V.

Far up in the glen, about a mile from Kvaerk, ran a little brook; that

is, it was little in summer and winter, but in the spring, while the

snow was melting up in the mountains, it overflowed the nearest land

and turned the whole glen into a broad and shallow river. It was easy to

cross, however; a light foot might jump from stone to stone, and be over

in a minute. Not the hind herself could be lighter on her foot than Aasa

was; and even in the spring-flood it was her wont to cross and recross

the brook, and to sit dreaming on a large stone against which the water

broke incessantly, rushing in white torrents over its edges.

Here she sat one fair summer day--the day after Vigfusson’s departure.

It was noon, and the sun stood high over the forest. The water murmured

and murmured, babbled and whispered, until at length there came a sudden

unceasing tone into its murmur, then another, and it sounded like a

faint whispering song of small airy beings. And as she tried to listen,

to fix the air in her mind, it all ceased again, and she heard but

the monotonous murmuring of the brook. Everything seemed so empty and

worthless, as if that faint melody had been the world of the moment. But

there it was again; it sung and sung, and the birch overhead took up the

melody and rustled it with its leaves, and the grasshopper over in the

grass caught it and whirred it with her wings. The water, the trees, the

air, were full of it. What a strange melody!

Aasa well knew that every brook and river has its Neck, besides hosts

of little water-sprites. She had heard also that in the moonlight at

midsummer, one might chance to see them rocking in bright little

shells, playing among the pebbles, or dancing on the large leaves of the

water-lily. And that they could sing also, she doubted not; it was their

voices she heard through the murmuring of the brook. Aasa eagerly bent

forward and gazed down into the water: the faint song grew louder,

paused suddenly, and sprang into life again; and its sound was so sweet,

so wonderfully alluring! Down there in the water, where a stubborn

pebble kept chafing a precipitous little side current, clear tiny

pearl-drops would leap up from the stream, and float half-wonderingly

downward from rapid to rapid, until they lost themselves in the whirl

of some stronger current. Thus sat Aasa and gazed and gazed, and in one

moment she seemed to see what in the next moment she saw not. Then a

sudden great hush stole through the forest, and in the hush she could

hear the silence calling her name. It was so long since she had been in

the forest, it seemed ages and ages ago. She hardly knew herself; the

light seemed to be shining into her eyes as with a will and purpose,

perhaps to obliterate something, some old dream or memory, or to impart

some new power--the power of seeing the unseen. And this very thought,

this fear of some possible loss, brought the fading memory back, and she

pressed her hands against her throbbing temples as if to bind and chain

it there forever; and it was he to whom her thought returned. She heard

his voice, saw him beckoning to her to follow him, and she rose to obey,

but her limbs were as petrified, and the stone on which she was sitting

held her with the power of a hundred strong arms. The sunshine smote

upon her eyelids, and his name was blotted out from her life; there was

nothing but emptiness all around her. Gradually the forest drew nearer

and nearer, the water bubbled and rippled, and the huge, bare-stemmed

pines stretched their long gnarled arms toward her. The birches waved

their heads with a wistful nod, and the profile of the rock grew into a

face with a long, hooked nose, and a mouth half open as if to speak.

And the word that trembled on his lips was, “Come.” She felt no fear nor

reluctance, but rose to obey. Then and not until then she saw an old man

standing at her side; his face was the face of the rock, his white beard

flowed to his girdle, and his mouth was half open, but no word came from

his lips. There was something in the wistful look of his eye which she

knew so well, which she had seen so often, although she could not

tell when or where. The old man extended his hand; Aasa took it, and

fearlessly or rather spontaneously followed. They approached the steep,

rocky wall; as they drew near, a wild, fierce laugh rang through the

forest. The features of the old man were twisted as it were into a grin;

so also were the features of the rock; but the laugh blew like a mighty

blast through the forest.

Aasa clung to the old man’s hand and followed him--she knew not whither.

At home in the large sitting-room at Kvaerk sat Lage, brooding over the

wreck of his hopes and his happiness. Aasa had gone to the woods again

the very first day after Vigfusson’s departure. What would be the end of

all this? It was already late in the evening, and she had not returned.

The father cast anxious glances toward the door, every time he heard the

latch moving. At last, when it was near midnight, he roused all his

men from their sleep, and commanded them to follow him. Soon the dusky

forests resounded far and near with the blast of horns, the report of

guns, and the calling and shouting of men. The affrighted stag crossed

and recrossed the path of the hunters, but not a rifle was leveled at

its head. Toward morning--it was before the sun had yet risen--Lage,

weary and stunned, stood leaning up against a huge fir. Then suddenly a

fierce, wild laugh rang through the forest. Lage shuddered, raised his

hand slowly and pressed it hard against his forehead, vainly struggling

to clear his thoughts. The men clung fearfully together; a few of the

more courageous ones drew their knives and made the sign of the cross

with them in the air. Again the same mad laugh shook the air, and swept

over the crowns of the pine-trees. Then Lage lifted his eyes toward

heaven and wrung his hands: for the awful truth stood before him. He

remained a long while leaning against that old fir as in a dead stupor;

and no one dared to arouse him. A suppressed murmur reached the men’s

ears. “But deliver us from evil” were the last words they heard.

