"Why will you not go with me, Elsalill?" he asked.

Elsalill was as pale as death. Her thoughts were so confused that she scarce knew what answer she made him.

"It is a perilous thing to follow a soldier of fortune," she said. "For none can tell whether such a man will keep his plighted troth."

Before Sir Archie had time to answer, a sailor came into the tavern.

He went up to Sir Archie and told him he was sent by the skipper of the great gallias which lay in the ice behind Klovero. The skipper prayed Sir Archie and all his men to make ready their goods and come aboard that evening. The storm had sprung up again and the sea was clearing far away to the westward. It might well be that before daybreak they would have open water and could sail for Scotland.

"You hear what this man says?" said Sir Archie to Elsalill. "Will you come with me?"

"No," said Elsalill, "I will not go with you."

But in her heart she was very glad, for she thought: "Now belike it will turn out so that he may escape ere the watch can come and seize him."

Sir Archie rose and went over to Sir Philip and Sir Reginald and spoke to them of the message. "Get you back to the inn before me," he said, "and make all ready. I have a word or two yet to say to Elsalill."

When Elsalill saw that Sir Archie was coming back to her, she waved her hands as though to prevent him. "Why do you come back, Sir Archie?" she said. "Why do you not hasten down to the sea as fast as your feet may carry you?"

For such was her love for Sir Archie. She had indeed betrayed him for her dear foster sister's sake, but her most fervent wish was that he might escape.

"No, first will I beg you once more to come with me," said Sir Archie.

"But you know, Sir Archie, that I cannot come with you," said Elsalill.

"Why can you not?" said Sir Archie. "You are a poor orphan, so forlorn and friendless that none will care what becomes of you. But if you come with me, I will make you a noble lady. I am a powerful man in my own country. You shall be clad in silk and gold, and you shall tread a measure at the King's court."

Elsalill was shaking with alarm at his delaying while flight was still open to him. She could scarce calm herself to answer: "Go hence, Sir Archie! You must tarry no longer to importune me." "There is something I would say to you, Elsalill," said Sir Archie, and his voice became more tender as he spoke. "When first I saw you, my only thought was of tempting and beguiling you. In the beginning I promised you riches in jest, but since two nights ago I have meant honestly by you. And now it is my purpose and desire to make you my wife. You may trust in me, as I am a gentleman and a soldier."

At that moment Elsalill heard the march of armed men in the square outside. "If I go with him now," she thought, "he may yet escape. If I refuse, I drive him to destruction. It is for my sake he tarries here so long that the watch will lay hands on him. But how can I go with the man who has murdered all my dear ones?"

"Sir Archie," said Elsalill, and she hoped her words might startle him, "Do you not hear the tramp of armed men in the square?"

"Oh, yes, I hear it," said Sir Archie; "there has been some alehouse brawl, I doubt not. Let it not fright you, Elsalill; it is but some fishermen that have come to clapper-claws over their cups."

"Sir Archie," said Elsalill, "do you not hear them stand before the town hall?"

Elsalill was trembling from head to foot, but Sir Archie took no note of it; he was quite calm.

"Where else would you have them stand?" said Sir Archie. "They must bring the brawlers here to lay them by the heels in the watch house. Listen not to them, Elsalill, but to me, who ask you to follow me over the sea!"

But Elsalill tried once more to put fear into Sir Archie. "Sir Archie," she said, do you not hear the watch coming down the steps to the cellar?"

"Oh, yes, I hear them," said Sir Archie; "they will come here to empty a pot of ale, since their prisoners are safe under lock and key. Think not of them, Elsalill, but think how tomorrow you and I will be sailing the wide sea to my dear native land!"

But Elsalill was pale as a corpse, and she shook so that she could scarce speak. "Sir Archie," she said, "do you not see them speaking with the hostess yonder at the bar? They are asking her whether any of those they seek is within."

