"Do you fancy you have made a prize of a wild deer, boy?" he asked of his grandson.

"To be sure," said Oddo.

"I thought you had had more curiosity than to take such a thing for granted, Oddo. See here! Is not this ear slit?"

"Why, yes," Oddo admitted; "but it is not a slit of this year or last. It may have belonged to the Lapps once upon a time; but it has been wild for so long that it is all the same as if it had never been in a fold. It will never be claimed."

"I am of your opinion there, boy. I wish you joy of your sport."

"You may: for I doubt whether anybody will do better to-day. Hund will not, for one, if it is he who has gone out with the boat; and I think I cannot be mistaken in the handling of his oar."

"Have you seen him? Where? What is he doing?" asked one and another.

Before Oddo could answer, Madame Erlingsen desired that he would go home with his grandfather, and tell Ulla about the deer, while he warmed himself. She did not wish her daughters to hear what he might have to tell of Hund. Stiorna too was better out of the way. Oddo had not half told the story of the deer to his grandmother, when his mistress and Erica entered.

"Did you not see M. Kollsen in the boat with Hund?" she inquired.

"No. Hund was quite alone, pulling with all his might down the fiord. The tide was with him, so that he shot along like a fish."

"How do you know that it was Hund you saw?"

"Don't I know our boat? And don't I know his pull? It is no more like Rolf's than Rolf's is like master's."

"Perhaps he was making for the best fishing-ground as fast as he could."

"We shall see that by the fish he brings home."

"True. By supper-time we shall know."

"Hund will not be home by supper-time," said Oddo, decidedly.

"Why not? Come, say out what you mean."

"Well, I will tell you what I saw. I watched him rowing as fast as his arm and the tide would carry him. It was so plain that there was a plan in his head, that I forgot the deer in watching him; and I followed on from point to point, catching a sight now and then, till I had gone a good stretch beyond Salten heights. I was just going to turn back when I took one more look, and he was then pulling in for the land."

"On the north shore or south?" asked Peder.

"The north—just at the narrow part of the fiord, where one can see into the holes of the rocks opposite."

"The fiord takes a wide sweep below there," observed Peder.

"Yes; and that was why he landed," replied Oddo. "He was then but a little way from the fishing-ground, if he had wanted fish. But he drove up the boat into a little cove, a narrow dark creek, where it will lie safe enough, I have no doubt, till he comes back: if he means to come back."

"Why, where should he go? What should he do but come back?" asked Madame Erlingsen.

"He is now gone over the ridge to the north. I saw him moor the boat, and begin to climb; and I watched his dark figure on the white snow, higher and higher, till it was a speck, and I could not make it out."

"That is the way you will lose your eyes," exclaimed Ulla. "How often have I warned you,—and many others as giddy as you! When you have lost your eyes, you will think you had better have minded my advice, and not have stared at the snow after a runaway that is better there than here."

"What do you think of this story, Peder?" asked his mistress.

"I think Hund has taken the short cut over the promontory, on business of his own at the islands. He is not on any business of yours, depend upon it, madam."

"And what business can he have among the islands?"

"I could say that with more certainty if I knew exactly where the pirate-vessel is."

"That is your idea, Erica," said her mistress. "I saw what your thoughts were, an hour ago, before we knew all this."

"I was thinking then, madam, that if Hund was gone to join the pirates, Nipen would be very ready to give them a wind just now. A baffling wind would be our only defence; and we cannot expect that much from Nipen to-day."

"I will do anything in the world," cried Oddo, eagerly. "Send me anywhere. Do think of something that I can do."

"What must be done, Peder?" asked his mistress. "There is quite enough to fear, Erica, without a word of Nipen. Pirates on the coast, and one farm-house seen burning already!"

"I will tell you what you must let me do, madam," said Erica. "Indeed you must not oppose me. My mind is quite set upon going for the boat,— immediately—this very minute. That will give us time—it will give us safety for this night. Hund might bring seven or eight men upon us over the promontory: but if they find no boat, I think they can hardly work up the windings of the fiord in their own vessel to-night;—unless, indeed," she added, with a sigh, "they have a most favourable wind."

"All this is true enough," said her mistress; "but how will you go? Will you swim?"

"The raft, madam."

"And there is the old skiff on Thor islet," said Oddo. "It is a rickety little thing, hardly big enough for two; but it will carry down Erica and me, if we go before the tide turns."

"But how will you get to Thor islet?" inquired Madame Erlingsen. "I wish the scheme were not such a wild one."

"A wild one must serve at such a time, madam," replied Erica. "Rolf had lashed several logs before he went. I am sure we can get over to the islet. See, madam, the fiord is as smooth as a pond."

"Let her go," said Peder. "She will never repent."

"Then come back, I charge you, if you find the least danger," said her mistress. "No one is safer at the oar than you; but if there is a ripple in the water, or a gust on the heights, or a cloud in the sky, come back. Such is my command, Erica."

"Wife," said Peder, "give her your pelisse; that will save her seeing the girls before she goes. And she shall have my cap, and then there is not an eye along the fiord that can tell whether she is man or woman."

Ulla lent her deerskin pelisse willingly enough; but she entreated that Oddo might be kept at home. She folded her arms about the boy with tears; but Peder decided the matter with the words, "Let him go; it is the least he can do to make up for last night. Equip, Oddo."

Oddo equipped willingly enough. In two minutes he and his companion looked like two walking bundles of fur. Oddo carried a frail-basket, containing rye-bread, salt-fish, and a flask of corn-brandy; for in Norway no one goes on the shortest expedition without carrying provisions.

"Surely it must be dusk by this time," said Peder.

It was dusk; and this was well, as the pair could steal down to the shore without being perceived from the house. Madame Erlingsen gave them her blessing, saying that if the enterprise saved them from nothing worse than Hund's company this night, it would be a great good. There could be no more comfort in having Hund for an inmate; for some improper secret he certainly had. Her hope was that, finding the boat gone, he would never show himself again.

"One would think," continued the lady, when she returned from watching Erica and Oddo disappear in the dusk—"one would think Erica had never known fear. Her step is as firm and her eye as clear as if she had never trembled in the course of her life."

"She knows how to act to-night," said Peder; "and she is going into danger for her lover, instead of waiting at home while her lover goes into danger for her. A hundred pirates in the fiord would not make her tremble as she trembled last night. Rather a hundred pirates than Nipen angry, she would say."

"There is her weakness," observed her mistress.

"Can we speak of weakness after what we have just seen—if I may say so, madam?"

"I think so," replied Madame Erlingsen. "I think it a weakness in those who believe that a just and tender Providence watches over us all, to fear what any power in the universe can do to them."

"M. Kollsen does not make progress in teaching the people what you say, madam. He only gets distrusted by it."

"When M. Kollsen has had more experience, he will find that this is not a matter for displeasure. He will not succeed while he is displeased at what his people think sacred. When he is an older man, he will pity the innocent for what they suffer from superstition; and this pity will teach him how to speak of Providence to such as our Erica. But here are my girls coming to seek me. I must meet them, to prevent their missing Erica."

"Get them to rest early, madam."

"Certainly; and you will watch in this house, Peder, and I at home."

"Trust me for hearing the oar at a furlong off, madam."

"That is more than I can promise," said the lady; "but the owl shall not be more awake than I."



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE WATER-SPRITES' DOINGS.

Erica now profited by her lover's industry in the morning. He had so far advanced with the raft that, though no one would have thought of taking it in its present state to the mouth of the fiord for shipment, it would serve as a conveyance in still water for a short distance safely enough.

And still, indeed, the waters were. As Erica and Oddo were busily and silently employed in tying moss round their oars to muffle their sound, the ripple of the tide upon the white sand could scarcely be heard, and it appeared to the eye as if the lingering remains of the daylight brooded on the fiord, unwilling to depart. The stars had, however, been showing themselves for some time; and they might now be seen twinkling below almost as clearly and steadily as overhead. As Erica and Oddo put their little raft off from the shore, and then waited, with their oars suspended, to observe whether the tide carried them towards the islet they must reach, it seemed as if some invisible hand was pushing them forth to shiver the bright pavement of constellations as it lay. Star after star was shivered, and its bright fragments danced in their wake; and those fragments reunited and became a star again as the waters closed over the path of the raft, and subsided into perfect stillness.

