quick eye noted
the deep marks of a man's feet in the sand and pebbles below high-water
mark proving that some one had been on the premises during the night.
He followed these marks to the boat, where he was amazed to find the
enemy (as he called Hund) fast asleep. Oddo was in a great hurry to
tell his grandfather (Erlingsen being on the mountain); but he thought
it only proper caution to secure his prize from escaping in his absence.
He summoned his companion, the dog which had warned him of many dangers
abroad, and helped him faithfully with his work at home; and nothing
could be clearer to Skorro than that he was to crouch on the thwarts of
the boat, with his nose close to Hund's face, and not to let Hund stir
till Oddo came back. Then Oddo ran, and wakened his grandfather, who
made all haste to rise and dress. Erica now lived in Peder's house.
Hearing Oddo's story, she rushed out, and her voice was soon heard in
passionate entreaty, above the bark of the dog, which was trying to
prevent the prisoner from rising.
"Only tell me," Erica was heard to say, "only tell me where and how he
died. I know he is dead--I knew he would die; from that terrible night
when we were betrothed. Tell me who did it--for I am sure you know.
Was it Nipen? O Hund, speak! Say only where his body is, and I will
try--I will try never to speak to you again--never to----"
[Illustration: No other than the Mountain-Demon.]
Hund looked miserable; he moved his lips, but no sound was heard
mingling with Erica's rapid speech.
Madame Erlingsen, who, with Orga, had by this time reached the spot,
laid her hand on Erica's arm, to beg for a moment's silence, made Oddo
call his dog out of the boat, and then spoke, in a severe tone, to Hund.
"Why do you shake your head, Hund, and speak no word? Say what you
know, for the sake of those whom, we grievously suspect, you have
deeply injured. Say what you know, Hund."
"What I say is, that I do not know," replied Hund in a hoarse and
agitated voice. "I only know that we live in an enchanted place, here
by this fiord, and that the spirits try to make us answer for their
doings. The very first night after I went forth, this very boat was
spirited away from me, so that I could not come home. Nipen had a
spite against me there--to make you all suspect me. I declare to you
that the boat was gone, in a twinkling, by magic, and I heard the cry
of the spirit that took it."
"What was the cry like?" asked Oddo gravely.
"Where were you, that you were not spirited away with the boat?" asked
his mistress.
"I was tumbled out upon the shore, I don't know how," declared Hund;
"found myself sprawling on a rock, while the creature's cries brought
my heart into my mouth as I lay."
"Alone? Were you alone?" asked his mistress.
"I had landed the pastor some hours before, madame; and I took nobody
else with me, as Stiorna can tell, for she saw me go."
"Stiorna is at the mountain," observed madame coolly.
"But, Hund," said Oddo, "how did Nipen take hold of you when it laid
you sprawling on the rock? Neck and heels? Or did it bid you go and
hearken whether the pirates were coming, and whip away the boat before
you came back? Are you quite sure that you sprawled on the rock at all
before you ran away from the horrible cry you speak of? Our rocks are
very slippery when Nipen is at one's heels."
Hund stared at Oddo, and his voice was yet hoarser when he said that he
had long thought that boy was a favourite with Nipen, and he was sure
of it now.
Erica had thrown herself down on the sand hiding her face on her hands,
on the edge of the boat, as if in despair of her misery being attended
to--her questions answered. Old Peder stood beside her, stroking her
hair tenderly, and he now spoke the things she could not.
"Attend to me, Hund," said Peder, in the grave, quiet tone which every
one regarded. "Hear my words; and for your own sake answer them. We
suspect you of being in communication with the pirates yonder; we
suspect that you went to meet them when you refused to go hunting the
bears. We know that you have long felt ill-will towards Rolf--envy of
him--jealousy of him--and----"
Here Erica looked up, pale as ashes, and said: "Do not question him
further. There is no truth in his answers. He spoke falsehood even
now."
Peder knew how Hund shrank under this, and thought the present the
moment to get truth out of him, if he ever could speak it. He
therefore went on to say--
"We suspect you of having done something to keep your rival out of the
way, in order that you might obtain the house and situation--and
perhaps something else that you wish."
"Have you killed him?" asked Erica abruptly, looking full in his face.
"No," returned Hund firmly. From his manner everybody believed this
much.
"Do you know that anybody else has killed him?"
"No."
"Do you know whether he is alive or dead?"