When Lage and his servants came home to Kvaerk with the mournful tidings

of Aasa’s disappearance, no one knew what to do or say. There could be

no doubt that Aasa was “mountain-taken,” as they call it; for there were

Trolds and dwarfs in all the rocks and forests round about, and they

would hardly let slip the chance of alluring so fair a maiden as Aasa

was into their castles in the mountains. Elsie, her mother, knew a good

deal about the Trolds, their tricks, and their way of living, and

when she had wept her fill, she fell to thinking of the possibility of

regaining her daughter from their power. If Aasa had not yet tasted of

food or drink in the mountain, she was still out of danger; and if the

pastor would allow the church-bell to be brought up into the forest and

rung near the rock where the laugh had been heard, the Trolds could be

compelled to give her back. No sooner had this been suggested to Lage,

than the command was given to muster the whole force of men and horses,

and before evening on the same day the sturdy swains of Kvaerk were seen

climbing the tower of the venerable church, whence soon the huge old

bell descended, to the astonishment of the throng of curious women and

children who had flocked together to see the extraordinary sight. It was

laid upon four large wagons, which had been joined together with ropes

and planks, and drawn away by twelve strong horses. Long after the

strange caravan had vanished in the twilight, the children stood gazing

up into the empty bell-tower.

It was near midnight, when Lage stood at the steep, rocky wall in the

forest; the men were laboring to hoist the church-bell up to a staunch

cross-beam between two mighty fir-trees, and in the weird light of their

torches, the wild surroundings looked wilder and more fantastic. Anon,

the muffled noise and bustle of the work being at an end, the laborers

withdrew, and a strange, feverish silence seemed to brood over the

forest. Lage took a step forward, and seized the bell-rope; the clear,

conquering toll of the metal rung solemnly through the silence, and from

the rocks, the earth, and the tree-tops, rose a fierce chorus of howls,

groans, and screams. All night the ringing continued; the old trees

swayed to and fro, creaked, and groaned, the roots loosened their holds

in the fissures of the rock, and the bushy crowns bowed low under their

unwonted burden.

It was well-nigh morn, but the dense fog still brooded over the woods,

and it was dark as night. Lage was sitting on the ground, his head

leaning on both his elbows; at his side lay the flickering torch, and

the huge bell hung dumb overhead. In the dark he felt a hand touch

his shoulder; had it happened only a few hours before, he would have

shuddered; now the physical sensation hardly communicated itself to his

mind, or, if it did, had no power to rouse him from his dead, hopeless

apathy. Suddenly--could he trust his own ears?--the church-bell gave a

slow, solemn, quivering stroke, and the fogs rolled in thick masses to

the east and to the west, as if blown by the breath of the sound. Lage

seized his torch, sprang to his feet, and saw--Vigfusson. He stretched

his arm with the blazing torch closer to the young man’s face, stared

at him with large eyes, and his lip quivered; but he could not utter a

word.

“Vigfusson?” faltered he at last.

“It is I;” and the second stroke followed, stronger and more solemn than

the first. The same fierce, angry voices chorused forth from every

nook of the rock and the woods. Then came the third--the noise grew;

fourth--and it sounded like a hoarse, angry hiss; when the twelfth

stroke fell, silence reigned again in the forest. Vigfusson dropped the

bell-rope, and with a loud voice called Lage Kvaerk and his men. He

lit a torch, held it aloft over his head, and peered through the dusky

night. The men spread through the highlands to search for the lost

maiden; Lage followed close in Vigfusson’s footsteps. They had not

walked far when they heard the babbling of the brook only a few feet

away. Thither they directed their steps. On a large stone in the middle

of the stream the youth thought he saw something white, like a large

kerchief. Quick as thought he was at its side, bowed down with his

torch, and--fell backward. It was Aasa, his beloved, cold and dead;

but as the father stooped over his dead child the same mad laugh echoed

wildly throughout the wide woods, but madder and louder than ever

before, and from the rocky wall came a fierce, broken voice:

“I came at last.”

When, after an hour of vain search, the men returned to the place whence

they had started, they saw a faint light flickering between the birches

not fifty feet away; they formed a firm column, and with fearful hearts

drew nearer. There lay Lage Kvaerk, their master, still bending down

over his child’s pale features, and staring into her sunken eyes as if

he could not believe that she were really dead. And at his side stood

Vigfusson, pale and aghast, with the burning torch in his hand. The

footsteps of the men awakened the father, but when he turned his face on

them they shuddered and started back. Then Lage rose, lifted the maiden

from the stone, and silently laid her in Vigfusson’s arms; her rich

yellow hair flowed down over his shoulder. The youth let his torch

fall into the waters, and with a sharp, serpent-like hiss its flame

was quenched. He crossed the brook; the men followed, and the dark

pine-trees closed over the last descendant of Lage Ulfson’s mighty race.

Footnotes:

[1] “I am a Dane. I speak Danish.”

[2] Examen artium is the entrance examination to the Norwegian

University, and philosophicum the first degree. The ranks given at these

are Laudabilis prae ceteris (in student’s parlance, prae), laudabilis or

laud, haud illaudabilis, or haud, etc.

[3] Free translation of a Swedish serenade, the name of whose author I

have forgotten. H. H. B.

[4] Translation, from “Exotics. By J. F. C. & C. L.”

[5] In the country districts of Norway Saturday evening is regarded as

“the wooer’s eve.”

[6] The saeter is a place in the mountains where the Norwegian peasants

spend their summers pasturing their cattle. Every large farm has its own

saeter, consisting of one or more chalets, hedged in by a fence of stone

or planks.

[7] Katzenjammer is the sensation a man has the morning after a

carousal.

[8] A stave is an improvised responsive song. It is an ancient

pastime in Norway, and is kept up until this day, especially among

the peasantry. The students, also, at their social gatherings, throw

improvised rhymes to each other across the table, and the rest of the

company repeat the refrain.

[9] “The red cock crew” is the expression used in the old Norwegian

Fagas for incendiary fire.