The tide favoured Erica's object. A few strokes of the oar brought the raft to the right point for landing on the islet. They stepped ashore, and towed the raft along till they came to the skiff, and then they fastened the raft with the boat-hook which had been fixed there for the skiff. This done, Oddo ran to turn over the little boat, and examine its condition: but he found he could not move it. It was frozen fast to the ground. It was scarcely possible to get a firm hold of it, it was so slippery with ice; and all pulling and pushing of the two together was in vain, though the boat was so light that either of them could have lifted and carried it in a time of thaw.

This circumstance caused a good deal of delay: and, what was worse, it obliged them to make some noise. They struck at the ice with sharp stones; but it was long before they could make any visible impression; and Erica proposed, again and again, that they should proceed on the raft. Oddo was unwilling. The skiff would go so incomparably faster, that it was worth spending some time upon it: and the fears he had had of its leaking were removed, now that he found what a sheet of ice it was covered with,—ice which would not melt to admit a drop of water while they were in it. So he knocked and knocked away, wishing that the echoes would be quiet for once, and then laughing as he imagined the ghost-stories that would spring up all round the fiord to-morrow, from the noise he was then making.

Erica worked hard too; and one advantage of their labour was that they were well warmed before they put off again. The boat's icy fastenings were all broken at last: and it was launched: but all was not ready yet. The skiff had lain in a direction east and west; and its north side had so much thicker a coating of ice than the other, that its balance was destroyed. It hung so low on one side as to promise to upset with a touch.

"We must clear off more of the ice," said Erica. "But how late it is growing!"

"No more knocking, I say," replied Oddo. "There is a quieter way of trimming the boat."

He fastened a few stones to the gunwale on the lighter side, and took in a few more for the purpose of shifting the weight, if necessary, while they were on their way.

They did not leave quiet behind them, when they departed. They had roused the multitude of eider-ducks, and other sea-fowl, which thronged the islet, and which now, being roused, began their night-feeding and flying, though at an earlier hour than usual. When their discordant cries were left so far behind as to be softened by distance, the flapping of wings and swash of water, as the fowl plunged in, still made the air busy all round.

The rowers were so occupied with the management of their dangerous craft, that they had not spoken since they left the islet. The skiff would have been unmanageable by any maiden and boy in our country; but, on the coast of Norway, it is as natural to persons of all ages and degrees to guide a boat as to walk. Swiftly but cautiously they shot through the water, till, at length, Oddo uttered a most hideous croak.

"What do you mean?" asked Erica, hastily glancing round her.

Oddo laughed, and looked upwards as he croaked again. He was answered by a similar croak, and a large raven was seen flying homewards over the fiord for the night. Then the echoes all croaked, till the whole region seemed to be full of ravens.

"Are you sure you know the cove?" asked Erica, who wished to put an end to this sound, unwelcome to the superstitious. "Do not make that bird croak so; it will be quiet if you let it alone. Are you sure you can find the cove again?"

"Quite sure. I wish I was as sure that Hund would not find it again before me. Pull away."

"How much farther is it?"

"Farther than I like to think of. I doubt your arm holding out. I wish Rolf was here."

Erica did not wish the same thing. She thought that Rolf was, on the whole, safer waging war with bears than with pirates; especially if Hund was among them. She pulled her oar cheerfully, observing that there was no fatigue at present; and that when they were once afloat in the heavier boat, and had cleared the cove, there need be no hurry,—unless, indeed, they should see something of the pirate-schooner on the way: and of this she had no expectation, as the booty that might be had where the fishery was beginning was worth more than anything that could be found higher up the fiords:—to say nothing of the danger of running up into the country, so far as that getting away again depended upon one particular wind.

Yet Erica looked behind her after every few strokes of her oar; and once, when she saw something, her start was felt like a start of the skiff itself. There was a fire glancing and gleaming and quivering over the water, some way down the fiord.

"Some people night-fishing," observed Oddo. "What sport they will have! I wish I was with them. How fast we go! How you can row when you choose! I can see the man that is holding the torch. Cannot you see his black figure? And the spearman,—see how he stands at the bow,—now going to cast his spear! I wish I was there."

"We must get farther away,—into the shadow somewhere,—or wait," observed Erica. "I had rather not wait,—it is growing so late. We might creep along under that promontory, in the shadow, if you would be quiet. I wonder whether you can be silent in the sight of night-fishing."

"To be sure," said Oddo, disposed to be angry, and only kept from it by the thought of last night. He helped to bring the skiff into the shadow of the overhanging rocks, and only spoke once more, to whisper that the fishing-boat was drifting down with the tide, and that he thought their cove lay between them and the fishing-party.

It was so. As the skiff rounded the point of the promontory, Oddo pointed out what appeared like a mere dark chasm in the high perpendicular wall of rock that bounded the waters. This chasm still looked so narrow, on approaching it, that Erica hesitated to push her skiff into it, till certain that there was no one there. Oddo, however, was so clear, that she might safely do this, so noiseless was their rowing, and it was so plain that there was no footing on the rocks by which he might enter to explore, that in a sort of desperation, and seeing nothing else to be done, Erica agreed. She wished it had been summer, when either of them might have learned what they wanted by swimming. This was now out of the question; and stealthily therefore she pulled her little craft into the deepest shadow, and crept into the cove.

At a little distance from the entrance it widened; but it was a wonder to Erica that even Oddo's eyes should have seen Hund moor his boat here from the other side of the fiord; though the fiord was not more than a gunshot over in this part. Oddo himself wondered, till he recalled how the sun was shining down into the chasm at the time. By starlight the outline of all that the cove contained might be seen; the outline of the boat, among other things. There she lay! But there was something about her which was unpleasant enough. There were three men in her.

What was to be done bow? Here was the very worst danger that Erica had feared—worse than finding the boat gone—worse than meeting it in the wide fiord. What was to be done?

There was nothing for it but to do nothing—to lie perfectly still in the shadow, ready, however, to push out on the first movement of the boat to leave the cove; for, though the canoe might remain unnoticed at present, it was impossible that anybody could pass out of the cove without seeing her. In such a case, there would be nothing for it but a race—a race for which Erica and Oddo held themselves prepared, without any mutual explanation; for they dared not speak. The faintest whisper would have crept over the smooth water to the ears in the larger boat.

One thing was certain—that something must happen presently. It is impossible for the hardiest men to sit inactive in a boat for any length of time in a January night in Norway. In the calmest nights the cold is only to be sustained by means of the glow from strong exercise. It was certain that these three men could not have been long in their places, and that they would not sit many moments more without some change in their arrangements.

They did not seem to be talking; for Oddo, who was the best listener in the world, could not discover that a sound issued from their boat. He fancied they were drowsy; and, being aware what were the consequences of yielding to drowsiness in severe cold, the boy began to entertain high hopes of taking these three men prisoners. The whole country would ring with such a feat, performed by Erica and himself.

The men were, however, too much awake to be made prisoners of at present. One was seen to drink from a flask, and the hoarse voice of another was heard grumbling, as far as the listeners could make out, at being kept waiting. The third then rose to look about him, and Erica trembled from head to foot. He only looked upon the land, however, declared he saw nothing of those he was expecting, and began to warm himself as he stood, by repeatedly clapping his arms across his breast, in the way that hackney-coachmen and porters do in England. This was Hund. He could not have been known by his figure, for all persons look alike in wolf-skin pelisses; but the voice and the action were his. Oddo saw how Erica shuddered. He put his finger on his lips, but Erica needed no reminding of the necessity of quietness.

The other two men then rose; and, after a consultation, the words of which could not be heard, all stepped ashore one after another, and climbed a rocky pathway.

"Now, now!" whispered Erica. "Now we can get away!"

"Not without the boat," said Oddo. "You would not leave them the boat!"

"No—not if—but they will be back in a moment. They are only gone to hasten their companions."

"I know it," said Oddo. "Now two strokes forward."

While she gave these two strokes, which brought the skiff to the stern of the boat, Erica saw that Oddo had taken out a knife, which gleamed in the starlight. It was for cutting the thong by which the boat was fastened to a birch pole, the other end of which was hooked on shore. This was to save his going ashore to unhook the pole. It was well for him that boat-chains were not in use, owing to the scarcity of metal in that region. The clink of a chain would certainly have been heard.

Quickly and silently he entered the boat and tied the skiff to its stern, and he and Erica took their places where the men had sat one minute before. They used their own muffled oars to turn the boat round, till Oddo observed that the boat oars were muffled too. Then voices were heard again. The men were returning. Strongly did the two companions draw their strokes till a good breadth of water lay between them and the shore, and then till they had again entered the deep shadow which shrouded the mouth of the cove. There they paused.