"I'll wager they are charging her to brew them a warm, strong drink this stormy night," said Sir Archie. "You need not quake and tremble so mightily, Elsalill. You can follow me without fear. I tell you that if my father would have me wed the noblest damsel in our land, I should now say her nay. Come with me over the sea in full security, Elsalill! Nothing awaits you there but joy and happiness."

More and more of the pikemen had collected about the door, and Elsalill was now beside herself with terror. "I cannot look on while they come and seize him," she thought. She leaned toward Sir Archie and whispered to him: "Do you not hear, Sir Archie? They are asking the hostess whether any of Herr Arne's murderers is here within."

Then Sir Archie threw a glance across the room and looked at the pikemen who were speaking with the hostess. But he did not rise and fly as Elsalill had expected: he bent down and looked deeply into her eyes. "Is it you, Elsalill, who have discovered and betrayed me?" he asked.

"I have done it for my dear foster sister's sake, that she might have peace in her grave," said Elsalill. "God knows what it has cost me to do it. But now fly, Sir Archie! There is yet time. They have not yet barred all doors and lobbies."

"You wolf's cub!" said Sir Archie. "When first I saw you on the quay I thought I ought to kill you."

But Elsalill laid her hand on his arm. "Fly, Sir Archie! I cannot sit still and see them come and take you. If you will not fly without me, then in God's name I will go with you. But do not stay longer here for my sake, Sir Archie! I will do all you ask of me, if only you will save your life."

But now Sir Archie was very angry, and he spoke scornfully to Elsalill. "Now, mistress, you shall never go in gold-embroidered shoes through lofty castle halls. Now you may stay in Marstrand all your days and gut herrings. Never shall you wed a man who has castle and lands, Elsalill. Your man shall be a poor fisherman and your dwelling a cabin on a cold rock."

"Do you not hear them setting guards before all the doors to bar the way with their pikes?" asked Elsalill. "Why do you not hasten hence? Why do you not fly out upon the ice and hide yourself in a ship?"

"I do not fly because I have a mind to sit and talk with Elsalill," said Sir Archie. "Are you thinking that now there is an end of all your joy, Elsalill? Are you thinking that now there is an end of my hope of atoning for my crime?"

"Sir Archie," whispered Elsalill, rising from her seat in her terror; "now the men are all posted. Now they will catch and seize you. Make haste and fly! I shall come out to your ship, Sir Archie, if only you will fly."

"You need not be so frightened, Elsalill," said Sir Archie. "We have some time left to talk together. These fellows have no stomach to set upon me here, where I can defend myself. They mean to take me in the narrow stair. They think to spit me on their long pikes. And that is what you have always wished me, Elsalill."

But the more her terror gained on Elsalill, the calmer became Sir Archie. She never ceased praying him to fly, but he laughed at her.

"You need not be so sure, mistress, that these fellows can take me. I have come through greater dangers than this. I'll warrant I was harder put to it some months since in Sweden. Some slanderers had told King John that his Scots guard was disloyal to him. And the King believed them. He threw the three commanders into dungeon and sent their men out of his realm, and had them guarded till they had passed the border."

"Fly, Sir Archie, fly!" begged Elsalill.

"You need not be troubled for me, Elsalill," said Sir Archie with a hard laugh. "This evening I am myself again, my old humour is come back. I see no more the young maid that haunted me, and I shall hold my own, never fear. I will tell you of those three who lay in King John's dungeon. They stole out of the tower one night, when their guards were drowsy with liquor, and ran their ways. And then they fled to the border. But so long as they were in the Swedish king's land they durst not betray themselves. They had no choice, Elsalill, but to make themselves rough coats of skin and give out that they were journeymen tanners travelling the country in search of work."

Now Elsalill began to mark how changed Sir Archie was toward her. And she knew he hated her, since he had found out that she had betrayed him.

"Speak not so, Sir Archie!" said Elsalill.

"Why should you play me false, just when I trusted you most?" said Sir Archie. "Now I am again the man I was. Now none shall find me merciful. And now you'll see, Fortune will favour me, as she has done hitherto. Were we not in bad case, I and my comrades, when at last we had walked through all Sweden and come down to the coast here? We had no money to buy us honourable clothes. We had no money to pay for our shipping to Scotland. We knew no remedy but to break into Solberga parsonage."

