ELSKET By Thomas Nelson Page 1891 I. "The knife hangs loose in the sheath. " --Old Norsk Proverb. I spent a month of the summer of 188- in Norway--"Old Norway"--and afriend of mine, Dr. John Robson, who is as great a fisherman as he is aphysician, and knows that I love a stream where the trout and I can meeteach other alone, and have it out face to face, uninterrupted by anyinterlopers, did me a favor to which I was indebted for the experiencerelated below. He had been to Norway two years before, and he let meinto the secret of an unexplored region between the Nord Fiord and theRomsdal. I cannot give the name of the place, because even now it hasnot been fully explored, and he bound me by a solemn promise that Iwould not divulge it to a single soul, actually going to the length ofinsisting on my adding a formal oath to my affirmation. This I consentedto because I knew that my friend was a humorous man, and also becauseotherwise he positively refused to inform me where the streams wereabout which he had been telling such fabulous fish stories. "No, " hesaid, "some of those ------ cattle who think they own the earth and havea right to fool women at will and know how to fish, will be poking inthere, worrying Olaf and Elsket, and ruining the fishing, and I'll be------ if I tell you unless you make oath. " My friend is a swearingman, though he says he swears for emphasis, not blasphemy, and on thisoccasion he swore with extreme solemnity. I saw that he was in earnest, so made affidavit and was rewarded. "Now, " he said, after inquiring about my climbing capacity in a waywhich piqued me, and giving me the routes with a particularity whichsomewhat mystified me, "Now I will write a letter to Olaf of theMountain and to Elsket. I once was enabled to do them a slight service, and they will receive you. It will take him two or three weeks to getit, so you may have to wait a little. You must wait at L---- until Olafcomes down to take you over the mountain. You may be there when he getsthe letter, or you may have to wait for a couple of weeks, as he doesnot come over the mountain often. However, you can amuse yourself aroundL----; only you must always be on hand every night in case Olaf comes. " Although this appeared natural enough to the doctor, it sounded rathercurious to me, and it seemed yet more so when he added, "By the way, onepiece of advice: don't talk about England to Elsket, and don't ask anyquestions. " "Who is Elsket?" I asked. "A daughter of the Vikings, poor thing, " he said. My curiosity was aroused, but I could get nothing further out of him, and set it down to his unreasonable dislike of travelling Englishmen, against whom, for some reason, he had a violent antipathy, declaringthat they did not know how to treat women nor how to fish. My friend hasa custom of speaking very strongly, and I used to wonder at the violenceof his language, which contrasted strangely with his character; for hewas the kindest-hearted man I ever knew, being a true follower of hispatron saint, old Isaac, giving his sympathy to all the unfortunate, andeven handling his frogs as if he loved them. Thus it was that on the afternoon of the seventh day of July, 188-, having, for purposes of identification, a letter in my pocket to "Olafof the Mountain from his friend Dr. Robson, " I stood, in the rain inthe so-called "street" of L----, on the ------ Fiord, looking over thebronzed feces of the stolid but kindly peasants who lounged silentlyaround, trying to see if I could detect in one a resemblance to thepicture I had formed in my mind of "Olaf of the Mountain, " or coulddiscern in any eye a gleam of special interest to show that itspossessor was on the watch for an expected guest. There was none in whom I could discover any indication that he was nota resident of the straggling little settlement. They all stood quietlyabout gazing at me and talking in low tones among themselves, chewingtobacco or smoking their pipes, as naturally as if they were in Virginiaor Kentucky, only, if possible, in a somewhat more ruminant manner. Itgave me the single bit of home feeling I could muster, for it was, Imust confess, rather desolate standing alone in a strange land, underthose beetling crags, with the clouds almost resting on our heads, and the rain coming down in a steady, wet, monotonous fashion. Thehalf-dozen little dark log or frame-houses, with their double windowsand turf roofs, standing about at all sorts of angles to the road, as ifthey had rolled down the mountain like the great bowlders beyond them, looked dark and cheerless. I was weak enough to wish for a second thatI had waited a few days for the rainy spell to be over, but two littlebareheaded children, coming down the road laughing and chattering, recalled me to myself. They had no wrapping whatever, and nothing ontheir heads but their soft flaxen hair, yet they minded the rain no morethan if they had been ducklings. I saw that these people were used torain. It was the inheritance of a thousand years. Something, however, had to be done, and I recognized the fact that I was out of the beatentrack of tourists, and that if I had to stay here a week, on theprudence of my first step depended the consideration I should receive. It would not do to be hasty. I had a friend with me which had stood mein good stead before, and I applied to it now. Walking slowly up to thelargest, and one of the oldest men in the group, I drew out my pipe anda bag of old