thrilled her whole frame. "My Erica!"
She not only looked towards the wood now, but sprang forwards; but her
eyes were so dazzled by having gazed at the sun that she could see
nothing. Then she remembered how many forms the cunning demon could
assume, and she turned back thinking how cruel it was to delude her
with her lover's voice, when instead of his form she should doubtless
see some horrid monster. She turned in haste, and laid her hand on the
latch of the door, glancing once more at the horizon.
There was now no sun at all. The burnish was gone from every point of
the landscape, and a mild twilight reigned.
One good omen had vanished; but there was still enchantment around, for
again she heard the thrilling "Erica!"
There was no huge beast glaring through the pine stems, and trampling
down the thicket; but instead, there was the figure of a man advancing
from the shadow into the pasture. "Why do you take that form?" said
the trembling girl, sinking down on the bench. "I had rather have seen
you as a bear. Did you not find the axe? I laid it for you.
Pray--pray, come no nearer."
"I must, my love, to show you that it is your own Rolf. Erica, do not
let your superstition come for ever between us."
She held out her arms--she could not rise, though she strove to do so.
Rolf sat beside her--she felt his kisses on her forehead--she felt his
heart beat--she felt that not even a spirit could assume the very tones
of that voice.
"Do forgive me," she murmured; "but it is Mid-summer Eve, and I felt so
sure----"
"As sure of my being the demon as I am sure there is no cruel spirit
here, though it is Midsummer Eve. Look, love! see how the day smiles
upon us!"
And he pointed to where a golden star seemed to kindle on the edge of
the sea. It was the sun again, rising after its few minutes of absence.
"I saw two just now," cried Erica--"two suns. Where are we, really?
And how is all this? And where do you come from?"
And she gazed, still wistfully, doubtfully, in her lover's face.
"I will show you," said he, smiling. And while he still held her with
one arm, lest in some sudden fancy she should fly him as a ghost, he
used the other hand to empty his pockets of the beautiful shells he had
brought, tossing them into her lap.
"Did you ever see such, Erica? I have been where they lie in heaps.
Did you ever see such beauties?"
"I never did, Rolf; you have been at the bottom of the sea."
And once more she shrank from what she took for the grasp of a drowned
man.
"Not to the bottom, love," replied he, still clasping her hand. "Our
fiord is deep, perhaps as deep as they say. I dived as deep as a man
may to come up with the breath in his body, but I could never find the
bottom. Did I not tell you that I should go down as far as Vogel
island, and that I should there be safe?"
"Yes! You did--you did!"
"Well! I went to Vogel island, and here I am safe!"
"It is you! We are together again!" she exclaimed, now in full belief.
"Thank God! Thank God!" And she wept upon his shoulder.
They did not heed the time, as they talked and talked; and Rolf was
just telling how he had more than once seen a double sun without
finding any remarkable consequences follow, when Stiorna came forth
with her milk pails just before four o'clock. She started and dropped
one of her pails when she saw who was sitting on the bench, and Erica
started no less at the thought of how completely she had forgotten the
cattle and the underground people all this time. The herd was all
safe, however--every cow as large as life, and looking exactly like
itself, so that the good fortune of this Midsummer Eve had been perfect.
The appearance of Stiorna reminded the lovers that it was time to begin
the business of the morning. They startled Stiorna with the news that
a large company was coming to breakfast. Being in no very amiable
temper towards happy lovers, she refused after a moment's thought to
believe what they said, and sat down sulking to her task of milking.
So Rolf proceeded to rouse Jan, and Erica stepped to Frolich's bedside,
and waked her with a kiss.
"Erica! No, can it be?" said the active girl, up in a moment. "You
look too happy to be Erica."
"Erica never was so happy before, dear, that is the reason. You were
right, Frolich--bless your kind heart for it! Rolf was not dead. He
is here."
Frolich gallopaded round the room, like one crazy, before proceeding to
dress.
"Whenever you like to stop," said Erica, laughing, "I have some good
news for you too."
"I am to go and see the bishop!" cried Frolich, clapping her hands, and
whirling round on one foot like an opera-dancer.