"Speak no more of that!" said Elsalill.

"Yes, now you must hear all, Elsalill," said Sir Archie. "There is one thing you know not, and it is that when first we came into the house we went to Herr Arne, roused him, and told him he must give us money. If he gave it freely, we would not harm him. But Herr Arne resisted us with force, and so we had to strike him down. And when we had dispatched him, we had to make an end of all his household."

Elsalill interrupted Sir Archie no more, but her heart felt cold and empty. She shuddered as she looked upon Sir Archie, for as he spoke a cruel and bloodthirsty look came over him. "What was I about to do?" she thought. "Have I been mad and loved the man who murdered all my dear ones? God forgive my sin!"

"When we thought all were dead," said Sir Archie, "we dragged the heavy money chest out of the house. Then we set fire about it, that men might think Herr had been burnt alive."

"I have loved a wolf of the woods," said Elsalill to herself. "And him I have tried to save from justice!"

"But we drove down to the ice and fled to sea," Sir Archie went on. "We had no fear so long as we saw the flames mounting to the sky, but when we saw them die down we took alarm. We knew then that neighbours had come and put out the fire, and that we should be pursued. So we drove back toward land, for we had seen the outlet of a stream where the ice was thin. We lifted the chest from the sledge and drove forward till the ice broke under the horse's hoofs. Then we let it drown and sprang off to one side. If you were aught but a little maid, Elsalill, you would see that this was bravely done. We acquitted ourselves like men."

Elsalill kept still; she felt a sharp pain tearing at her heart. But Sir Archie hated her and delighted to torment her. "Then we took our belts and fastened them to the chest and began to draw it. But as the chest left tracks in the ice, we went ashore and gathered twigs of spruce and laid them under the chest. Then we took off our boots and went over the ice without leaving a trace behind us."

Sir Archie paused to throw a scornful glance at Elsalill.

"Although we had prospered in all this, we were yet in bad case. Wherever we went our bloodstained clothes would betray us and we should be seized. But now listen, Elsalill, so that you may tell all those who would be at the pains to give us chase, that they may understand we are not of a sort to be lightly taken! Listen to this: As we came over the ice toward Marstrand here, we met our comrades and countrymen, who had been banished by King John from his land. They had not been able to leave Marstrand because of the ice, and they helped us in our need, so that we got clothes. Since then we have gone about here in Marstrand and been in no danger. And no danger would threaten us now, if you had not been faithless and played me false."

Elsalill sat still. This was too great a grief for her. She could scarce feel her heart beating.

But Sir Archie sprang up and cried: "And no ill shall befall us tonight either. Of that you shall be witness, Elsalill!"

In an instant he seized Elsalill in both his arms and raised her off her feet. And with Elsalill before him as a shield Sir Archie ran through the tavern to the doorway. And the men who were posted to guard the door levelled their long pikes at him, but they durst not use them for fear of hurting Elsalill.

When Sir Archie reached the narrow stair and the lobby, he held Elsalill before him in the same way. And she protected him better than the strongest armour, for the pikemen who were drawn up there could make no use of their weapons. Thus he came a good way up the steps, and Elsalill could feel the free air of heaven blowing about her.

But Elsalill's love for Sir Archie was changed to the most deadly hatred, and her only thought was that he was a villain and a murderer. And when she saw that her body shielded him, so that he was likely to escape, she stretched out her hand and took hold of one of the watchmen's pikes and aimed it at her heart. "Now I will serve my foster sister, so that her mission shall be fulfilled at last," thought Elsalill. And at the next step Sir Archie took up the stairs, the pike entered Elsalill's heart.

But then Sir Archie was already at the top of the stairway. And the pikemen fell back when they saw that one of them had hurt the maid. And he ran past them. When Sir Archie came out into the market-place he heard a Scottish war cry from one of the lanes: "A rescue! A rescue! For Scotland! For Scotland!"