Virginia tobacco, free from any flavor than its own, andfilling the pipe, I asked him for a light in the best phrase-bookNorsk I could command. He gave it, and I placed the bag in his hand andmotioned him to fill his pipe. When that was done I handed the pouch toanother, and motioned him to fill and pass the tobacco around. One byone they took it, and I saw that I had friends. No man can fill his pipefrom another's bag and not wish him well. "Does any of you know Olaf of the Mountain?" I asked. I saw at once thatI had made an impression. The mention of that name was evidently a claimto consideration. There was a general murmur of surprise, and the groupgathered around me. A half-dozen spoke at once. "He was at L---- last week, " they said, as if that fact was an item ofextensive interest. "I want to go there, " I said, and then was, somehow, immediatelyconscious that I had made a mistake. Looks were exchanged and some wordswere spoken among my friends, as if they were oblivious of my presence. "You cannot go there. None goes there but at night, " said one, suggestively. "Who goes over the mountain comes no more, " said another, as if hequoted a proverb, at which there was a faint intimation of laughter onthe part of several. My first adviser undertook a long explanation, but though he laboredfaithfully I could make out no more than that it was something about"Elsket" and "the Devil's Ledge, " and men who had disappeared. This wasa new revelation. What object had my friend? He had never said a wordof this. Indeed, he had, I now remembered, said very little at all aboutthe people. He had exhausted his eloquence on the fish. I recalled hiswords when I asked him about Elsket: "She is a daughter of the Vikings, poor thing. " That was all. Had he been up to a practical joke? If so, itseemed rather a sorry one to me just then. But anyhow I could not drawback now. I could never face him again if I did not go on, and what wasmore serious, I could never face myself. I was weak enough to have a thought that, after all, the mysterious Olafmight not come; but the recollection of the fish of which my friendhad spoken as if they had been the golden fish of the "Arabian Nights, "banished that. I asked about the streams around L----. "Yes, there wasgood fishing. " But they were all too anxious to tell me about the dangerof going over the mountain to give much thought to the fishing. "Noone without Olafs blood could cross the Devil's Ledge. " "Two men haddisappeared three years ago. " "A man had disappeared there last year. Hehad gone, and had never been heard of afterward. The Devil's Ledge was abad pass. " "Why don't they look into the matter?" I asked. The reply was as near a shrug of the shoulders as a Norseman canaccomplish. "It was not easy to get the proof; the mountain was very dangerous, the glacier very slippery; there were no witnesses, " etc. "Olaf of theMountain was not a man to trouble. " "He hates Englishmen, " said one, significantly. "I am not an Englishman, I am an American, " I explained. This had a sensible effect. Several began to talk at once. One had abrother in Idaho, another had cousins in Nebraska, and so on. The group had by this time been augmented by the addition of almostthe entire population of the settlement; one or two rosy-cheeked women, having babies in their arms, standing in the rain utterly regardless ofthe steady downpour. It was a propitious time. "Can I get a place to stay here?" I inquiredof the group generally. "Yes, --oh, yes. " There was a consultation in which the name of "Hendrik"was heard frequently, and then a man stepped forward and taking up mybag and rod-case, walked off, I following, escorted by a number of mynew friends. I had been installed in Hendrik's little house about an hour, and we hadjust finished supper, when there was a murmur outside, and then the dooropened, and a young man stepping in, said something so rapidly that Iunderstood only that it concerned Olaf of the Mountain, and in some waymyself. "Olaf of the Mountain is here and wants to speak to you, " said my host. "Will you go?" "Yes, " I said. "Why does he not come in?" "He will not come in, " said my host; "he never does come in. " "He is at the church-yard, " said the messenger; "he always stops there. "They both spoke broken English. I arose and went out, taking the direction indicated. A number of myfriends stood in the road or street as I passed along, and touched theircaps to me, looking very queer in the dim twilight. They gazed at mecuriously as I walked by. I turned the corner of a house which stood half in the road, and justin front of me, in its little yard, was the little white church with itssquare, heavy, short spire. At the gate stood a tall figure, perfectlymotionless, leaning on a long staff. As I approached I saw that he wasan elderly man. He wore a long beard, once yellow but now gray, and helooked very straight and large. There was something grand about him ashe stood there in the dusk. I came quite up to him. He did not move. "Good-evening, " I said. "Good-evening. " "Are you Mr. Hovedsen?" I asked, drawing out my letter. "I am Olaf of the Mountain, " he said slowly, as if his name embraced thewhole title. I handed him the letter. "You are----?" "I am----" taking my cue from his own manner. "The friend of her friend?" "His great friend. " "Can you climb?" "I can. " "Are you steady?" "Yes. " "It is well; are you ready?" I had not counted on this, and