To this Hund could, in the confusion of his ideas about Rolf's fate and
condition, fairly say "No;" as also to the question, "Do you know where
he is?"
Then they all cried out--
"Tell us what you do know about him."
"Ay, there you come," said Hund, resuming some courage, and putting on
the appearance of more than he had. "You load me with foul
accusations, and when you find yourselves all in the wrong, you alter
your tone, and put yourselves under obligation to me for what I will
tell. I will treat you better than you treat me, and I will tell you
plainly why. I repent of my feelings towards my fellow-servant, now
that evil has befallen him----"
"What? Oh, what?" cried Erica.
"He was seen fishing on the fiord in that poor little worn-out skiff.
I myself saw him. And when I looked next for the skiff, it was gone."
"And where were you?"
"Never mind where I was. I was about my own business. And I tell you,
I no more laid a finger on him than any one of you."
"Where was it?"
"Close by Vogel islet."
Erica started, and in one moment's flush of hope told that Rolf had
said he should be safe at any time near Vogel islet. Hund caught at
her words so eagerly as to make a favourable impression on all, who
saw, what was indeed the truth, that he would have been glad to know
that Rolf was alive.
"I believe some of the things you have told. I believe that you did
not lay hands on Rolf."
"Bless you! Bless you for that!" interrupted Hund, almost forgetting
how far he really was guilty.
"Tell me then," proceeded Erica, "how you believe he really perished."
"I believe," whispered Hund, "that the strong hand pulled him
down--down to the bottom."
"I knew it," said Erica, turning away.
"Erica--one word," exclaimed Hund. "I must stay here--I am very
miserable, and I must stay here and work, and work till I get some
comfort. But you must tell me how you think of me--you must say that
you do not hate me----"
"I do hate you," said Erica with disgust, as her suspicions of his
wanting to fill Rolf's place were renewed, "I mistrust you, Hund, more
deeply than I can tell."
"Will no penitence change your feelings, Erica? I tell you I am as
miserable as you."
"That is false, like everything else that you say," cried Erica. "I
wish you would go--go and seek Rolf under the waters."
Hund shuddered at the thought, as it recalled what he had seen and
heard at the islet. Erica saw this, and sternly repeated--
"Go and bring back Rolf from the deeps, and then I will cease to hate
you."
As Erica slowly returned into Peder's house, Oddo ran past, and was
there before her. He closed the door when she had entered, put his
hand within hers, and said--
"Did Rolf really tell you that he should be safe anywhere near Vogel
islet?"
"Yes," sighed Erica, "safe from the pirates. That was his answer when
I begged him not to go so far down the fiord; but Rolf always had an
answer when one asked him not to go into danger."
"Erica, you went one trip with me, and I know you are brave. Will you
go another? Will you go to the islet and see what Rolf could have
meant about being safe there?"
Erica brightened for a moment, and perhaps would have agreed to go; but
Peder came in, and Peder said he knew the islet well, and that it was
universally considered that it was now inaccessible to human foot, and
that that was the reason why the fowl flourished there as they did in
no other place. Erica must not be permitted to go so far down among
the haunts of the pirates. Instead of this, her mistress had just
decided that, as there were no present means of getting rid of Hund,
and as Erica could not be expected to remain just now in his presence,
she should set off immediately for the mountain, and request Erlingsen
to come home.
Under Peder's urgency she made up her bundle of clothes, took in her
hand her lure,[3] with which to call home the cattle in the evenings,
bade her mistress farewell privately, and stole away without Hund's
knowledge.
[3] The lure is a wooden trumpet, nearly five feet long, made of two
hollow pieces of birch-wood, bound together throughout the whole length
with slips of willow. It is used to call the cattle together on a wide
pasture.
Wandering with unwilling steps farther and farther from the spot where
she had last seen Rolf, Erica dashed the tears from her eyes, and
looked behind her at the entrance of a ravine which would hide from her
the fiord and the dwelling she had left. Thor islet lay like a
fragment of the leafy forest cast into the blue waters, but Vogel islet
could not be seen. It was not too far down to be seen from an
elevation like this, but it was hidden behind the promontories by which
the fiord was contracted. She looked behind her no more, but made her
way rapidly through the ravine; the more rapidly because she had seen a
man ascending by the same path at no great distance, and she had little
inclination to be joined by a party of wandering Laplanders, still less
by any neighbour from the fiord who might think civility required that
he should escort her to the seater. This wayfarer was walking at a
pace so much faster than hers that he would soon pass, and she would
hide among the rocks beside the tarn at the head of the ravine till he
had gone by.