"Not so, Frolich."
"There now! you promise me good news, and then you won't let me go and
see the bishop when you know that is the only thing in the world I want
or wish for!"
"Would it not be a great compliment to you, and save you a great deal
of trouble, if the bishop were to come here to see you?"
"Ah! that would be a pretty sight! The Bishop of Tronyem over the
ankles in the sodden, trodden pasture--sticking in the mud of
Sulitelma! The Bishop of Tronyem sleeping upon hay in the loft, and
eating his dinner off a wooden platter! That would be the most
wonderful sight that Nordland ever saw."
"Prepare, then, to see the Bishop of Tronyem drink his morning coffee
out of a wooden bowl. Meantime, I must go and grind his coffee.
Seriously, Frolich, you must make haste to dress and help. The pirates
want to carry off the bishop for ransom. Erlingsen is raising the
country. Hund is coming here as a prisoner, and the bishop, and my
mistress, and Orga, to be safe; and if you do not help me I shall have
nothing ready, for Stiorna does not like the news."
Never had Frolich dressed more quickly. She thought it very hard that
the bishop should see her when she had nothing but her dairy dress to
wear, but she was ready all the sooner for this. Erica consoled her
with her belief that the bishop was the last person who could be
supposed to make a point of a silk gown for a mountain maiden.
A consultation about the arrangements was held before the door by the
four who were in a good humour, for Stiorna remained aloof. This, like
other mountain dwellings, was a mere sleeping and eating shed, only
calculated for a bare shelter at night, at meals, and from occasional
rain. There was no apartment at the seater in which the bishop could
hold an audience, out of the way of the cooking and other household
transactions. It could not be expected of him to sit on the bench
outside, or on the grass, like the people of the establishment; for,
unaccustomed as he was to spend his days in the open air, his eyes
would be blinded, and his face blistered by the sun. The young people
cast their eyes on the pine wood as the fittest summer parlour for him,
if it could be provided with seats.
Erica sprang forward to prevent any one from entering the wood till she
should have seen what state the place was in on this particular
morning. No trees had been felled, and no branches cut since the night
before, and the axes remained where they had been hung. The demon had
not wanted them, it seemed, and there was no fear of intruding upon him
now. So the two young men set to work to raise a semicircular range of
turf seats in the pleasantest part of the shady grove. The central
seat, which was raised above the rest, and had a foot-stool, was well
cushioned with dry and soft moss, and the rough bark was cut from the
trunk of the tree against which it was built, so that the stem served
as a comfortable back to the chair. Rolf tried the seat when finished,
and as he leaned back, feasting his eyes on the vast sunny landscape
which was to be seen between the trees of the grove, he declared that
it was infinitely better to sit here than in the bishop's stall in
Tronyem Cathedral.
All being done now for which a strong man was wanted, Rolf declared
that he and Jan must be gone to the farm. Not a man could be spared
from the shores of the fiord till the affairs of the pirates should be
settled. Erica ought to have expected to hear this, but her cheek grew
white as it was told. She spoke no word of objection, however, seeing
plainly what her lover's duty was.
She turned towards the dairy when he was gone, instead of indulging
herself with watching him down the mountain. She was busy skimming
bowl after bowl of rich milk, when Frolich ran in to say that Stiorna
had dressed herself, and put up her bundle, and was setting forth
homewards to see, as she said, the truth of things there--which meant,
of course, to learn Hund's condition and prospects. It was now
necessary to tell her that she would presently see Hund brought up to
the seater a prisoner, and that the farm was no place for any but
fighting men this day. To save her feelings and temper, Erica asked
her to watch the herd, leading them to a point whence she could soonest
see the expected company mounting the uplands.
[Illustration: It was Hund, with his feet tied under his horse, and the
bridle held by a man on each side.]
Presently there were voices heard from the hill above. Some traveller
who had met the budstick had reported the proceedings below, and the
news had spread to a northern seater. The men had gone down to the
fiord, and here were the women with above a gallon of strawberries,
fresh gathered, and a score of plovers' eggs. Next appeared a pony,
coming westward over the pasture, laden with panniers containing a
tender kid, a packet of spices, a jar of preserved cherries, and a few
of the present season, early ripe, and a stone bottle of ant vinegar.