involuntarily I asked, in some surprise, "To-night?" "To-night. You cannot go in the day. " I thought of the speech I had heard: "No one goes over the mountainexcept at night, " and the ominous conclusion, "Who goes over themountain comes no more. " My strange host, however, diverted my thoughts. "A stranger cannot go except at night, " he said, gravely; and thenadded, "I must get back to watch over Elsket. " "I shall be ready in a minute, " I said, turning. In ten minutes I had bade good-by to my simple hosts, and leaving themwith a sufficient evidence of my consideration to secure their lastinggood-will, I was on my way down the street again with my light luggageon my back. This time the entire population of the little village was inthe road, and as I passed along I knew by their murmuring conversationthat they regarded my action with profound misgiving. I felt, as Ireturned their touch of the cap and bade them good-by, a little like thegladiators of old who, about to die, saluted Caesar. At the gate my strange guide, who had not moved from the spot where Ifirst found him, insisted on taking my luggage, and buckling his strapsaround it and flinging it over his back, he handed me his stick, andwithout a word strode off straight toward the black mountain whose vastwall towered above us to the clouds. I shall never forget that climb. We were hardly out of the road before we began to ascend, and I hadshortly to stop for breath. My guide, however, if silent was thoughtful, and he soon caught my gait and knew when to pause. Up through the duskwe went, he guiding me now by a word telling me how to step, or nowturning to give me his hand to help me up a steep place, over a largerock, or around a bad angle. For a time we had heard the roar of thetorrent as it boiled below us, but as we ascended it had graduallyhushed, and we at length were in a region of profound silence. The nightwas cloudy, and as dark as it ever is in midsummer in that farnorthern latitude; but I knew that we were climbing along the edge ofa precipice, on a narrow ledge of rock along the face of the cliff. Thevast black wall above us rose sheer up, and I could feel rather thansee that it went as sheer down, though my sight could not penetrate thedarkness which filled the deep abyss below. We had been climbing aboutthree hours when suddenly the ledge seemed to die out. My guide stopped, and unwinding his rope from his waist, held it out to me. I obeyedhis silent gesture, and binding it around my body gave him the end. Hewrapped it about him, and then taking me by the arm, as if I had beena child, he led me slowly along the narrow ledge around the face of thewall, step by step, telling me where to place my feet, and waiting tillthey were firmly planted. I began now to understand why no one ever went"over the mountain" in the day. We were on a ledge nearly three thousandfeet high. If it had not been for the strong, firm hold on my arm, Icould not have stood it. As it was I dared not think. Suddenly we turneda sharp angle and found ourselves in a curious semicircular place, almost level and fifty or sixty feet deep in the concave, as if a greatpiece had been gouged out of the mountain by the glacier which must oncehave been there. "This is a curious place, " I ventured to say. "It is, " said my guide. "It is the Devil's Seat. Men have died here. " His tone was almost fierce. I accepted his explanation silently. Wepassed the singular spot and once more were on the ledge, but exceptin one place it was not so narrow as it had been the other side of theDevil's Seat, and in fifteen minutes we had crossed the summit and thepath widened a little and began to descend. "You do well, " said my guide, briefly, "but not so well as Doctor John. "I was well content with being ranked a good second to the doctor justthen. The rain had ceased, the sky had partly cleared, and, as we began todescend, the early twilight of the northern dawn began to appear. Firstthe sky became a clear steel-gray and the tops of the mountains becamevisible, the dark outlines beginning to be filled in, and taking on asoft color. This lightened rapidly, until on the side facing east theywere bathed in an atmosphere so clear and transparent that they seemedalmost within a stone's throw of us, while the other side was stillleft in a shadow which was so deep as to be almost darkness. The graylightened and lightened into pearl until a tinge of rose appeared, andthen the sky suddenly changed to the softest blue, and a little laterthe snow-white mountain-tops were bathed in pink, and it was day. I could see in the light that we were descending into a sort of uplandhollow between the snow-patched mountain-tops; below us was a lovelylittle valley in which small pines and birches grew, and patches of thegreen, short grass which stands for hay shone among the great bowlders. Several little streams came jumping down as white as milk from theglaciers stuck between the mountain-tops, and after resting in twoor three tiny lakes which looked like hand-mirrors lying in the grassbelow, went bubbling and foaming on to the edge of the precipice, overwhich they sprang, to be dashed into vapor and snow hundreds of feetdown. A half-dozen sheep and as many goats were feeding about in thelittle valley; but I could not see the least sign of a house, except aqueer, brown structure, on a little knoll, with many gables and peaks, ending in the curious dragon-pennants, which I