"In with you!" some loud voice said, as man after man was seen in outline coming down the pathway; "in with you! We have lost time enough already."

"Where is she? I can't see the boat," answered the foremost man.

"You can't miss her," said one behind, "unless the brandy has got into your eyes."

"So I should have said; but I do miss her. It is very incomprehensible to me."

Oddo shook with stifled laughter as he partly saw and partly overheard the perplexity of these men. At last one gave a deep groan, and another declared that the spirits of the fiord were against them, and there was no doubt that their boat was now lying twenty fathoms deep at the bottom of the creek, drawn down by the strong hand of an angry water-spirit. Oddo squeezed Erica's little hand as he heard this. If it had been light enough, he would have seen that even she was smiling.

One of the men mourned their having no other boat, so that they must give up their plan. Another said that if they had a dozen boats, he would not set foot in one after what had happened. He should go straight back, the way he came, to their own vessel. Another said he would not go till he had looked abroad over the fiord for some chance of seeing the boat. This he persisted in, though told by the rest that it was absurd to suppose that the boat had loosed itself, and gone out into the fiord, in the course of the two minutes that they had been absent. He showed the fragment of the cut thong in proof of the boat not having loosed itself, and set off for a point on the heights which he said overlooked the fiord. One or two went with him, the rest returning up the narrow pathway at some speed—such speed that Erica thought they were afraid of the hindmost being caught by the same enemy that had taken their boat. Oddo observed this too, and he quickened their pace by setting up very loud the mournful cry with which he was accustomed to call out the plovers on the mountain side on sporting days. No sound can be more melancholy; and now, as it rang from the rocks, it was so unsuitable to the place, and so terrible to the already frightened men, that they ran on as fast as the slipperiness of the rocks would allow, till they were all out of sight over the ridge.

"Now for it, before the other two come out above us there!" said Oddo; and in another minute they were again in the fiord, keeping as much in the shadow as they could, however, till they must strike over to the islet.

"Thank God that we came!" exclaimed Erica. "We shall never forget what we owe you, Oddo. You shall see, by the care we take of your grandfather and Ulla, that we do not forget what you have done this night. If Nipen will only forgive, for the sake of this—"

"We were just in the nick of time," observed Oddo. "It was better than if we had been earlier."

"I do not know," said Erica. "Here are their brandy-bottles, and many things besides. I had rather not have had to bring these away."

"But if we had been earlier, they would not have had their fright. That is the best part of it. Depend upon it, some that have not said their prayers for long will say them to-night."

"That will be good. But I do not like carrying home these things that are not ours. If they are seen at Erlingsen's, they may bring the pirates down upon us. I would leave them on the islet, but that the skiff has to be left there too, and that would explain our trick."

Erica would not consent to throw the property overboard. This would be robbing those who had not actually injured her, whatever their intentions might have been. She thought that if the goods were left upon some barren, uninhabited part of the shore, the pirates would probably be the first to find them; and that, if not, the rumour of such an extraordinary fact, spread by the simple country-people, would be sure to reach them. So Oddo carried on shore, at the first stretch of white beach they came to, the brandy-flasks, the bearskins, the tobacco-pouch, the muskets and powder-horns, and the tinder-box. He scattered these about just above high-water mark, laughing to think how report would tell of the sprite's care in placing all these articles out of reach of injury from the water.

Oddo did not want for light while doing this. When he returned, he found Erica gazing up over the towering precipices, at the Northern lights, which had now unfurled their broad yellow blaze. She was glad that they had not appeared sooner, to spoil the adventure of the night; but she was thankful to have the way home thus illumined, now that the business was done. She answered with so much alacrity to Oddo's question whether she was not very weary, that he ventured to say two things which had before been upon his tongue, without his having courage to utter them.

"You will not be so afraid of Nipen any more," observed he, glancing at her face, of which he could see every feature by the quivering light. "You see how well everything has turned out."

"O, hush! It is too soon yet to speak so. It is never right to speak so. There is no knowing till next Christmas, nor even then, that Nipen forgives; and the first twenty-four hours are not over yet. Pray do not speak any more, Oddo."

"Well, not about that. But what was it exactly that you thought Hund would do with this boat and those people? Did you think," he continued, after a short pause, "that they would come up to Erlingsen's to rob the place?"

"Not for the object of robbing the place, because there is very little that is worth their taking, far less than at the fishing-grounds; not but they might have robbed us, if they took a fancy to anything we have. No! I thought, and I still think, that they would have carried off Rolf, led on by Hund—"

"O, ho! carried off Rolf! So here is the secret of your wonderful courage to-night—you who durst not look round at your own shadow last night! This is the secret of your not being tired—you who are out of breath with rowing a mile sometimes!"

"That is in summer," pleaded Erica; "however, you have my secret, as you say, a thing which is no secret at home. We all think that Hund bears such a grudge against Rolf, for having got the houseman's place—"

"And for nothing else?"

"That," continued Erica, "he would be glad to—to—"

"To get rid of Rolf, and be a houseman, and get betrothed instead of him. Well: Hund is balked for this time. Rolf must look to himself after to-day."

Erica sighed deeply. She did not believe that Rolf would attend to his own safety, and the future looked very dark,—all shrouded by her fears.

By the time the skiff was deposited where it had been found, both the rowers were so weary that they gave up the idea of taking the raft in tow, as for full security they ought to do. They doubted whether they could get home, if they had more weight to draw than their own boat. It was well that they left this incumbrance behind, for there was quite peril and difficulty enough without it, and Erica's strength and spirits failed the more the further the enemy was left behind.

A breath of wind seemed to bring a sudden darkening of the friendly lights which had blazed up higher and brighter, from their first appearance till now. Both rowers looked down the fiord, and uttered an exclamation at the same moment.

"See the fog!" cried Oddo, putting fresh strength into his oar.

"O Nipen! Nipen!" mournfully exclaimed Erica. "Here it is, Oddo,—the west wind!"

The west wind is, in winter, the great foe of the fishermen of the fiords: it brings in the fog from the sea, and the fogs of the Arctic Circle are no trifling enemy. If Nipen really had the charge of the winds, he could not more emphatically show his displeasure towards any unhappy boatman than by overtaking him with the west wind and fog.

"The wind must have just changed," said Oddo, pulling exhausting strokes, as the fog marched towards them over the water, like a solid and immeasurably lofty wall. "The wind must have gone right round in a minute."

"To be sure,—since you said what you did of Nipen," replied Erica, bitterly.

Oddo made no answer, but he did what he could. Erica had to tell him not to wear himself out too quickly, as there was no saying how long they should be on the water.

How long they had been on the water, how far they had deviated from their right course, they could not at all tell, when, at last, more by accident than skill, they touched the shore near home, and heard friendly voices, and saw the light of torches through the thick air. The fog had wrapped them round so that they could not even see the water, or each other. They had rowed mechanically, sometimes touching the rock, sometimes grazing upon the sand, but never knowing where they were till the ringing of a bell, which they recognised as the farm bell, roused hope in their hearts, and strengthened them to throw off the fatal drowsiness caused by cold and fatigue. They made towards the bell, and then heard Peder's shouts, and next saw the dull light of two torches which looked as if they could not burn in the fog. The old man lent a strong hand to pull up the boat upon the beach, and to lift out the benumbed rowers, and they were presently revived by having their limbs chafed, and by a strong dose of the universal medicine— corn-brandy and camphor—which in Norway, neither man nor woman, young nor old, sick nor well, thinks of refusing upon occasion.

When Erica was in bed, warm beneath an eider-down coverlid, her mistress bent over her and whispered, "You saw and heard Hund himself?"

"Hund himself, madame."

"What shall we do if he comes back before my husband is home from the bear-hunt?"

"If he comes, it will be in fear and penitence, thinking that all the powers are against him. But O, madame, let him never know how it really was!"

"He must not know. Leave that to me, and go to sleep now, Erica. You ought to rest well, for there is no saying what you and Oddo have saved us from. I could not have asked such a service. My husband and I must see how we can reward it." And her kind and grateful mistress kissed Erica's cheek, though Erica tried to explain that she was thinking most of some one else, when she undertook this expedition.

"Then let him thank you in his own way," replied Madame Erlingsen. "Meantime, why should not I thank you in mine?"