Through the rich pasture Erica waded till she reached the tarn which
fed the stream that gambolled down the ravine. The death-cold
unfathomed waters lay calm and still under the shelter of the rocks
which nearly surrounded them.
In the shadow of one of these rocks, Erica sank down into the long
grass. Here she would remain long enough to let the other wayfarer
have a good start up the mountain, and by that time she should be cool
and tranquillised. She hid her face in the fragrant grass, and did not
look up again till the grief of her soul was stilled. Then her eye and
her heart were open to the beauty of the place which she had made her
temple of worship, and she gazed around till she saw something that
surprised her.
The traveller, who she had hoped was now some way up the mountain, was
standing on the margin of the tarn, immediately opposite to her.
She sat up, and took her bundle and her lure, believing now that she
must accept the unwelcome civility of an escort for the whole of the
rest of the way, and thinking that she might as well make haste and get
it over. The man approached and took his seat on the huge stone beside
her, crossed his arms, made no greeting, but looked her full in the
face.
She did not know the face, nor was it like any that she had ever seen.
There was such long hair, and so much beard, that the eyes seemed the
only feature which made any distinct impression. Erica's heart now
began to beat violently. Though wishing to be alone, she had not
dreamed of being afraid till now; but now it occurred to her that she
was seeing the rarest of sights--one not seen twice in a century, no
other than the mountain-demon.
She sprang to her feet, and began to wade back through the high grass
to the pathway, almost expecting to be seized by a strong hand and cast
into the unfathomable tarn, whose waters were said to well up from the
centre of the earth. Her companion, however, merely walked by her
side. As he did not offer to carry her bundle, he could be no
countryman of hers.
They walked quietly on till the tarn was left some way behind. Erica
found she was not to die that way. Presently after, she came in sight
of a settlement of Lapps--a cluster of low and dirty tents, round which
some tame reindeer were feeding. Erica was not sorry to see these,
though no one knew better than she the helpless cowardice of these
people; and it was not easy to say what assistance they could afford
against the mountain-demon. Yet they were human beings, and would
appear in answer to a cry. She involuntarily shifted her lure, to be
ready to utter a call. The stranger stopped to look at the distant
tents, and Erica went on at the same pace. He presently overtook her,
and pointed towards the Lapps with an inquiring look. Erica only
nodded.
"Why you no speak?" growled the stranger in broken language.
"Because I have nothing to say," declared Erica, in the sudden vivacity
inspired by the discovery that this was probably no demon. Her doubts
were renewed, however, by the next question.
"Is the bishop coming?"
Now, none were supposed to have a deeper interest in the holy bishop's
travels than the evil spirits of any region through which he was to
pass.
"Yes, he is coming," replied Erica. "Are you afraid of him?"
The stranger burst into a loud laugh at her question: and very like a
mocking fiend he looked, as his thick beard parted to show his wide
mouth, with its two ranges of teeth. When he finished laughing, he
said, "No, no--we no fear bishop."
"'We!'" repeated Erica to herself. "He speaks for his tribe as well as
himself."
"We no fear bishop," said the stranger, still laughing. "You no
fear----" and he pointed to the long stretch of path--the prodigious
ascent before them.
Erica said there was nothing to fear on the mountain for those who did
their duty to the powers, as it was her intention to do. Her first
Gammel cheese was to be for him whose due it was, and it should be the
best she could make.
This speech she thought would suit, whatever might be the nature of her
companion. If it was the demon, she could do no more to please him
than promise him his cheese.
Her companion seemed not to understand or attend to what she said.
When Erica saw that she had no demon for a companion, but only a
foreigner, she was so much relieved as not to be afraid at all.
The stranger pointed to the tiny cove in which Erlingsen's farm might
be seen, looking no bigger than an infant's toy, and said--
"Do you leave an enemy there, or is Hund now your friend?"
"Hund is nobody's friend, unless he happens to be yours," Erica
replied, perceiving at once that her companion belonged to the pirates.
"Hund is everybody's enemy; and, above all, he is an enemy to himself.
He is a wretched man."