recognized as one of theold Norsk wooden churches of a past age. When, however, an hour later, we had got down to the table-land, I foundmyself suddenly in front of a long, quaint, double log cottage, setbetween two immense bowlders, and roofed with layers of birch bark, covered with turf, which was blue with wild pansies. It was as ifit were built under a bed of heart's-ease. It was very old, and hadevidently been a house of some pretension, for there was much curiouscarving about the doors, and indeed about the whole front, the dragon'shead being distinctly visible in the design. There were several lesserhouses which looked as if they had once been dwellings, but they seemednow to be only stables. As we approached the principal door it wasopened, and there stepped forth one of the most striking figures Iever saw--a young woman, rather tall, and as straight as an arrow. My friend's words involuntarily recurred to me, "A daughter of theVikings, " and then, somehow, I too had the feeling he had expressed, "Poor thing!" Her figure was one of the richest and most perfect I everbeheld. Her face was singularly beautiful; but it was less her beautythan her nobility of look and mien combined with a certain sadness whichimpressed me. The features were clear and strong and perfectly carved. There was a firm mouth, a good jaw, strong chin, a broad brow, and deepblue eyes which looked straight at you. Her expression was so soft andtender as to have something pathetic in it. Her hair was flaxen, and asfine as satin, and was brushed perfectly smooth and coiled on the backof her shapely head, which was placed admirably on her shoulders. She was dressed in the coarse, black-blue stuff of the country, anda kerchief, also dark blue, was knotted under her chin, and fell backbehind her head, forming a dark background for her silken hair. Seeing us she stood perfectly still until we drew near, when she madea quaint, low courtesy and advanced to meet her father with a look ofeager expectancy in her large eyes. "Elsket, " he said, with a tenderness which conveyed the full meaning ofthe sweet pet term, "darling. " There was something about these people, peasants though they were, whichgave me a strange feeling of respect for them. "This is Doctor John's friend, " said the old man, quietly. She looked at her father in a puzzled way for a moment, as if she hadnot heard him, but as he repeated his introduction a light came into hereyes, and coming up to me she held out her hand, saying, "Welcome. " Then turning to her father--"Have you a letter for me, father?" sheasked. "No, Elsket, " he said, gently; "but I will go again next month. " A cloud settled on her face and increased its sadness, and she turnedher head away. After a moment she went into the house and I saw that shewas weeping. A look of deep dejection came over the old man's face also. II. I found that my friend, "Doctor John, " strange to relate of a fisherman, had not exaggerated the merits of the fishing. How they got there, twothousand feet above the lower valley, I don't know; but trout fairlyswarmed in the little streams, which boiled among the rocks, and theywere as greedy as if they had never seen a fly in their lives. I shortlybecame contemptuous toward anything under three pounds, and addressedmyself to the task of defending my flies against the smaller ones, andkeeping them only for the big fellows, which ran over three pounds--thepatriarchs of the streams. With these I had capital sport, for they knewevery angle and hole, they sought every coign of vantage, and the rockswere so thick and so sharp that from the time one of these veterans tookthe fly, it was an equal contest which of us should come off victorious. I was often forced to rush splashing and floundering through the waterto my waist to keep my line from being sawed, and as the water wasnot an hour from the green glaciers above, it was not always entirelypleasant. I soon made firm friends with my hosts, and varied the monotony ofcatching three-pounders by helping them get in their hay for thewinter. Elsket, poor thing, was, notwithstanding her apparently splendidphysique, so delicate that she could no longer stand the fatigue ofmanual labor, any extra exertion being liable to bring on a recurrenceof the heart-failure, from which she had suffered. I learned that shehad had a violent hemorrhage two summers before, from which she had comenear dying, and that the skill of my friend, the doctor, had doubtlesssaved her life. This was the hold he had on Olaf of the Mountain: thiswas the "small service" he had rendered them. By aiding them thus, I was enabled to be of material assistance to Olaf, and I found in helping these good people, that work took on once morethe delight which I remembered it used to have under like circumstanceswhen I was a boy. I could cut or carry on my back loads of hay all day, and feel at night as if I had been playing. Such is the singular effectof the spirit on labor. To make up for this, Elsket would sometimes, when I went fishing, takeher knitting and keep me company, sitting at a little distance. With herpale, calm face and shining hair outlined against the background of hersad-colored kerchief, she looked like a mourning angel. I never saw hersmile except when her father came into her presence, and when she smiledit was as if the sun had suddenly come out. I began to understand thedevotion of these two strange people, so like and yet so