Stiorna here opened her eyes for an instant. When she next did so, her mistress was gone; and she told in the morning what an odd dream she had had of her mistress being in her room, and kissing Erica. It was so distinct a dream that, if the thing had not been so ridiculous, she could almost have declared that she had seen it.



CHAPTER SIX.

SPRING.

Great was Stiorna's consternation at Hund's non-appearance the next day, seeing as she did, with her own eyes, that the boat was safe in its proper place. She had provided salt for his cod, and a welcome for himself; and she watched in vain for either. She saw, too, that no one wished him back. He was rarely spoken of; and then it was with dislike or fear: and when she wept over the idea of his being drowned, or carried off by hostile spirits, the only comfort offered her was that she need not fear his being dead, or that he could not come back if he chose. She was, indeed, obliged to suppose, at last, that it was his choice to keep away; for amidst the flying rumours that amused the inhabitants of the district for the rest of the winter,—rumours of the movements of the pirate-vessel, and of the pranks of the spirits of the region, there were some such clear notices of the appearance of Hund,— so many eyes had seen him in one place or another, by land and water, by day and night, that Stiorna could not doubt of his being alive, and free to come home or stay away as he pleased. She could not conceal from herself that he had probably joined the pirates; and heartily as these pirates were feared throughout the Nordland coasts, they were not more heartily hated by any than by the jealous Stiorna.

Her salt was wanted as much as if Hund had brought home a boatful of cod; and she might have given her welcome to the hunting-party. Erlingsen and Rolf came home sooner than might reasonably have been expected, and well laden with bear's flesh. The whole family of bears had been found and shot. The flesh of the cubs had been divided among the hunters; and Erlingsen was complimented with the feet of the old bear, as it was he who had roused the neighbours, and led the hunt. Busy was every farm-house (and none so busy as Erlingsen's) in salting some of the meat, freezing some, and cooking a part for a feast on the occasion.

Erlingsen kept a keen and constant look-out upon the fiord, in the midst of all the occupations and gaieties of the rest of the winter. His wife's account of the adventures of the day of his absence made him anxious; and he never went a mile out of sight of home, so vivid in his imagination was the vision of his house burning, and his family at the mercy of pirates. Nothing happened, however, to confirm his fears. The enemy were never heard of in the fiord; and the cod-fishers who came up, before the softening of the snow, to sell some of their produce in the interior of the country, gave such accounts as seemed to show that the fishing-grounds were the object of the foreign thieves; for foreign they were declared to be: some said Russian; and others, a mixture from hostile nations. This last information gave more impulse to the love of country for which the Norwegians are remarkable, than all that had been reported from the seat of war. The Nordlanders always drank success to their country's arms, in the first glass of corn-brandy at dinner. They paid their taxes cheerfully; and any newspaper that the clergyman put in circulation was read till it fell to pieces; but, the neighbourhood of foreign pirates proved a more powerful stimulant still. The standing toast, Gamle Norge (Old Norway), was drunk with such enthusiasm, that the little children shouted and defied the enemy; and the baby in its mother's lap clapped its hands when every voice joined in the national song, For Norge. Hitherto the war had gone forward upon the soil of another kingdom; it seemed now as if a sprinkling of it—a little of its excitement and danger—was brought to their own doors; and vehement was the spirit that it roused; though some thefts of cod, brandy, and a little money, were all that had really happened yet.

The interval of security gave Rolf a good opportunity to ridicule and complain of Erica's fears. He laughed at the danger of an attack from Hund and his comrades, as that danger was averted. He laughed at the west wind and fog sent by Nipen's wrath, as Erica had reached home in spite of it. He contended that, so far from Nipen being offended, there was either no Nipen, or it was not angry, or it was powerless; for everything had gone well; and he always ended with pointing to the deer—a good thing led to the very door—and to the result of the bear-hunt—a great event always in a Nordlander's life, and, in this instance, one of most fortunate issue. There was no saying how many of the young of the farm-yard would live and flourish, this summer, on account of the timely destruction of this family of bears. So Rolf worked away, with a cheerful heart, as the days grew longer,—now mending the boat,—now fishing,—now ploughing, and then rolling logs into the melting-streams, to be carried down into the river, or into the fiord, when the rush of waters should come from the heights of Sulitelma.

Hard as Rolf worked, he did not toil like Oddo. Between them, they had to supply Hund's place,—to do his work. Nobody desired to see Hund back again; and Erlingsen would willingly have taken another in his stead, to make his return impossible; but there was no one to be had. It was useless to inquire till the fishing season should be over: and when that was over, the hay and harvest season would follow so quickly, that it was scarcely likely that any youth would offer himself till the first frosts set in. It was Oddo's desire that the place should remain vacant till he could show that he, young as he was, was worth as much as Hund. If any one was hired, he wished that it might be a herd-boy, under him; and strenuously did he toil, this spring, to show that he was now beyond a mere herd-boy's place. It was he who first fattened, and then killed and skinned the reindeer,—a more than ordinary feat, as it was full two months past the regular season. It was he who watched the making of the first eider-duck's nest, and brought home the first down. All the month of April, he never failed in the double work of the farm-yard and islet. He tended the cattle in the morning, and turned out the goats, when the first patches of green appeared from beneath the snow: and then he was off to the islet, or to some one of the breeding stations among the rocks, punctually stripping the nests of the down, as the poor ducks renewed the supply from their breasts; and as carefully staying his hand, when he saw, by the yellow tinge of the down, that the duck had no more to give, and the drake had now supplied what was necessary for hatching the eggs. Then he watched for the eggs; and never had Madame Erlingsen had such a quantity brought home; though Oddo assured her that he had left enough in the nests for every duck to have her brood. Then he was ready to bring home the goats again, long before sunset,—for, by this time, the sun set late,—and to take his turn at mending any fence that might have been injured by the spring-floods; and then he never forgot to wash and dress himself, and go in for his grandmother's blessing; and after all, he was not too tired to sit up as late as if he were a man,—even till past nine sometimes,—spending the last hour of the evening in working at the bell-collars which Hund had left half done, and which must be finished before the cattle went to the mountain: or, if the young ladies were disposed to dance, he was never too tired to play the clarionet, though it now and then happened that the tune went rather oddly; and when Orga and Frolich looked at him, to see what he was about, his eyes were shut, and his fingers looked as if they were moving of their own accord. If this happened, the young ladies would finish their waltz at once, and thank him, and his mistress would wish him good night; and when he was gone, his master would tell old Peder that that grandson of his was a promising lad, and very diligent; and Peder would make a low bow, and say it was greatly owing to Rolf's good example; and then Erica would blush, and be kinder than ever to Oddo the next day.

So came on and passed away the spring of this year at Erlingsen's farm. It soon passed; for spring in Nordland lasts only a month. In that short time had the snow first become soft, and then dingy, and then vanished, except on the heights, and in places where it had drifted. The streams had broken their long pause of silence, and now leaped and rushed along, till every rock overhanging both sides of the fiord was musical with falling waters, and glittering with silver threads,—for the cataracts looked no more than this in so vast a scene. Every mill was going, after the long idleness of winter; and about the bridges which spanned the falls were little groups of the peasants gathered, mending such as had burst with the floods, or strengthening such as did not seem secure enough for the passage of the herds to the mountain.

Busy as the maidens were with the cows that were calving, and with the care of the young kids, they found leisure to pry into the promise of the spring. In certain warm nooks, where the sunshine was reflected from the surrounding rocks, they daily watched for what else might appear, when once the grass, of brilliant green, had shown itself from beneath the snow. There they found the strawberry and the wild raspberry promising to carpet the ground with their white blossoms; while in one corner the lily of the valley began to push up its pairs of leaves; and from the crevices of the rock, the barberry and the dwarf birch grew, every twig showing swelling buds, or an early sprout.

While these cheerful pursuits went on out of doors during the one busy month of spring, a slight shade of sadness was thrown over the household within by the decline of old Ulla. It was hardly sadness; it was little more than gravity; for Ulla herself was glad to go; Peder knew that he should soon follow; and every one else was reconciled to one who had suffered so long going to her rest.

"The winter and I are going together, my dear," said she one day, when Erica placed on her pillow a green shoot of birch which she had taken from out of the very mouth of a goat. "The hoary winter and hoary I have lived out our time, and we are departing together. I shall make way for you young people, and give you your turn, as he is giving way to spring; and let nobody pretend to be sorry for it. Who pretends to be sorry when winter is gone?"