Frolich's spirits rose higher and higher, as more people came from
below, sent by Rolf on his way down. A deputation of Lapps came from
the tents, bringing reindeer venison, and half of a fine Gammel cheese.
Before Erica had had time to pour out a glass of corn-brandy for each
of this dwarfish party, in token of thanks, and because it is
considered unlucky to send away Lapps without a treat, other mountain
dwellers came with offerings of various wild fowl, so that the dresser
was loaded with game enough to feed half a hundred hungry men.
Erica and Frolich returned to their breakfast-table, to make the new
arrangements now necessary, and place the fruit, and spices. Erica
closely examined the piece of Gammel cheese brought by the Lapps, and
then, with glowing cheeks, called Frolich to her.
"What now?" said Frolich. "Have you found a way of telling fortunes
with the hard cheese, as some pretend to do with the soft curds?"
"Look here," said Erica. "What stamp is this? The cheese has been
scraped--almost pared, you see, but they have left one little corner.
And whose stamp is there?"
"Ours," said Frolich coolly. "This is the cheese you laid out on the
ridge last night."
"I believe it. I see it," exclaimed Erica.
"Now, dear Erica, do not let us have the old story of your being
frightened about what the demon will say and do. Nobody but you will
be surprised that the Lapps help themselves with good things that lie
strewing the ground."
To Frolich's delight and surprise she appeared too busy--or was rather,
perhaps, too happy--to lament this mischance, as she would formerly
have done. Just when a youth from the highest pasture on Sulitelma had
come running and panting, to present Frolich with a handful of fringed
pinks and blue gentian, plucked from the very edge of the glacier, so
that their colours were reflected in the ice, Stiorna appeared in haste
to tell that a party on horseback and on foot were winding out of the
ravine, and coming straight up over the pasture. All was now
certainty, and great was the bustle to put out of sight all unseemly
tokens of preparation. In the midst of the hurry Frolich found time to
twist some of her pretty flowers into her pretty hair, so that it might
easily chance that the bishop would not miss her silk gown.
The bishop's reputation preceded him, as is usual in such cases. As
his horse, followed by those which bore the ladies, reached the house
door, all present cried--
"Welcome to the mountain!" "Welcome to Sulitelma!"
The bishop observed that, often as he had wished to look abroad from
Sulitelma, and to see with his own eyes what life at the seaters was
like, he should have grown old without the desire being gratified but
for the design of the enemy upon him. It was all he could do to go the
rounds of his diocese, from station to station below, without thinking
of journeys of pleasure. Yet here he was on Sulitelma!
When he and M. Kollsen and the ladies had dismounted, and were entering
the house to breakfast, the gazers found leisure to observe the
hindmost of the train of riders. It was Hund, with his feet tied under
his horse, and the bridle held by a man on each side. He had seen and
heard too much of the preparations against the enemy to be allowed to
remain below, or at large anywhere, till the attack should be over. He
could not dismount till some one untied his legs; and no one would do
that till a safe place could be found in which to confine him. It was
an awkward situation enough, sitting there bound before everybody's
eyes; and not the less for Stiorna's leaning her head against the
horse, and crying at seeing him so treated; and yet Hund had often been
seen, on small occasions, to look far more black and miserable. His
face now was almost cheerful. Stiorna praised this as a sign of
bravery; but the truth was, the party had been met by Rolf and Jan
going down the mountain. It was no longer possible to take Rolf for a
ghost; and though Hund was as far as possible from understanding the
matter, he was unspeakably relieved to find that he had not the death
of his rival to answer for. It made his countenance almost gay to
think of this, even while stared at by men, women, and children as a
prisoner.
"What is it?" whimpered Stiorna--"what are you a prisoner for, Hund?"
"Ask them that know," said Hund. "I thought at first that it was on
Rolf's account; and now that they see with their own eyes that Rolf is
safe they best know what they have to bring against me."