different. One rainy day she had a strange turn; she began to be restless. Herlarge, sad eyes, usually so calm, became bright; the two spots in hercheeks burned yet deeper; her face grew anxious. Then she laid herknitting aside and took out of a great chest something on which shebegan to sew busily. I was looking at her, when she caught my eye andsmiled. It was the first time she ever smiled for me. "Did you know Iwas going to be married?" she asked, just as an American girl might havedone. And before I could answer, she brought me the work. It was herwedding dress. "I have nearly finished it, " she said. Then she broughtme a box of old silver ornaments, such as the Norsk brides wear, and putthem on. When I had admired them she put them away. After a little, she arose and began to wander about the house and out into the rain. Iwatched her with interest. Her father came in, and I saw a distressedlook come into his eyes. He went up to her, and laying his hand on herdrew her toward a seat. Then taking down an old Bible, he turned to acertain place and began to read. He read first the Psalm: "Lord, thou hast been our refuge, from one generation to another. Before themountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made, thou art God from everlasting, and world without end. " Then he turnedto the chapter of Corinthians, "Now is Christ risen from the dead, andbecome the first-fruits of them that slept, " etc. His voice was clear, rich, and devout, and he read it with singular earnestness and beauty. It gave me a strange feeling; it is a part of our burial service. Thenhe opened his hymn-book and began to sing a low, dirge-like hymn. I satsilent, watching the strange service and noting its effect on Elsket. She sat at first like a person bound, struggling to be free, then becamequieter, and at last, perfectly calm. Then Olaf knelt down, and with hishand still on her prayed one of the most touching prayers I ever heard. It was for patience. When he rose Elsket was weeping, and she went and leant in his arms likea child, and he kissed her as tenderly as if he had been her mother. Next day, however, the same excited state recurred, and this time thereading appeared to have less effect. She sewed busily, and insistedthat there must be a letter for her at L----. A violent fit of weepingwas followed by a paroxysm of coughing, and finally the old man, who hadsat quietly by her with his hand stroking her head, arose and said, "Iwill go. " She threw herself into his arms, rubbing her head against himin sign of dumb affection, and in a little while grew calm. It was stillraining and quite late, only a little before sunset; but the oldman went out, and taking the path toward L---- was soon climbing themountain toward the Devil's Seat. Elsket sat up all night, but she wasas calm and as gentle as ever. The next morning when Olaf returned she went out to meet him. Her lookwas full of eager expectancy. I did not go out, but watched her from thedoor. I saw Olaf shake his head, and heard her say bitterly, "It is sohard to wait, " and he said, gently, "Yes, it is, Elsket, but I will goagain, " and then she came in weeping quietly, the old man following witha tender look on his strong, weather-beaten face. That day Elsket was taken ill. She had been trying to do a little workin the field in the afternoon, when a sinking spell had come on. Itlooked for a time as if the poor overdriven heart had knocked off workfor good and all. Strong remedies, however, left by Doctor John, set itgoing again, and we got her to bed. She was still desperately feeble, and Olaf sat up. I could not leave him, so we were sitting watching, heone side the open platform fireplace in one corner, and I the other; hesmoking, anxious, silent, grim; I watching the expression on his grayface. His eyes seemed set back deeper than ever under the shaggy graybrows, and as the firelight fell on him he had the fierce, hopeless lookof a caged eagle. It was late in the night before he spoke, and then itwas half to himself and but half to me. "I have fought it ten long years, " he said, slowly. Not willing to break the thread of his thought by speaking, I lit mypipe afresh and just looked at him. He received it as an answer. "She is the last of them, " he said, accepting me as an auditor ratherthan addressing me. "We go back to Olaf Traetelje, the blood of HaroldHaarfager (the Fairhaired) is in our veins, and here it ends. Dane andSwede have known our power, Saxon and Celt have bowed bare-headed tous, and with her it ends. In this stronghold many times her fathers havefound refuge from their foes and gained breathing-time after battlesby sea and land. From this nest, like eagles, they have swooped down, carrying all before them, and here, at last, when betrayed and hunted, they found refuge. Here no foreign king could rule over them; here theylearnt the lesson that Christ is the only king, and that all men are hisbrothers. Here they lived and worshipped him. If their dominions werestolen from them they found here a truer wealth, content; if they hadnot power, they had what was better, independence. For centuries theyheld this last remnant of the dominion which Harold Haarfager hadconquered by land, and Eric of the Bloody Axe had won by sea, sendingout their sons and daughters to people the lands; but the race dwindledas their lands had done before, and now with her dies the last. How hasit come? As ever, by betrayal!" The old man turned