It was Sir Philip and Sir Reginald, who had mustered the Scots and now came to relieve him.

And Sir Archie ran toward them and cried in a loud voice: "Hither to me! For Scotland! For Scotland!"



CHAPTER IX

OVER THE ICE

As Sir Archie walked out over the ice he still held Elsalill on his arm.

Sir Philip and Sir Reginald walked beside him. They tried to tell him how they had discovered the trap laid for them and how they had succeeded in getting the heavy treasure chest away to the gallias and in collecting their countrymen; but Sir Archie paid no heed to their words. He seemed to be conversing with her he carried on his arm.

"Who is that you carry there?" asked Sir Reginald.

"It is Elsalill," answered Sir Archie. "I shall take her with me to Scotland. I will not leave her behind. Here she would never be aught but a poor fish wench."

"No, that is like enough," said Sir Reginald.

"Here none would give her clothes but of the coarsest wool," said Sir Archie, "and a narrow bed of hard planks to sleep on. But I shall spread her couch with the softest cushions, and her resting- place shall be made of marble. I shall wrap her in the costliest furs, and on her feet she shall wear jewelled shoes."

"You intend her great honour," said Sir Reginald.

"I cannot let her stay behind here," said Sir Archie, "for who among them would be mindful of such a poor creature? She would be forgotten by all ere many months were past. None would visit her abode, none would relieve her loneliness. But when once I reach home, I shall rear a stately dwelling for her. There shall her name stand graven in the hard stone, that none may forget it. There I myself shall come to her every day, and all shall be so splendidly devised that folk from far away shall come to visit her. There shall be lamps and candles burning night and day, and the sound of music and song shall make it seem a perpetual festival."

The gale blew violently in their faces as they walked over the ice. It tore Elsalill's cloak loose and made it flutter like a banner.

"Will you help me to carry Elsalill a moment," said Sir Archie, "while I wind her cloak about her?"

Sir Reginald took Elsalill in his arms, but as he did so he was so terrified that he let her slip between his hands on to the ice. "I knew not that Elsalill was dead," he said.



CHAPTER X

THE ROAR OF THE WAVES

All night the skipper of the great gallias walked back and forth on his lofty poop. It was dark, and the gale howled around him, lashing him with sleet and rain. But the ice still lay firm and fast about the vessel, so that the skipper might just as well have slept quietly in his berth.

But he stayed up the whole night. Time after time he put his hand to his ear and listened.

It was not easy to say what he was listening for. He had all his crew on board, as well as all the passengers he was to carry over to Scotland. Every one of them lay below decks fast asleep, and there was no sound of talk to which the skipper might be listening.

As the storm came sweeping over the icebound gallias it threw itself upon the vessel, as though from old habit it would drive her through the water. And as the ship still stood fast the wind took hold of her again and again. It rattled all the little icicles that hung from her ropes and tackles, it made her timbers creak and groan. Her masts were strained and gave loud cracks, as though they would go by the board.

It was no quiet night. There was a muffled rustling in the air, as the snow came whizzing past; there was a patter and splash as the rain came pelting down.

And in the ice one crack after another opened with a noise like thunder, as though ships of war had been at sea exchanging heavy salvoes.

But to none of this was the skipper listening.

He stayed up the whole night, until a gray dawn spread over the sky; but still he did not hear the sound he was waiting for.

At last a singing, monotonous murmur was borne upon the night air, a rocking, caressing sound as of distant music.

Then the skipper hurried across the rowers' thwarts amidships to the lofty forecastle where his crew slept. "Turn out," he called to them, "and take your oars and boat-hooks! The time is almost come when we shall be free. I hear the roar of open water. I hear the song of the free waves."

The men left sleeping and came out at once. They posted themselves along the ship's sides, while the day slowly dawned.

When at last it was light enough for them to see what changes the night had brought, they found that all the creeks and channels were open far out to sea, but in the bay where they were frozen in not a fissure could be seen in the ice, which lay firm and unbroken.