"The bishop will cure that," said the stranger. "He is coward enough
to call in the bishop to cure all. When comes the bishop?"
"Next week."
"What day, and what hour?"
Erica did not choose to gratify so close a curiosity as this. She did
not reply; and while silent, was not sorry to hear the distant sound of
cattle-bells--and Erlingsen's cattle-bells too. The stranger did not
seem to notice the sound, even though quickening his pace to suit
Erica's, who pressed on faster when she believed protection was at
hand. And yet the next thing the stranger said brought her to a full
stop. He said he thought a part of Hund's business with the bishop
would be to get him to disenchant the fiord, so that boats might not be
spirited away almost before men's eyes, and that a rower and his skiff
might not sink like lead one day, and the man may be heard the second
day, and seen the third, so that there was no satisfactory knowledge as
to whether he was really dead. Erica stopped, and her eager looks made
the inquiry which her lips could not speak. Her eagerness put her
companion on his guard, and he would explain no further than by saying
that the fiord was certainly enchanted, and that strange tales were
circulating all round its shores, very striking to a stranger; a
stranger had nothing more to do with the wonders of a country than to
listen to them. He wanted to turn the conversation back to Hund.
Having found out that he was at Erlingsen's, he next tried to discover
what he had said and done since his arrival. Erica told the little
there was to tell--that he seemed full of sorrow and remorse. She told
this in hope of a further explanation about drowned men being seen
alive, but the stranger stopped when the bells were heard again, and a
woman's voice singing, nearer still. He complimented Erica on her
courage, and turned to go back the way he came, and walked away rapidly.
The only thing now to be done was to run forwards. Erica forgot heat,
weariness, and the safety of her property, and ran on towards the
singing voice. In five minutes she found the singer, Frolich, lying
along the ground and picking cloud-berries, with which she was filling
her basket for supper.
"Where is Erlingsen?--quick--quick!" cried Erica.
"My father? You may just see him with your good eyes--up there."
And Frolich pointed to a patch of verdure on a slope high up the
mountain, where the gazer might just discern that there were haycocks
standing, and two or three moving figures beside them.
"Stiorna is there to-day, besides Jan. They hope to finish this
evening," said Frolich; "and so here I am, all alone; and I am glad you
have come to help me to have a good supper ready for them. Their
hunger will beat all my berry-gathering."
"You are alone!" said Erica, discovering that it was well that the
pirate had turned back when he did. "You alone, and gathering berries,
instead of having an eye on the cattle!"
"But why are your hands empty?" asked Frolich. "Who is to lend you
clothes? And what will the cows say to your leaving your lure behind,
when you know they like it so much better than Stiorna's?"
Erica returned for her bundle and lure; and then proceeded to an
eminence where two or three of her cows were grazing, and there sounded
her lure. She put her whole strength to it, in hope that others
besides the cattle might appear in answer, for she was really anxious
to see her master.
The peculiar and far from musical sounds spread wide over the pastures
and up the slopes, and through the distant woods, so that the cattle of
another seater stood to listen, and her own cows began to move, leaving
the sweetest tufts of grass and rising up from their couches in the
richest herbage, to converge towards the point whence she called. The
far-off herdsman observed to his fellow that there was a new call among
the pastures; and Erlingsen, on the upland, desired Jan and Stiorna to
finish cocking the hay, and began his descent to his seater, to learn
whether Erica had brought any news from home.
Long before he could appear, Frolich threw herself down at Erica's feet.
"You want news," said Erica, avoiding as usual all conversation about
her superstitions. "How will it please you that the bishop is coming?"
"Very much, if we had any chance of seeing him. Very much, whether we
see him or not, if he can give any help--any advice. My poor Erica, I
do not like to ask; but you have had no good news, I fear."
Erica shook her head.
"I saw that in your face in a moment. Do not speak about it till you
tell my father. He may help you, I cannot; so do not tell me anything."
Erica was glad to take her at her word. She kissed Frolich's hand,
which lay on her knee, in token of thanks, and then inquired whether
any Gammel cheese was made yet.
"No," said Frolich, inwardly sighing for news. "We have the whey, but
not sweet cream enough till after this evening's milking. So you are
just in time."
Erica was glad, as she could not otherwise have been sure of the demon
having his due.
"There is your father," said Erica. "Now do go and gather more
berries, Frolich. There are not half enough."