fiercely, his breast heaving, his eyes burning. "Was she who came of a race at whose feet jarls have crawled andkings have knelt not good enough?" I was hearing the story and didnot interrupt him--"Not good enough for him!" he continued in hislow, fierce monotone. "I did not want him. What if he was a Saxon? Hisfathers were our boatmen. Rather Cnut a thousand times. Then the racewould not have died. Then she would not be--not be so. " The reference to her recalled him to himself, and he suddenly relapsedinto silence. "At least, Cnut paid the score, " he began once more, in a low intenseundertone. "In his arms he bore him down from the Devil's Seat, athousand feet sheer on the hard ice, where his cursed body lies crushedforever, a witness of his falsehood. " I did not interrupt, and he rewarded my patience, giving a moreconnected account, for the first time addressing me directly. "Her mother died when she was a child, " he said, softly. His gentlevoice contrasted strangely with the fierce undertone in which he hadbeen speaking. "I was mother as well as father to her. She was as goodas she was beautiful, and each day she grew more and more so. She was asecond Igenborg. Knowing that she needed other companionship than an oldman, I sought and brought her Cnut (he spoke of him as if I must knowall about him). Cnut was the son of my only kinsman, the last of hisline as well, and he was tall and straight and strong. I loved him andhe was my son, and as he grew I saw that he loved her, and I was notsorry, for he was goodly to look on, straight and tall as one of old, and he was good also. And she was satisfied with him, and from a childordered him to do her girlish bidding, and he obeyed and laughed, wellcontent to have her smile. And he would carry her on his shoulder, andtake her on the mountain to slide, and would gather her flowers. AndI thought it was well. And I thought that in time they would marry andhave the farm, and that there would be children about the house, and thevalley might be filled with their voices as in the old time. And I wascontent. And one day _he_ came! (the reference cost him an effort). Cnutfound him fainting on the mountain and brought him here in his arms. Hehad come to the village alone, and the idle fools there had told him ofme, and he had asked to meet me, and they told him of the mountain, andthat none could pass the Devil's Ledge but those who had the old blood, and that I loved not strangers; and he said he would pass it, and he hadcome and passed safely the narrow ledge, and reached the Devil's Seat, when a stone had fallen upon him, and Cnut had found him there fainting, and had lifted him and brought him here, risking his own life to savehim on the ledge. And he was near to death for days, and she nursed himand brought him from the grave. "At first I was cold to him, but there was something about him that drewme and held me. It was not that he was young and taller than Cnut, andfair. It was not that his eyes were clear and full of light, and hisfigure straight as a young pine. It was not that he had climbed themountain and passed the narrow ledge and the Devil's Seat alone, thoughI liked well his act; for none but those who have Harold Haarfager'sblood have done it alone in all the years, though many have tried andfailed. I asked him what men called him, and he said, 'Harold;' thenlaughing, said some called him, 'Harold the Fair-haired. ' The answerpleased me. There was something in the name which drew me to him. WhenI first saw him I had thought of Harald Haarfager, and of HaraldHaardraarder, and of that other Harold, who, though a Saxon, diedbravely for his kingdom when his brother betrayed him, and I held out myhand and gave him the clasp of friendship. " The old man paused, but after a brief reflection proceeded: "We made him welcome and we loved him. He knew the world and could tellus many-things. He knew the story of Norway and the Vikings, and theSagas were on his tongue. Cnut loved him and followed him, and she (thepause which always indicated her who filled his thoughts)--she, then buta girl, laughed and sang for him, and he sang for her, and his voice wasrich and sweet. And she went with him to fish and to climb, and often, when Cnut and I were in the field, we would hear her laugh, clear andfresh from the rocks beside the streams, as he told her some fine storyof his England. He stayed here a month and a week, and then departed, saying he would come again next year, and the house was empty and silentafter he left. But after a time we grew used to it once more and thewinter came. "When the spring returned we got a letter--a letter to her--saying hewould come again, and every two weeks another letter came, and I wentfor it and brought it to--to her, and she read it to Cnut and me. And atlast he came and I went to meet him, and brought him here, welcome asif he had been my eldest born, and we were glad. Cnut smiled and ranforward and gave him his hand, and--she--she did not come at first, but when she came she was clad in all that was her best, and wore hersilver--the things her mother and her grandmother had worn, and as shestepped out of the door and saluted him, I saw for the first time thatshe was a woman grown, and it was hard to tell which face was brighter, hers or his, and Cnut smiled to see her so glad. " The old man relapsed into reflection. Presently, however, he resumed: "This time he was gayer than before:--the summer