And in the channel which led out of this bay the ice had piled itself up into a high wall. The waves in their free play outside continually cast up floating ice upon it.

In the sound between the skerries there was a swarm of sails. All the fishing-boats which had lain icebound off Marstrand were now streaming out. The sea ran high and blocks of ice still floated among the waves, but the fishermen seemed to think they had no time to wait for safe and calm water, and they had set sail. They stood in the bows of their boats and kept a sharp lookout. Small blocks of ice they fended off with an oar, but when the big ones came they put the helm over and bore away. On the high poop of the gallias the skipper stood and watched them. He could see that they had their troubles, but he saw too that one boat after another wriggled through and came out into the open sea.

And when the skipper saw the sails gliding over the blue water, he felt his disappointment so bitterly that tears came into his eyes.

But his ship lay still, and before him the wall of ice was piling up higher and higher.

The sea outside bore not only ships and boats, but sometimes small white icebergs came floating past. They were big ice-floes that had been thrown one upon another and were now sailing southward. They shone like silver in the morning sun, and now and then they showed as pink as though they had been strewed with roses.

But high up among the whistling of the wind loud cries were heard, now like singing voices, now like pealing trumpets. There was a sound of jubilation in these cries, swelling the heart of him who heard them. They came from a long flight of swans on their way from the south.

But when the skipper saw the icebergs moving southward and the swans flying to the north such longing seized him that he wrung his hands. "Woe's me, that I must lie here!" he said. "Will the ice never break up in this bay? I may lie waiting here many days yet."

Just as he said this, he saw a man come driving on the ice. He came out of a narrow channel on the Marstrand side, and he drove as calmly on the ice as if he did not know the waves had begun once more to carry ships and boats.

As he drove under the stern of the gallias he hailed the skipper: "Ho, you there, frozen in the ice, do you lack food aboard? Will you buy my salt herring or dried ling or smoked eel?"

The skipper did not trouble to answer him. He only shook his fist at him and swore.

Then the fish hawker stepped off his load. He took a bunch of hay from the sledge and laid it in front of his horse. Then he climbed up on the deck of the gallias. When he faced the skipper he said to him very earnestly:

"Today I have not come to sell fish. But I know that you are a God-fearing man. Therefore I have come to ask your help to find a maiden whom the Scotsmen brought out to your ship with them yester-night."

"I know naught of their bringing any maiden with them," said the skipper. "I have heard no woman's voice aboard the ship tonight."

"I am Torarin the fish hawker," said the other; "maybe you have heard of me? It was I who supped with Herr Arne at Solberga parsonage the same night he was murdered. Since then I have had Herr Arne's foster daughter under my roof, but last night she was stolen away by his murderers, and they have surely brought her with them to your vessel."

"Are Herr Arne's murderers aboard my vessel?" asked the skipper in dismay.

"You see that I am a poor and feeble man," said Torarin. "I have a palsied arm, and therefore I am fearful of taking upon myself any bold and hazardous thing. I have known these many days who were Herr Arne's murderers, but I have not dared to bring them to justice. And because I have held my peace they have made their escape and have found occasion to carry the maiden with them. But now I have said to myself that I will have no more of my conscience in this matter. At least I will try to save the little maid."

"If Herr Arne's murderers are on board my ship, why does not the watch come out and arrest them?"

"I have begged and prayed them all this night and morning," said Torarin, "but the watch durst not come out. They say there are a hundred men-at-arms on board, and with them they durst not contend. Then I thought, in God's name I must come out here alone and beg you help me to find the maiden, for I know you to be a God-fearing man."

But the skipper paid no heed to his question of the maiden; his mind was full of the other matter. "What makes you sure that the murderers are on board?" he said.

Torarin pointed to a great oaken chest which stood between the rowers' thwarts. "I have seen that chest too often in Herr Arne's house to be mistaken," he said. "In it is Herr Arne's money, and where his money is, there you will find his murderers."

"That chest belongs to Sir Archie and his two friends, Sir Reginald and Sir Philip," said the skipper.