"But winter will come again, so soon and so certainly, Ulla," said Erica, mournfully: "and when it is come again, we shall still miss you."

"Well, my dear, I will say nothing against that. It is good for the living to miss the dead, as long as they do not wish them back. As for me, Erica, I feel as if I could not but miss you, go where I may."

"O, do not say that, Ulla."

"Why not say it if I feel it? Who could be displeased with me for grasping still at the hand that has smoothed my bed so long, when I am going to some place that will be very good, no doubt, but where everything must be strange at first? He who gave you to me, to be my nurse, will not think the worse of me for missing you, wherever I may be."

"There will be little Henrica," observed Erica. "Ah yes! there is nothing I think of more than that. That dear child died on my shoulder. Fain would her mother have had her in her arms at the last; but she was in such extremity that to move her would have been to end all at once; and so she died away, with her head on my shoulder. I thought then it was a sign that I should be the first to meet her again. But I shall take care and not stand in the way of her mother's rights."

Here Ulla grew so earnest in imagining her meeting with Henrica, still fancying her the dependent little creature she had been on earth, that she was impatient to be gone. Erica's idea was that this child might now have become so wise and so mighty in the wisdom of a better world, as to be no such plaything as Ulla supposed; but she said nothing to spoil the old woman's pleasure.

When Peder came in, to sit beside his old companion's bed, and sing her to sleep, she told him that she hoped to be by when he opened his now dark eyes upon the sweet light of a heavenly day; and, if she might, she would meantime make up his dreams for him, and make him believe that he saw the most glorious sights of old Norway,—more glorious than are to be seen in any other part of this lower world. There should be no end to the gleaming lakes, and dim forests, and bright green valleys, and silvery waterfalls that he should see in his dreams, if she might have the making of them. There was no end to the delightful things Ulla looked forward to, and the kind things she hoped to be able to do for those she left behind, when once she should have quitted her present helpless state: and she thought so much of these things, that when M. Kollsen arrived, he found that, instead of her needing to be reconciled to death, she was impatient to be gone. The first thing he heard her say, when all was so dim before her dying eyes, and so confused to her failing ears, that she did not know the pastor had arrived, was that she was less uneasy now about Nipen's displeasure against the young people. Perhaps she might be able to explain and prevent mischief: and if not, the young people's marriage would soon be taking place now, and then they might show such attention to Nipen as would make the spirit forgive and forget.

"Hush, now, dear Ulla!" said Erica. "Here is the pastor."

"Do not say 'Hush'!" said M. Kollsen, sternly. "Whatever is said of this kind I ought to hear, that I may meet the delusion. I must have conversation with this poor woman, to prevent her very last breath being poisoned with superstition. You are a member of the Lutheran Church, Ulla?"

With humble pleasure, Ulla told of the satisfaction which the Bishop of Tronyem, of seventy years ago, had expressed at her confirmation. It was this which obtained her a good place, and Peder's regard, and all the good that had happened in her long life since. Yes: she was indeed a member of the Lutheran Church, she thanked God.

"And in what part of the Scriptures of our church do you find mention of—of—(I hate the very names of these pretended spirits). Where in the Scriptures are you bidden or permitted to believe in spirits and demons of the wood and the mountain?"

Ulla declared that her learning in the Scriptures was but small. She knew only what she had been taught, and a little that she had picked up: but she remembered that the former Bishop of Tronyem himself had hung up an axe in the forest, on Midsummer Eve, for the wood-demon's use, if it pleased.

Peder observed that we all believe so many things that are not found mentioned in the Scriptures, that perhaps it would be wisest and kindest, by a dying bed, where moments were precious, to speak of those high things which the Scriptures discourse of, and which all Christians believe. These were the subjects for Ulla now: the others might be reasoned of when she was in her grave.

The pastor was not quite satisfied with this way of attending the dying; but there was something in the aged man's voice and manner quite irresistible, as he sat calmly awaiting the departure of the last companion of his own generation. M. Kollsen took out his Bible, and read what Ulla gladly heard, till her husband knew by the slackened clasp of her hand that she heard no longer. She had become insensible, and before sunset had departed.

Rolf had continued his kind offices to the old couple with the utmost respect and propriety, to the end refusing to go out of call during the last few days of Ulla's decline: but he had observed, with some anxiety, that there was certainly a shoal of herrings in the fiord, and that it was high time he was making use of the sunny days for his fishing. In order to go about this duty without any delay, when again at liberty, he had brought the skiff up to the beach for repair, and had it nearly ready for use by the day of the funeral. The family boat was too large for his occasions, now that Hund was not here to take an oar: and he expected to do great things alone in the little manageable skiff.

When he had assisted Peder to lay Ulla's head in the grave, and guided him back to the house, Rolf drew Erica's arm within his own, and led her away, as if for a walk. No one interfered with them; for the family knew that their hearts must be very full, and that they must have much to say to each other, now that the event had happened which was to cause their marriage very soon. They would now wait no longer than to pay proper respect to Ulla's memory, and to improve the house and its furniture a little, so as to make it fit for the bride.

Rolf would have led Erica to the beach; but she begged to go first to see the grave again, while they knew that no one was there. The grave was dug close by the little mound beneath which Henrica lay. Henrica's was railed round, with a paling which had been fresh painted—a task which Erlingsen performed with his own hands every spring. The forget-me-not, which the Nordlanders plant upon the graves of those they love, overran the hillock, and the white blossoms of the wild strawberry peeped out from under the thick grass; so that this grave looked a perfect contrast to that of Ulla, newly-made and bare. The lovers looked at this last with dissatisfaction.

"It shall be completely railed in before to-morrow night," said Rolf.

"But cannot we dress it a little now? I could transplant some flower-roots presently, and some forget-me-not from Henrica's hillock, if we had sods for the rest. Never mind spoiling any other nook. The grass will soon grow again."

Rolf's spade was busy presently; and Erica planted and watered till the new grave, if it did not compare with the child's, showed tokens of care, and promise of beauty.

"Now," said Rolf, when they had done, and put away their tools, and sat down on the pine log from which the pales were to be made, so that their lengthening shadows fell across the new grave,—"now, Erica, you know what she who lies there would like us to be settling. She herself said her burial day would soon be over; and then would come our wedding-day."

"When everything is ready," replied Erica, "we will fix; but not now. There is much to be done;—there are many uncertainties."

"Uncertainties! What uncertainties? I know of none—except indeed as to—"

Rolf stopped to peel off, and pull to pieces, some of the bark of the pine trunk on which he was sitting. Erica looked wistfully at him; he saw it, and went on.

"It is often an uncertainty to me, Erica, after all that has happened, whether you mean to marry me at all. There are so many doubts, and so many considerations, and so many fears!—I often think we shall never be any nearer than we are."

"That is your sort of doubt and fear," said Erica, smiling. "Who is there that entertains a worse?"

"I do not want any rallying or joking, Erica. I am quite serious."

"Seriously then—are we not nearer than we were a year ago? We are betrothed; and I have shown you that I do believe we are to be married, if—"

"Ay, there. 'If' again."

"If it shall please the Powers above us not to separate us, by death or otherwise."

"Death! at our age! And separation! when we have lived on the same farm for years! What have we to do with death and separation?"

Erica pointed to the child's grave, in rebuke of his rash words. She then quietly observed that they had enemies,—one deadly enemy not very far off, if nothing were to be said of any but human foes. Rolf declared that he had rather have Hund for a declared enemy than for a companion. Erica understood this very well; but she could not forget that Hund wanted to be houseman in Rolfs stead, and that he desired to prevent their marriage.

"That is the very reason," said Rolf, "why we should marry as soon as we can. Why not fix the day, and engage the pastor while he is here?"

"Because it would hurt Peder's feelings. There will be no difficulty in sending for the pastor when everything is ready. But now, Rolf, that all may go well, do promise not to run into needless danger."

"According to you," said Rolf, smiling, "one can never get out of danger. Where is the use of taking care, if all the powers of earth and air are against us? You think me as helpless, under Nipen's breath, as the poor infant that put out into the fiord the other day in a tub."

"I am not speaking of Nipen now,—(not because I do not think of it;)—I am speaking of Hund. Do promise me not to go more than four miles down the fiord. After that, there is a long stretch of precipices, without a single dwelling. There is not a boat that could put off,—there is not an eye or an ear that could bear witness what had become of you, if you and Hund should meet there."