seemed to come withhim. He sang to her and read to her from books that he had brought, teaching her to speak English like himself, and he would go and fish upthe streams while she sat near by and talked to him. Cnut also learnedhis tongue well, and I did also, but Cnut did not see so much of him asbefore, for Cnut had to work, and in the evening they were reading andshe--she--grew more and more beautiful, and laughed and sang more. Andso the summer passed. The autumn came, but he did not go, and I was wellcontent, for she was happy, and, in truth, the place was cheerier thathe was here. "Cnut alone seemed downcast, but I knew not why; and then the snow came. One morning we awoke and the farm was as white as the mountains. I saidto him, 'Now you are here for the winter, ' and he laughed and said, 'No, I will stay till the new-year. I have business then in England, and Imust go. ' And I turned, and her face was like sunshine, for she knewthat none but Cnut and I had ever passed the Devil's Ledge in the snow, and the other way by which I took the Doctor home was worse then, thougheasier in the summer, only longer. But Cnut looked gloomy, at which Ichid him; but he was silent. And the autumn passed rapidly, so cheerfulwas he, finding in the snow as much pleasure as in the sunshine, andtaking her out to slide and race on shoes till she would come in withher cheeks like roses in summer, and her eyes like stars, and she madeit warm where she was. "And one evening they came home. He was gayer than ever, and she morebeautiful, but silenter than her wont. She looked like her mother theevening I asked her to be my wife. I could not take my eyes from her. That night Cnut was a caged wolf. At last he asked me to come out, andthen he told me that he had seen Harold kiss her and had heard him tellher that he loved her, and she had not driven him away. My heart waswrung for Cnut, for I loved him, and he wept like a child. I tried tocomfort him, but it was useless, and the next day he went away for atime. I was glad to have him go, for I grieved for him, and I thoughtshe would miss him and be glad when he came again, and though the snowwas bad on the mountain he was sure as a wolf. He bade us good-by andleft with his eyes looking like a hurt dog's. I thought she would havewept to have him go, but she did not. She gave him her hand and turnedback to Harold, and smiled to him when he smiled. It was the first timein all her life that I had not been glad to have her smile, and I wassorry Harold had stayed, and I watched Cnut climb the mountain like adark speck against the snow till he disappeared. She was so happy andbeautiful that I could not long be out with her, though I grieved forCnut, and when she came to me and told me one night of her great lovefor Harold I forgot my own regret in her joy, and I said nothing toHarold, because she told me he said that in his country it was not usualfor the father to be told or to speak to a daughter's lover. "They were much taken up together after that, and I was alone, andI missed Cnut sorely, and would have longed for him more but for herhappiness. But one day, when he had been gone two months, I looked overthe mountain, and on the snow I saw a black speck. It had not been therebefore, and I watched it as it moved, and I knew it was Cnut. "I said nothing until he came, and then I ran and met him. He was thin, and worn, and older; but his eyes had a look in them which I thought wasjoy at getting home; only they were not soft, and he looked taller thanwhen he left, and he spoke little. His eyes softened when she, hearinghis voice, came out and held out her hand to him, smiling to welcomehim; but he did not kiss her as kinsfolk do after long absence, and whenHarold came out the wolf-look came back into his eyes. Harold lookednot so pleased to see him, but held out his hand to greet him. But Cnutstepped back, and suddenly drawing from his breast a letter placed it inhis palm, saying slowly, 'I have been to England, Lord Harold, and havebrought you this from your Lady Ethelfrid Penrith--they expect you toyour wedding at the New Year. ' Harold turned as white as the snow underhis feet, and she gave a cry and fell full length on the ground. "Cnut was the first to reach her, and lifting her in his arms he boreher into the house. Harold would have seized her, but Cnut brushed himaside as if he had been a barley-straw, and carried her and laid herdown. When she came to herself she did not remember clearly what hadhappened. She was strange to me who was her father, but she knew him. I could have slain him, but she called him. He went to her, and sheunderstood only that he was going away, and she wept. He told her itwas true that he had loved another woman and had promised to marry her, before he had met her, but now he loved her better, and he would go homeand arrange everything and return; and she listened and clung to him. Ihated him and wanted him to go, but he was my guest, and I told him thathe could not go through the snow; but he was determined. It seemed as ifhe wanted now to get away, and I was glad to have him go, for my childwas strange to me, and if he had deceived one woman I knew he mightanother, and Cnut said that the letter he had sent by him before thesnow came was to say he would come in time to be married at the NewYear; and Cnut said he lived in a great castle and owned broad lands, more than one could see from the whole mountain, and his