"It is no secret," said Madame Erlingsen. "Hund was seen with the
pirates, acting with and assisting them, when they committed various
acts of thievery on the shores of the fiord. If the pirates are taken,
Hund will be tried with them for robberies at There's, Kyril's, Tank's,
and other places along the shore, about which information has been
given by a witness."
"There's, Kyril's, and Tank's!" repeated Hund to himself; "then there
must be magic in the case. I could have sworn that not an eye on earth
witnessed the doings there. If Rolf turns out to be the witness, I
shall be certain that he has the powers of the region to help him."
So little is robbery to be dreaded at the seaters, that there really
was no place where Hund could be fastened in--no lock upon any
door--not a window from which he might not escape. The zealous
neighbours, therefore, whose interest it was to detain him, offered to
take it in turn to be beside him, his right arm tied to the left of
another man. And thus it was settled.
When the bishop came forth in the afternoon to take his seat in the
shade of the wood, those who were there assembled were singing _For
Norge_. Instead of permitting them to stop, on account of his arrival,
he joined in the song; solely because his heart was in it. As he
looked around him, and saw deep shades and sunny uplands, blue glaciers
above, green pastures and glittering waters below, and all around,
herds on every hillside, he felt his love of old Norway, and his
thankfulness for being one of her sons, as warm as that of any one of
the singers in the wood. Out of the fulness of his heart, the good
bishop addressed his companions on the goodness of God in creating such
a land, and placing them in it, with their happiness so far in their
own hands as that little worthy of being called evil could befall them,
except through faults of their own. M. Kollsen, who had before uttered
his complaints of the superstition of his flock, hoped that his bishop
was now about to attack the mischief vigorously.
The bishop only took his seat--the mossy seat prepared for him--and
declared himself to be now at the service of any who wished to consult
or converse with him. Instead of thrusting his own opinions and
reproofs upon them, as it was M. Kollsen's wont to do, he waited for
the people to open their minds to him in their own way; and by this
means, whatever he found occasion to say had double influence from
coming naturally. The words dropped by him that day were not forgotten
through long years after; and he was quoted half a century after he had
been in his grave, as old Ulla had quoted the good Bishop of Tronyem of
her day.
In a few hours, many of the people were gone for the present, some
being wanted at home, and others for the expected affair on the fiord.
The bishop and M. Kollsen had thought themselves alone in their shady
retreat, when they saw Erica lingering near among the trees. With a
kind smile, the bishop beckoned to her, and bade her sit down, and tell
him whether he had not been right in promising a while ago that God
would soothe her sorrows with time, as is the plan of His kind
providence. He remembered well the story of the death of her mother.
Erica replied that not only had her grief been soothed, but that she
was now so blessed that her heart was burdened with its gratitude.
"I wish," said Erica, with a sigh--"I do wish I knew what to think
about Nipen."
"Ay! here it comes," observed M. Kollsen, folding his arms as if for an
argument.
Encouraged by the bishop, Erica told the whole story of the last few
months, from the night of Oddo's prank to that which found her at the
feet of her friend; for she cast herself down at the bishop's feet,
sitting as she had done in her childhood, looking up in his face.
"You want to know what I think of all this?" said the bishop, when she
had done. "I think that you could hardly help believing as you have
believed, amidst these strange circumstances, and with your mind full
of the common accounts of Nipen. Yet I do not believe there is any
such spirit as Nipen, or any demon in the forest, or on the mountain.
"This is one of the many tales belonging to the old religion of this
country. And how did this old religion arise? Why, the people saw
grand spectacles every day, and heard wonders whichever way they
turned; and they supposed that the whole universe was alive. The sun
as it travelled they thought was alive, and kind and good to men. The
tempest they thought was alive, and angry with men. The fire and frost
they thought were alive, pleased to make sport with them."
"As people who ought to know better," observed M. Kollsen, "now think
the wind is alive, and call it Nipen; or the mist of the lake and
river, which they call the sprite Uldra."