"If Hund and I should meet there, I would bring him home, to settle what should become of him."

"And all the pirates? You would bring them all in your right hand, and row home with your left! For shame, Rolf, to be such a boaster! Promise me not to go beyond the four miles."

"Indeed I can only promise to go where the shoal is. Four miles! Suppose you say four furlongs, love."

"I will engage to catch herrings within four furlongs."

"Pray take me with you; and then I will carry you four times four miles down, and show you what a shoal is. Really, love, I should like to prove to you how safe the fiord is to one who knows every nook and hiding-place from the entrance up. If fighting would not do, I could always hide."

"And would not Hund know where to look for you?"

"Not he. He was not brought up on the fiord, to know its ways, and its holes and corners: and I told him neither that, nor anything else that I could keep from him; for I always mistrusted Hund.—Now, I will tell you, love. I will promise you something, because I do not wish to hurt you, as you sometimes hurt me with disregarding what I say,—with being afraid, in spite of all I can do to make you easy. I will promise you not to go further down, while alone, than Vogel islet, unless it is quite certain that Hund and the pirates are far enough off in another direction. I partly think, as you do, and as Erlingsen does, that they meant to come for me the night you carried off their boat: so I will be on the watch, and go no further than where they cannot hurt me."

"Then why say Vogel islet? It is out of all reasonable distance."

"Not to those who know the fiord as I do. I have my reasons, Erica, for fixing that distance and no other; and that far I intend to go, whether my friends think me able to take care of myself or not."

"At least," pleaded Erica, "let me go with you."

"Not for the world, my love." And Erica saw, by his look of horror at the idea of her going, that he felt anything but secure from the pirates. He took her hand, and kissed it again and again, as he said that there was plenty for that little hand to do at home, instead of pulling the oar in the hot sun. "I shall think of you all while I am fishing," he went on. "I shall fancy you making ready for the seater. [Note 1.] As you go towards Sulitelma any day now, you may hear the voices of a thousand waterfalls, calling upon the herdmen and maidens to come to the fresh pastures. How happy we shall be, Erica, when we once get to the seater!"

Erica sighed, and pressed her lover's hand as he held hers.

"While I am fishing," he went on, "I shall fancy our young mistresses, and Stiorna and you, washing all your bowls in juniper-water, ready for your dairy. I know how the young ladies will contrive that all of my carving shall come under your hand. And I shall be back with my fish before you are gone, that I may walk beside your cart. I know just how far you will ride. When we get the first sight of the grass waving, as the wind sweeps over it on the mountain side, you will spring from the cart, and walk with me all the rest of the way."

"All this would be well," said Erica, "if it were not for—"

"For what, love? For Nipen, again! If you will not mind what I say about your silly fears, you shall hear from the pastor how wicked they are. I see him yonder, in the garden. I will call him—"

"No, no! I know all he has to say," declared Erica.

But Rolf carried the case before M. Kollsen: and M. Kollsen, glad of every opportunity of discoursing on this subject, came and took Rolfs seat, and said all he could think of in contempt of the spirits of the region, till Erica's blood ran cold to hear him. It was not kind of Rolf to expose her to this: but Rolf had no fears himself, and was not aware how much she suffered under what the clergyman said. The lover stood by watching, and was so charmed with her gentle and submissive countenance and manner, while she could not own herself convinced, that he almost admired her superstition, and forgave her doubts of his being able to take care of himself, while his deadly enemy on earth might possibly be assisted by the offended powers of the air.

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Note 1. Each Norway farm which is situated within a certain distance of the mountains has a mountain pasture, to which the herds and flocks are driven in early summer, and where they feed till the first frosts come on. The herdmen and dairy-women live on the mountain, beside their cattle, during this season, and enjoy the mode of life extremely. The mountain pasture belonging to a farm is called the Seater. The procession of herds and flocks, and herdmen and dairy-women with their utensils, all winding up the mountain—"going to the seater," is a pretty sight on an early summer's day.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

VOGEL ISLET.

Who was ever happier than Rolf, when abroad in his skiff, on one of the most glorious days of the year? He found his angling tolerably successful near home; but the further he went, the more the herrings abounded; and he therefore dropped down the fiord with tide, fishing as he receded, till all home objects had disappeared. First, the farm-house, with its surrounding buildings, its green paddock, and shining white beach, was hidden behind the projecting rocks. Then Thor islet appeared to join with the nearest shore, from which its bushes of stunted birch seemed to spring. Then, as the skiff dropped lower and lower down, the interior mountains appeared to rise above the rocks which closed in the head of the fiord, and the snowy peak of Sulitelma stood up clear amidst the pale blue sky; the glaciers on its sides catching the sunlight on different points, and glittering so that the eye could scarcely endure to rest upon the mountain. When he came to the narrow part of the fiord, near the creek which had been the scene of Erica's exploit, Rolf laid aside his rod, with the bright hook that herrings so much admire, to guide his canoe through the currents caused by the approach of the rocks, and contraction of the passage; and he then wished he had brought Erica with him, so lovely was the scene. Every crevice of the rocks, even where there seemed to be no soil, was tufted with bushes, every twig of which was bursting into the greenest leaf, while, here and there, a clump of dark pines overhung some busy cataract, which, itself over-shadowed, sent forth its little clouds of spray, dancing and glittering in the sunlight. A pair of fishing eagles were perched on a high ledge of rock, screaming to the echoes, so that the dash of the currents was lost in the din. Rolf did wish that Erica was here when he thought how the colour would have mounted into her cheek, and how her eye would have sparkled at such a scene.

Lower down, it was scarcely less beautiful. The waters spread out again to a double width. The rocks were, or appeared to be lower; and now and then, in some space between rock and rock, a strip of brilliant green meadow lay open to the sunshine; and there were large flocks of fieldfares, flying round and round, to exercise the newly-fledged young. There were a few habitations scattered along the margin of the fiord; and two or three boats might be seen far off, with diminutive figures of men drawing their nets.

"I am glad I brought my net too," thought Rolf. "My rod had done good duty; but if I am coming upon a shoal, I will cast my net, and be home, laden with fish, before they think of looking for me."

Happy would it have been if Rolf had cast his net where others were content to fish, and had given up all idea of going further than was necessary: but his boat was still dropping down towards the islet which he had fixed in his own mind as the limit of his trip; and the long solitary reach of the fiord which now lay between him and it was tempting both to the eye and the mind. It is difficult to turn back from the first summer-day trip, in countries where summer is less beautiful than in Nordland; and on went Rolf, beyond the bounds of prudence, as many have done before him. He soon found himself in a still and somewhat dreary region, where there was no motion but of the sea-birds which were leading their broods down the shores of the fiords, and of the air which appeared to quiver before the eye, from the evaporation caused by the heat of the sun. More slowly went the canoe here, as if to suit the quietness of the scene, and leisurely and softly did Rolf cast his net: and then steadily did he draw it in, so rich in fish that when they lay in the bottom of the boat, they at once sank it deeper in the water, and checked its speed by their weight.

Rolf then rested awhile, and looked ahead for Vogel islet, thinking that he could not now be very far from it. There it lay looming in the heated atmosphere, spreading as if in the air, just above the surface of the water, to which it appeared joined in the middle by a dark stem, as if it grew like a huge sea-flower. There is no end to the strange appearances presented in northern climates by an atmosphere so different from our own. Rolf gazed and gazed as the island grew more like itself on his approach; and he was so occupied with it as not to look about him as he ought to have done at such a distance from home. He was roused at length by a shout, and looked towards the point from which it came; and there, in a little harbour of the fiord, a recess which now actually lay behind him—between him and home—lay a vessel; and that vessel, he knew by a second glance, was the pirate-schooner.

Of the schooner itself he had no fear, for there was so little wind that it could not have come out in time to annoy him; but there was the schooner's boat, with five men in it—four rowing and one steering— already in full pursuit of him. He knew, by the general air and native dress of the man at the helm, that it was Hund; and he fancied he heard Hund's malicious voice in the shout which came rushing over the water from their boat to his. How fast they seemed to be coming! How the spray from their oars glittered in the sun, and how their wake lengthened with every stroke! No spectator from the shore (if there had been any) could have doubted that the boat was in pursuit of the skiff, and would snap it up presently. Rolf saw that he had five determined foes gaining upon him every instant; and yet he was not alarmed. He had had his reasons for thinking himself safe near Vogel islet; and calculating for a moment the time of the tide, he was quite at his ease. As he took his oars he smiled at the hot haste of his pursuers, and at the thought of the amazement they would feel when he slipped through their fingers; and then he began to row.