"Ay," said Torarin, looking at him fixedly; "that is so. It belongs to Sir Archie and Sir Philip and Sir Reginald."

The skipper stood silent awhile and looked this way and that. "When think you the ice will break up in this bay?" he said to Torarin.

"There is something strange in it this year," said Torarin. "In this bay we have always seen the ice break up early, for there is a strong current. But as it shapes now you must have a care that you be not thrust against the land when the ice begins to move."

"I think of naught else," said the skipper.

Again he stood silent for a while and turned his face toward the sea. The morning sun shone high in the sky, and the waves reflected its radiance. The liberated vessels scudded this way and that, and the sea birds came flying from the south with joyous cries. The fish lay near the surface and glittered in the sun as they leapt high out of the water, wanton after their long imprisonment under the ice. The gulls, which had been circling out beyond the edge of the ice, came in great flocks toward land to fish in their old waters.

The skipper could not endure this sight. "Shall I be counted the friend of murderers and evildoers?" he said. "Can I close my eyes and refuse to see why God keeps the gates of the sea barred against my vessel? Shall I be destroyed for the sake of the unrighteous who have taken refuge with me?"

And the skipper went forward and said to his men: "Now I know why we have been held back while all other ships have put to sea. It is because we have murderers and evildoers on board."

Then the skipper went to the Scottish men-at-arms, who still lay asleep in the ship's hold. "Listen," he said to them; "keep you quiet yet awhile, no matter what cries or tumult you may hear on board. We must follow God's commandment and not suffer evildoers amongst us. If you obey me I promise to bring you the chest which holds Herr Arne's money, and you shall share it among you."

But to Torarin the skipper said: "Go down to your sledge and cast your fish out on the ice. You shall have other freight anon."

Then the skipper and his men broke into the cabin where Sir Archie and his friends slept. And they threw themselves upon them to bind them while they still lay asleep.

And when the three Scotsmen tried to defend themselves, they smote them hard with their axes and handspikes, and the skipper said to them: "You are murderers and evildoers. How could you think to escape punishment? Know you not that it is for your sake God keeps all the gates of the sea closed?"

Then the three men cried aloud to their comrades, bidding them come and help them.

"You need not call to them," said the skipper. "They will not come. They have gotten Herr Arne's hoard to share amongst them, and are even now measuring out silver coin in their hats. For the sake of this money the evil deed was done, and this money has now brought retribution upon you."

And before Torarin had finished unloading the fish from his sledge, the skipper and his men came down on to the ice. They brought with them three men securely bound. They were grievously hurt and fainting from their wounds.

"God has not called on me in vain," said the skipper. "As soon as His will was clear to me, I hearkened to it."

They laid the prisoners on the sledge, and Torarin drove with them by creeks and narrow sounds where the ice still lay firm, until he came to Marstrand.

Now late in the afternoon the skipper stood on the lofty poop of his vessel and looked out to seaward. Nothing was changed around the vessel, and the wall of ice towered ever higher before her.

Then the skipper saw a long procession of people coming out to his ship. All the women of Marstrand were there, both young and old. They all wore mourning weeds, and they brought with them a group of boys who carried a bier.

When they were come to the gallias, they said to the skipper: "We are come to fetch a young maiden who is dead. Those murderers have confessed that she gave her life to hinder their escape, and now we, all the women of Marstrand, are come to bring her to our town with all the honour that is her due."

Then Elsalill was found and brought down to the ice and borne in to Marstrand; and all the women in the place wept over the young maid, who had loved an evildoer and given her life to destroy him she loved. But even as the line of women advanced, the wind and waves broke in behind them and tore up the ice over which they had but lately passed; and when they came to Marstrand with Elsalill, all the gates of the sea stood open.

THE END

FOREWORD



The Treasure is an opposite fairy tale, presenting Prince Charming as he really is: an orphan girl is cleaning fish and foreseeing her life of poverty; a man well-dressed in seductive splendor woos her and offers her ... forever after. There is only one catch: she must betray her sister.