It may be supposed that Erlingsen was anxious to be at home when he had
heard Erica's story. He was not to be detained by any promise of
berries and cream for supper. He put away the thought even of his hay,
yet unfinished on the upland, and would hear nothing that Frolich had
to say of his fatigue at the end of a long working day. He took some
provision with him, drank off a glass of corn-brandy, and set off at a
good pace down the mountain.
Scarcely a word was spoken (though the mountain-dairies have the
reputation of being the merriest places in the world), till Erica and
Frolich were about their cheese-making the next morning. Erica had
rather have kept the cattle; but Frolich so earnestly begged that she
would let Stiorna do that, as she could not destroy the cattle in her
ill-humour, while she might easily spoil the cheese, that Erica put
away her knitting, tied on her apron, tucked up her sleeves, and
prepared for the great work.
"Frolich," said Erica, "is the cream good?"
"Stiorna would say that the demon will smack his lips over it. Come
and taste."
"Do not speak so, dear."
"I was only quoting Stiorna----"
"What are you saying about me?" inquired Stiorna, appearing at the
door. "Only talking about the cream and the cheese? Are you sure of
that? Bless me! what a smell of the yellow flowers! It will be a
prime cheese."
"How can you leave the cattle, Stiorna?" cried Erica. "If they are all
gone when you get back----"
"Well, come then, and see the sight. I get scolded either way always.
You would have scolded me finely to-night if I had not called you to
see the sight."
"What sight?"
"Why, there is such a procession of boats on the fiord that you would
suppose there were three weddings happening at once."
"What can we do?" exclaimed Frolich, dolefully looking at the cream,
which had reached such a point that the stirring could not cease for a
minute without risk of spoiling the cheese.
Erica took the long wooden spoon from Frolich's hand, and bade her run
and see where the bishop (for no doubt it was the bishop) was going to
land. The cream should not spoil while she was absent.
Frolich bounded away over the grass, declaring that if it was the
bishop going to her father's, she could not possibly stay on the
mountain for all the cheeses in Nordland. Erica remained alone,
patiently stirring the cream, and hardly heeding the heat of the fire,
while planning how the bishop would be told her story, and how he would
examine Hund, and perhaps be able to give some news of the pirates, and
certainly be ready with his advice. Some degree of hope arose within
her as she thought of the esteem in which all Norway held the wisdom
and kindness of the Bishop of Tronyem, and then again she felt it hard
to be absent during the visit of the only person to whom she looked for
comfort.
Frolich returned after a long while to defer her hopes a little. The
boats had all drawn to shore on the northern side of the fiord, where,
no doubt, the bishop had a visit to pay before proceeding to
Erlingsen's. The cheese-making might yet be done in time, even if
Frolich should be sent for from home to see and be seen by the good
bishop.
The day after Erica's departure to the dairy, Peder was sitting alone
in his house weaving a frail basket. He sighed to think how empty and
silent the house appeared. Erica's light, active step was gone.
Rolf's hearty laugh was silent, perhaps for ever. Oddo was an inmate
still, but Oddo was much altered of late; and who could wonder?
From the hour of Hund's return, the boy had hardly been heard to speak.
All these thoughts were too melancholy for old Peder; and, to break the
silence, he began to sing as he wove his basket.
He had nearly got through a ballad of a hundred and five stanzas when
he heard a footstep on the floor.
"Oddo, my boy," said he, "surely you are in early. Can it be
dinner-time yet?"
"No, not this hour," replied Oddo in a low voice, which sank to a
whisper as he said, "I have left Hund laying the troughs to water the
meadow;[4] and if he misses me I don't care. I could not stay; I could
not help coming; and if he kills me for telling you, he may, for tell
you I must."
[4] The strips of meadow which lie between high rocks in Norway would
be parched by the reflection of the long summer sunshine, and
unproductive, if the inhabitants did not use great industry in the
irrigation of their lands. They conduct water from the spring-heads by
means of hollow trunks of trees laid end to end, through which water
flows in the directions in which It is wanted, sometimes for an extent
of fifty miles from one spring.
And Oddo went to close and fasten the door; and then he sat down on the
ground, rested his arms on his grandfather's knees, and told his story
in such a low tone that no "little bird" under the eaves could "carry
the matter."
"O grandfather, what a mind that fellow has! He will go crazy with
horror soon. I am not sure that he is not crazy now."
"He has murdered Rolf, has he?"