Rolf did not overheat himself with too much exertion. He permitted his foes to gain a little upon him, though he might have preserved the distance for as long as his strength could have held out against that of the four in the other boat. They ceased their shouting when they saw how quietly he took his danger. They really believed that he was not aware of being their object, and hoped to seize him suddenly, before he had time to resist.

When very near the islet, however, Rolf became more active, and his skiff disappeared behind its southern point while the enemy's boat was still two furlongs off. The steersman looked for the reappearance of the canoe beyond the islet; but he looked in vain. He thought, and his companions agreed with him, that it was foolish of Rolf to land upon the islet, where they could lay hands on him in a moment; but they could only suppose he had done this, and prepared to do the same. They rowed quite round the islet; but, to their amazement, they could not only perceive no place to land at, but there was no trace of the canoe. It seemed to them as if those calm and clear waters had swallowed up the skiff and Rolf in the few minutes after they had lost sight of him. Hund thought the case was accounted for when he recalled Nipen's displeasure. A thrill ran through him as he said to himself that the spirits of the region had joined with him against Rolf, and swallowed up, almost before his eyes, the man he hated. He put his hands before his face for a moment, while his comrades stared at him; then, thinking he must be under a delusion, he gazed earnestly over the waters as far as he could see. They lay calm and bright, and there was certainly no kind of vessel on their surface for miles round.

The rowers wondered, questioned, uttered shouts, spoke altogether, and then looked at Hund in silence, struck by his countenance, and finished by rowing two or three times round the islet, slowly, and looking up its bare rocky sides, which rose like walls from the water; but nothing could they see or hear. When tired of their fruitless search they returned to the schooner, ready to report to the master that the fiord was enchanted.

Meantime, Rolf had heard every plash of their oars, and every tone of their voices, as they rowed round his place of refuge. He was not on the islet, but in it. This was such an island as Swein, the sea-king of former days, took refuge in; and Rolf was only following his example. Long before, he had discovered a curious cleft in the rock, very narrow, and all but invisible at high-water, even if a bush of dwarf-ash and birch had not hung down over it. At high-water, nothing larger than a bird could go in and out beneath the low arch; but there was a cavern within, whose sandy floor sloped up to some distance above high-water mark. In this cavern was Rolf. He had thrust his little skiff between the walls of rock, crushing in its sides as he did so. The bushes drooped behind him, hanging naturally over the entrance as before. Rolf pulled up his broken vessel upon the little sandy beach, within the cave, saved a pile of his fish, and returned a good many to the water, and then sat down upon the sea-weeds to listen. There was no light but a little which found its way through the bushy screen and up from the green water; and the sounds—the tones of the pirates' voices, and the splash of the waters against the rocky walls of his singular prison— came deadened and changed to his ear; yet he heard enough to be aware how long his enemies remained, and when they were really gone.

It was a prison indeed, as Rolf reflected when he looked upon his broken skiff. He could not imagine how he was to get away; for his friends would certainly never think of coming to look for him here: but he put off the consideration of this point for the present, and turned away from the image of Erica's distress when he should fail to return. He amused himself now with imagining Hund's disappointment, and the reports which would arise from it; and he found this so very entertaining that he laughed aloud; and then the echo of his laughter sounded so very merry that it set him laughing again. This, in its turn, seemed to rouse the eider-ducks that thronged the island; and their clatter and commotion was so great overhead that any spectator might have been excused for believing that Vogel islet was indeed bewitched.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

A SUMMER APARTMENT.

"Humph! How little did the rare old sea-king think," said Rolf to himself, as he surveyed his cave—"how little did Swein think, when he played this very trick, six hundred years ago, that it would save a poor farm-servant from being murdered, so many centuries after! Many thanks to my good grandmother for being so fond of that story! She taught it thoroughly to me before she died; and that is the reason of my being safe at this moment. I wish I had told the people at home of my having found this cave; for, as it is, they cannot but think me lost; and how Erica will bear it, I don't know. And yet, if I had told them, Hund would have heard it; or, at least, Stiorna, and she would have managed to let him know. Perhaps it is best as it is, if only I can get back in time to save Erica's heart from breaking. But for her, I should not mind the rest being in a fright for a day or two. They are a little apt to fancy that the affairs of the farm go by nature—that the fields and the cattle take care of themselves. They treat me liberally enough; but they are not fully aware of the value of a man like me; and now they will learn. They will hardly know how to make enough of me when I go back. Oddo will be the first to see me. I think, however, I should let them hear my best song from a distance. Let me see—which song shall it be? It must be one which will strike Peder; for he will be the first to hear, as Oddo always is to see. Some of them will think it is a spirit mocking, and some that it is my ghost; and my master and madame will take it to be nothing but my own self. And then, in the doubt among all these, my poor Erica will faint away; and while they are throwing water upon her face, and putting some camphorated brandy into her mouth, I shall quietly step in among them, and grasp Peder's arm, and pull Oddo's hair, to show that it is I myself; and when Erica opens her eyes, she shall see my face at its very merriest; so that she cannot possibly take me for a sad and solemn ghost. And the next thing will be—"

He stopped with a start, as his eye fell upon his crushed boat, lying on its side, half in the water and half out.

"Ah!" thought he, in a changed mood, "this is all very fine—this planning how one pleasant thing will follow upon another; but I forgot the first thing of all. I must learn first how I am to get out."

He turned his boat about and about, and shook his head over every bruise, hole, or crack that he found, till he finished with a nod of decision that nothing could be done with it. He was a good swimmer; but the nearest point of the shore was so far off that it would be all he could do to reach it when the waters were in their most favourable state. At present, they were so chilled with the melted snows that were pouring down from every steep along the fiord, that he doubted the safety of attempting to swim at all. What chance of release had he then?

If he could by any means climb upon the rocks in whose recesses he was now hidden, he might possibly fall in with some fishing-boat which would fetch him off; but, besides that the pirates were more likely to see him than anybody else, he believed there was no way by which he could climb upon the islet. It had always been considered the exclusive property of the aquatic birds with which it swarmed, because its sides rose so abruptly from the water, so like the smooth stone walls of a lofty building, that there was no hold for foot or hand, and the summit seemed unattainable by anything that had not wings. Rolf remembered, however, having heard Peder say that when he was young there might be seen hanging down one part of the precipice the remains of a birchen ladder, which must have been made and placed there by human hands. Rolf determined that he would try the point. He would wait till the tide was flowing in, as the waters from the open sea were somewhat less chilled than when returning from the head of the fiord; he would take the waters at their warmest, and try and try again to make a footing upon the islet. Meantime he would not trouble himself with thoughts of being a prisoner.

His cave was really a very pretty place. As its opening fronted the west, he found that even here there might be sunshine. The golden light which blesses the high and low places of the earth did not disdain to cheer and adorn even this humble chamber, which, at the bidding of nature, the waters had patiently scooped out of the hard rock. Some hours after darkness had settled down on the lands of the tropics, and long after the stars had come out in the skies over English heads, this cave was at its brightest. As the sun drew to its setting, near the middle of the Nordland summer night, it levelled its golden rays through the cleft, and made the place far more brilliant than at noon. The projections of the rough rock caught the beam, during the few minutes that it stayed, and shone with a bright orange tint. The beach suddenly appeared of a more dazzling white, and the waters of a deeper green, while, by their motion, they cast quivering circles of reflected light upon the roof, which had before been invisible. Rolf took this brief opportunity to survey his abode carefully. He had supposed, from the pleasant freshness of the air, that the cave was lofty; and he now saw that the roof did indeed spring up to a vast height. He saw also that there was a great deal of drift-wood accumulated; and some of it thrown into such distant corners as to prove that the waves could dash up to a much higher waterline, in stormy weather, than he had supposed. No matter! He hoped to be gone before there were any more storms. Tired and sleepy as he was, so near midnight, he made an exertion, while there was plenty of light, to clear away the sea-weeds from a space on the sand where he must to-morrow make his fire, and broil his fish. The smell of the smallest quantity of burnt weed would be intolerable in so confined a place: so he cleared away every sprout of it, and laid some of the drift-wood on a spot above high-water mark, picking out the driest pieces of fire-wood he could find for kindling a flame.