"It is true," said the bishop, "that we now have better knowledge, and
see that the earth, and all that is in it, is made and moved by one
Good Spirit, who, instead of sporting with men, or being angry with
them, rules all things for their good. But I am not surprised that
some of the old stories remain, and are believed in still, and by good
and dutiful Christians too. The mother sings the old songs over the
cradle, and the child hears tell of sprites and demons before it hears
of the good God, who 'sends forth the snow and rain, the hail and
vapour, and the stormy winds fulfilling His word.' And when the child
is grown to be a man or woman, the northern lights shooting over the
sky, and the sighing of the winds in the pine forest, bring back those
old songs and old thoughts about demons and sprites, and the stoutest
man trembles. I do not wonder, nor do I blame any man or woman for
this, though I wish they were as happy as the weakest infant or the
most worn-out old man, who has learned from the gentle Jesus to fear
nothing at any time, because His Father was with Him."
Erica hid her face, ashamed under the good man's smile.
"In our towns," continued he, "much of this blessed change is already
wrought. No one in my city of Tronyem now fears the angry and cunning
fire-giant Loke; but every citizen closes his eyes in peace when he
hears the midnight cry of the watch, 'Except the Lord keepeth the city,
the watchman waketh but in vain.'[6] In the wilds of the country every
man's faith will hereafter be his watchman, crying out upon all that
happens, 'It is the Lord's hand: let Him do what seemeth to Him good!'
This might have been said, Erica, as it appears to me, at every turn of
your story, where you and your friends were not in fault."
[6] The watchman's call in the towns of Norway.
"Oh!" exclaimed Erica, dropping her hands from before her glowing face,
"if I dared but think there were no bad spirits; if I dared only hope
that everything that happens is done by God's own hand, I could bear
everything! I would never be afraid again!"
"It is what I believe," said the bishop. Laying his hand on her head,
he continued--
"We know that the very hairs of your head are all numbered. I see that
you are weary of your fears; that you have long been heavy laden with
anxiety. It is you, then, that He invites to trust Him, when He says
by the lips of Jesus, 'Come ye that are weary and heavy-laden and I
will give you rest.'"
"Rest; rest is what I have wanted," said Erica, while her tears flowed
gently; "but Peder and Ulla did not believe as you do, and could not
explain things; and----"
"You should have asked me," said M. Kollsen; "I could have explained
everything."
"Perhaps so, sir; but--but, M. Kollsen, you always seemed angry, and
you said you despised us for believing anything that you did not; and
it is the most difficult thing in the world to ask questions which one
knows will be despised."
M. Kollsen glanced in the bishop's face, to see how he took this, and
how he meant to support the pastor's authority. The bishop looked sad,
and said nothing.
"And then," continued Erica, "there were others who laughed--even Rolf
himself laughed; and what one fears becomes only the more terrible when
it is laughed at."
"Very true," said the bishop. "When Jesus sat on the well in Samaria,
and taught how the true worship was come, He neither frowned on the
woman who inquired, nor despised her, nor made light of her
superstition about a sacred mountain."
There was a long silence, which was broken at last by Erica asking the
bishop whether he could not console poor Hund, who wanted comfort more
than she had ever done. The bishop replied, that the demons who most
tormented poor Hund were not abroad on the earth or in the air, but
within his breast--his remorse, his envy, his covetousness, his fear.
He meant not to lose sight of poor Hund, either in the prison, to which
he was to travel to-morrow, or after he should come out of it.
Here Frolich appeared, running to ask whether those who were in the
grove would not like to look forth from the ridge, and see what good
the budstick had done, and how many parties were on their way, from all
quarters, to the farm.
M. Kollsen was glad to rise and escape from what he thought a
schooling; and the bishop himself was as interested in what was going
on as if the farm had been his home. He was actually the first at the
ridge.
This part of the mountain was a singularly favourable situation for
seeing what was doing on the spot on which every one's attention was
fixed this day. While the people on the fiord could not see what was
going forward at Saltdalen, nor those at Saltdalen what were the
movements at the farm, the watchers on the ridge could observe the
proceedings at all the three points. The opportunity was much improved
by the bishop having a glass--a glass of a quality so rare at that time
that there would probably have been some talk of magic and charms if it
had been seen in any hands but the bishop's.