Although Selma Lagerlof won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1909, her name is known in this country—if at all—as author of a children's book only. All her other works, including novels and feminist essays, have been unavailable in English for almost fifty years.

In 1911, she made a speech entitled "Home and State" to the International Woman Suffrage Alliance Congress. She argued, first, that the Home was the creation of woman and the place where the values of women were nourished and protected. The Home was a community where "punishment is not for the sake of revenge, but for training and education," where "there is a use for all talents, but [she] who is without can make [her] self as much loved as the cleverest." It was the "storehouse for the songs and legends of our fore-fathers," and, she said, "there is nothing more mobile, more merciful amongst the creations of [humankind]." Although not all homes are good, good and happy homes do sometimes exist. Men by themselves, on the other hand, were responsible for creating the State which "continually gives cause for discontent and bitterness." There has never been a State which could satisfy all its members, which did not ask to be reformed from its very foundations. Yet it is through the State that humankind will reach its highest hopes. Her conclusion: women must add their special virtues, what she calls "God's spirit," to the "law and order" goals of men.

Selma Lagerlof's own home was a community of family and servants, within which she experienced profound affections—for the nursemaid who carried her as a crippled child upon her back, for the old housekeeper, her younger sister, her grandmother who told the children stories every afternoon. She never married; she spent her entire life within communities of women, and her career could be described as the author being handed up to greatness by a procession of women who gave encouragement, advice, editorial help, criticism, contacts, companionship. She called Frederika Bremer the first feminist and "last old Mamsell" of Sweden, meaning that Frederika Bremer's life's work had banished the "old maid" from the realm of pitiful figures. Selma Lagerlof was herself proof of her statement.

In The Treasure, written midway between her farewell to Frederika Bremer and her plea for woman suffrage, the men are interested in money, murder, and revenge. They miss the evil apparent even to their dogs. When the old mistress (and who should know better that the home is threatened?) warns that knives are being sharpened two miles away, her lord refuses to believe that she could hear what he cannot. The fishpeddler's dog has instinct enough to balk and howl, sensing death; the fishpeddler's wife and the woman tavern- keeper respond to the supernatural however little they understand; the men turn their backs on understanding even when they are being implored.

But the thrust of the story deals with the maiden Elsalill's painful struggle to choose between her dearest sister, who has had to wander so long on earth "she has worn her feet to bleeding" and can find grave's rest only if her murderer is apprehended; and Sir Archie, the murderer himself, whom Elsalill loves with all her heart.

Sir Archie is a subtle Prince Charming; he understands innocence and tempts Elsalill mightily: "You are a poor orphan, so forlorn and friendless that none will care what becomes of you. But if you come with me, I will make you a noble lady. I am a powerful man in my own country. You shall be clad in silk and gold, and you shall tread a measure at the King's court."

Even after Elsalill knows that her love is the murderer of her sister, she still hopes to escape the action this knowledge demands: she tries to persuade herself that because he wants to make up to Elsalill for the evil he did to her sister, she should give him a chance to save his soul. She thinks that her sister does not know he will atone for his sin and become a good man; her sister could not wish her unhappiness; how can she ask that Elsalill betray the man she loves?

But she hears her sister weep and she sees her sister's blood on the snow, and she turns him in quickly, hoping that will be enough. It isn't. Her choice requires that she give her life.

At the book's end Sir Archie, still clinging to his belief in money-power, still trying to use her saintliness to save his own soul, says he will erect a grand monument to her memory. He believes that if he leaves her body in Marstand she will have only a pauper's grave and be soon forgotten. An exactly opposite event occurs. A long procession walks out across the ice toward the ship; all the women of Marstand, young and old, are coming to retrieve Elsalill's body and carry her back "with all the honor that is her due."

The Treasure is a fable, a fairytale, an allegory of sisterhood itself. There is good reason that this book has been out of print for two generations. Daughters, Inc. is proud to retrieve Selma Lagerlof and publish her in English once again—with all the honor that is her due.

June Arnold Plainfield, Vermont 1973

THE END