It was now broad daylight. The sun was shining radiantly on the
mountain and the lake. Light clouds which hitherto had hung like a veil
thrown over a long spear about the peak of Sentis floated swiftly down
into the valley. During the night a light snow had fallen upon Sentis
and Toedi and the other topmost peaks in the chain, and lay there
glittering like sparkling crystal. It was very peaceful. The
war--thanks to Bissula--had not brought its destruction here. Hoar
frost flashed on every blade of grass.
The child of the forest, so long shut out from lake, meadow, and field,
rejoiced in the freedom of nature. She inhaled long draughts of the
pure air; nay, in spite of her impatience, she even turned once and,
standing still, gazed out over the shining azure lake and the peaks of
the mountains radiant in white and gold.
"I do not know how to call you all by name, ye beloved gods, who have
guided everything so happily for me, aided me upon land and water, and
are now shining in the sunlight and the glory of the mountains! And
Adalo lives: that is the best, the very best of all that ye have done.
Ye gods, I do not know you all, but I thank every one of you!"
She stretched her arms toward the sun. Then, that the goddess of the
lake and Donar, the King of the mountains, whose throne was on Sentis,
might not be angry, she saluted the water and the mountains, with both
hands, raising and lowering them as one waves a greeting to a friend
recognized at a distance. Again she ran impatiently up the hill side.
Most of the singing birds had left the lake long before; but one little
robin which always remained there all winter recognized the friendly
being who often scattered food for it on the snow, and, greeting her
with a light chirping, flew a few paces in front of her until she
reached the door of the hall.
* * * * *
Within the great central room Adalo lay on the floor upon a pile of
soft skins, his head toward the steps of the master's lofty seat, his
feet toward the entrance. His head rested in the lap of gray-haired
Waldrun; his eyes were closed. At his left lay Zercho, but placed in
the opposite direction, with his head toward the door and a huge goblet
of mead beside him. At his right stood Sippilo, gazing down anxiously
at his brother's face. Beside the wounded man was Bruna, the she-bear,
growling softly as she licked his hand. She was the first to move,
raising her head as light footsteps were heard on the sand outside the
door.
The blind woman said, in a low tone that the wounded man might not
hear: "That is Bissula's tread."
The girl appeared in the doorway. Sippilo started, Zercho raised his
head, but she motioned to them all to keep silence, and noiselessly
advancing with bare feet to Adalo's couch, she laid her little hand on
his head.
"Bissula?" asked the Adeling.
She bent over him, her red locks falling on his pale face.
"Is it you, little one? No, no! The fairest of the Valkyrias has come
to bear me upward--do you see her swan wings?--up to Valhalla's shining
heights." Bissula's white robe was floating around her shoulders.
The girl cast a glance of agonized terror at Waldrun.
"Be comforted," said the old dame firmly, "he will live. And everything
will be as I have said."
"You must stay with us always now," cried Sippilo, seizing her garments
as if to hold her by force.
Bruna, growling joyfully, had risen and put one paw on her knee,
looking up at her with intelligent eyes. Bissula gratefully patted the
animal's head and held out her hand to Zercho, who kissed it humbly.
Laughing, yet with tears in his eyes, he cried: "O little sprite,
little red sprite!"
But now the girl bent down again, exclaiming:
"No, Adalo, it is no Valkyria, it is Bissula, little red Bissula, who
is so wicked, so wicked! Adalo,--hush, don't speak,--I know all. I
know, too, what you wanted to do for me, what you offered. That was
wrong in you. Hush, hush! It was certainly what you--you only are of
all the people in the world. Hush, dearest--don't move. Yes, yes, I
will stay here, your nurse, your maid-servant, as long as you need me.
Ah! I beg you so earnestly--I entreat you--take me! No, no! Do not move
your arm! Not yet to your breast! But I will do everything all my
life--will be as blindly obedient as you desire: only let me stay with
you--your own!"
Her little head sank on his breast. The wounded man raised himself,
kissed her flowing red hair, the red lips, now smiling again, and the
eyes still wet with tears, exclaiming rapturously:
"O Bissula--you dear one--you wicked elf--my beloved bride!"
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The German name for Lake Constance.]
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Captive of the Roman Eagles, by Felix Dahn