When this was done, he could have found in his heart to pick up shells, so various and beautiful were those which strewed the floor of his cave: but the sunbeam was rapidly climbing the wall, and would presently be gone, so he let the shells lie till the next night (if he should still be here), and made haste to heap up a bed of fine dry sand in a corner; and here he lay down as the twilight darkened, and thought he had never rested on so soft a bed. He knew it was near high-water, and he tried to keep awake, to ascertain how nearly the tide filled up the entrance; but he was too weary, and his couch was too comfortable for this. His eyes closed in spite of him, and he dreamed that he was broad awake watching the height of the tide. For this one night, he could rest without any very painful thoughts of poor Erica, for she was prepared for his remaining out till the middle of the next day, at least.

When he awoke in the morning, the scene was marvellously changed from that on which he had closed his eyes. His cave was so dim that he could scarcely distinguish its white floor from its rocky sides. The water was low, and the cleft therefore enlarged, so that he saw at once that now was the time for making his fire—now when there was the freest access for the air. Yet he could not help pausing to admire what he saw. He could see now a long strip of the fiord,—a perspective of waters and of shores, ending in a lofty peak still capped with snow, and glittering in the sunlight. The whole landscape was bathed in light, as warm as noon; for, though it was only six in the morning, the sun had been up for several hours. As Rolf gazed, and reckoned up the sum of what he saw,—the many miles of water, and the long range of rocks, he felt, for a moment, as if not yet secure from Hund,—as if he must be easily visible while he saw so much. But it was not so, and Rolf smiled at his own momentary fear, when he remembered how, as a child, he had tried to count the stars he could see at once through a hole pricked by a needle in a piece of paper, and how, for that matter, all that we ever see is through the little circle of the pupil of the eye. He smiled when he considered that while, from his recess, he could see the united navy of Norway and Denmark, if anchored in the fiord, his enemy could not see even his habitation, otherwise than by peeping under the bushes which overhung the cleft—and this only at low-water; so he began to sing, while rubbing together, with all his might, the dry sticks of fir with which his fire was to be kindled. First they smoked, and then, by a skilful breath of air, they blazed, and set fire to the heap; and by the time the herrings were ready for broiling, the cave was so filled with smoke that Rolf's singing was turned to coughing.

Some of the smoke hung in soot on the roof and walls of the cave, curling up so well at first, that Rolf almost thought there must be some opening in the lofty roof which served as a chimney; but there was not, and some of the smoke came down again, issuing at last from the mouth of the cave. Rolf observed this, and, seeing the danger of his place of retreat being thus discovered, he made haste to finish his cookery, resolving that, if he had to remain here for any length of time, he would always make his fire in the night. He presently threw water over his burning brands, and hoped that nothing had been seen of the process of preparing his breakfast.

The smoke had been seen, however, and by several people, but in such a way as to lead to no discovery of the cave. From the schooner, Hund kept his eyes fixed on the islet, at every moment he had to spare. Either he was the murderer of his fellow-servant, or the islet was bewitched; and if Rolf was under the protection and favour of the powers of the region, he, Hund, was out of favour, and might expect bad consequences. Whichever might be the case, Hund was very uneasy; and he could think of nothing but the islet, and look no other way. His companions had at first joked him about his luck in getting rid of his enemies, but, being themselves superstitious, they caught the infection of his gravity, and watched the spot almost as carefully as he.

As their vessel lay higher up in the fiord than the islet, they were on the opposite side from the crevice, and could not see from whence the smoke issued. But they saw it in the form of a light cloud hanging over the place. Hund's eyes were fixed upon it, when one of his comrades touched him on the shoulder. Hund started.

"You see there," said the man, pointing.

"To be sure I do; what else was I looking at?"

"Well, what is it?" inquired the man. "Has your friend got a visitor,— come a great way this morning? They say the mountain-sprite travels in mist; if so, it is now going; see, there it sails off,—melts away. It is as like common smoke as anything that ever I saw. What say you to taking the boat, and trying again whether there is no place where your friend might not land, and be now making a fire among the birds' nests?"

"Nonsense!" cried Hund. "What became of the skiff, then?"

"True," said the man; and, shaking his head, he passed on, and spoke to the master.

In his own secret mind, the master of the schooner did not quite like his present situation. The little harbour was well sheltered and hidden from the observation of the inhabitants of the upper part of the fiord: but, after hearing the words dropped by his crew, the master did not relish being stationed between the bewitched islet and the head of the fiord, where all the residents were, of course, enemies. He thought that it would be wiser to have a foe only on the one hand, and the open sea on the other, even at the sacrifice of the best anchorage. As there was now a light wind, enough to take his vessel down, he gave orders accordingly.

Slowly, and at some distance, the schooner passed the islet, and all on board crowded together to see what they could see. None,—not even the master with his glass,—saw anything remarkable: but all heard something. There was a faint muffled sound of knocks,—blows such as were never heard in a mere haunt of sea-birds. It was evident that the birds were disturbed by it; they rose and fell, made short flights and came back again, fluttered, and sometimes screamed so as to overpower all other sounds. But if they were quiet for a minute, the knock, knock, was heard again, with great regularity, and every knock went to Hund's heart.

The fact was, that after breakfast, Rolf soon became tired of having nothing to do. The water was so very cold, that he deferred till noon the attempt to swim round the islet. He once more examined his boat, and though the injuries done seemed irreparable, he thought he had better try to mend his little craft than do nothing. After collecting from the wood in the cave all the nails that happened to be sticking in it, and all the pieces that were sound enough to patch a boat with, he made a stone serve him for a hammer, straightened his nails upon another stone, and tried to fasten on a piece of wood over a hole. It was discouraging work enough, but it helped to pass the hours till the restless waters should have reached their highest mark in the cave, when he would know that it was noon, and time for his little expedition.

He sighed as he threw down his awkward new tools and pulled off his jacket, for his heart now began to grow very heavy. It was about the time when Erica would be beginning to look for his return, and when or how he was ever to return he became less able to imagine, the more he thought about it. As he fancied Erica gazing down the fiord from the gallery, or stealing out, hour after hour, to look forth from the beach, and only to be disappointed every time, till she would be obliged to give him quite up, and yield to despair, Rolf shed tears. It was the first time for some years,—the first time since he had been a man, and when he saw his own tears fall upon the sand, he was ashamed. He blushed, as if he had not been all alone, dashed away the drops, and threw himself into the water.

It was too cold by far for safe swimming. All the snows of Sulitelma could hardly have made the waters more chilly to the swimmer than they felt at the first plunge; but Rolf would not retreat for this reason. He thought of the sunshine outside, and of the free open view he should enjoy, dived beneath the almost closed entrance, and came up on the other side. The first thing he saw was the schooner, now lying below his island; and the next thing was a small boat between him and it, evidently making towards him. When convinced that Hund was one of the three men in it, he saw that he must go back, or make haste to finish his expedition. He made haste, swam round so close as to touch the warm rock in many places, and could not discover, any more than before, any trace of a footing by which a man might climb to the summit. There was a crevice or two, however, from which vegetation hung, still left unsearched. He could not search them now, for he must make haste home.

The boat was indeed so near when he had reached the point he set out from, that he used every effort to conceal himself; and it seemed that he could only have escaped by the eyes of his enemies being fixed on the summit of the rock. When once more in the cave, he rather enjoyed hearing them come nearer and nearer, so that the bushes which hung down between him and them shook with the wind of their oars, and dipped into the waves. He laughed silently when he heard one of them swear that he would not leave the spot till he had seen something, upon which another rebuked his presumption. Presently, a voice, which he knew to be Hund's, called upon his name, at first gently, and then more and more loudly, as if taking courage at not being answered.

"I will wait till he rounds the point," thought Rolf, "and then give him such an answer as may send a guilty man away quicker than he came."

He waited till they were on the opposite side, so that his voice might appear to come from the summit of the islet, and then began with the melancholy sound used to lure the plover on the moors. The men in the boat instantly observed that this was the same sound used when Erlingsen's boat was spirited away from them. It was rather singular that Rolf and Oddo should have used the same sound, but they probably chose it as the most mournful they knew. Rolf, however, did not stop there; he moaned louder and louder, till the sound resembled the bellowing of a tormented spirit enclosed in the rock; and the consequence was, as he had said, that his enemies retreated faster than they came. Never had they rowed more vigorously than now, fetching a large circuit, to keep at a safe distance from the spot, as they passed westward.