people hadbrought him in and asked him many questions of him, and had offered himgold to bring the letter back, and he had refused the gold, and broughtit without the gold; and some said he had deceived more than one woman. And Lord Harold went to get ready, and she wept, and moaned, and wasstrange. And then Cnut went to her and told her of his own love for her, and that he was loyal to her, but she waved him from her, and when heasked her to marry him, for he loved her truly, she said him nay withviolence, so that he came forth into the air looking white as a leper. And he sat down, and when I came out he was sitting on a stone, and hadhis knife in his hand, looking at it with a dangerous gleam in his eyes;and just then she arose and came out, and, seeing him sitting so withhis knife, she gave a start, and her manner changed, and going to himshe spoke softly to him for the first time, and made him yield her upthe knife; for she knew that the knife hung loose in the sheath. Butthen she changed again and all her anger rose against Cnut, that he hadbrought Harold the letter which carried him away, and Cnut sat sayingnothing, and his face was like stone. Then Lord Harold came and saidhe was ready, and he asked Cnut would he carry his luggage. And Cnut atfirst refused, and then suddenly looked him full in his face, and said, 'Yes. ' And Harold entered the house to say good-by to her, and I heardher weeping within, and my heart grew hard against the Englishman, andCnut's face was black with anger, and when Harold came forth I heard hercry out, and he turned in the door and said he would return, and wouldwrite her a letter to let her know when he would return. But he said itas one speaks to a child to quiet it, not meaning it. And Cnut went into speak to her, and I heard her drive him out as if he had been adog, and he came forth with his face like a wolf's, and taking up LordHarold's luggage, he set out. And so they went over the mountain. "And all that night she lay awake, and I heard her moaning, and all nextday she sat like stone, and I milked the goats, and her thoughts were onthe letters he would send. "I spoke to her, but she spoke only of the letters to come, and I keptsilence, for I had seen that Lord Harold would come no more; for I hadseen him burn the little things she had given him, and he had takeneverything away, but I could not tell her so. And the days passed, and Ihoped that Cnut would come straight back; but he did not. It grieved me, for I loved him, and hoped that he would return, and that in time shewould forget Lord Harold, and not be strange, but be as she had been toCnut before he came. Yet I thought it not wholly wonderful that Cnut didnot return at once, nor unwise; for she was lonely, and would sit allday looking up the mountain, and when he came she would, I thought, beglad to have him back. "At the end of a week she began to urge me to go for a letter. But Itold her it could not come so soon; but when another week had passed shebegan to sew, and when I asked her what she sewed, she said her bridaldress, and she became so that I agreed to go, for I knew no letter wouldcome, and it broke my heart to see her. And when I was ready shekissed me, and wept in my arms, and called me her good father; and so Istarted. "She stood in the door and watched me climb the mountain, and waved tome almost gayly. "The snow was deep, but I followed the track which Cnut and theEnglishman had made two weeks before, for no new snow had fallen, and Isaw that one track was ever behind the other, and never beside it, as ifCnut had fallen back and followed behind him. "And so I came near to the Devil's Seat, where it was difficult, and fromwhere Cnut had brought him in his arms that day, and then, for the firsttime, I began to fear, for I remembered Cnut's look as he came from thehouse when she waved him off, and it had been so easy for him with aswing of his strong arm to have pushed the other over the cliff. Butwhen I saw that he had driven his stick in deep to hold hard, and thatthe tracks went on beyond, I breathed freely again, and so I passed thenarrow path, and the black wall, and came to the Devil's Seat; and as Iturned the rock my heart stopped beating, and I had nearly fallen fromthe ledge. For there, scattered and half-buried in the snow, lay thepack Cnut had carried on his back, and the snow was all dug up and piledabout as if stags had been fighting there for their lives. From thewall, across and back, were deep furrows, as if they were ploughed bymen's feet dug fiercely in; but they were ever deeper toward the edge, and on one spot at the edge the snow was all torn clear from the blackrock, and beyond the seat the narrow path lay smooth, and bright, andlevel as it had fallen, without a track. My knees shook under me, and Iclutched my stick for support, and everything grew black before me: andpresently I fell on my knees and crawled and peered over the edge. Butthere was nothing to be seen, only where the wall slants sharp down fora little space in one spot the snow was brushed away as if something hadstruck there, and the black, smooth rock showed clean, cutting off thesight from the glacier a thousand feet down. " The old man's breast heaved. It was evidently a painful narrative, buthe kept on. "I sat down in the snow and thought; for I could not think at once. Cnuthad not wished to murder, or else he had flung the Englishman from thenarrow ledge with one blow of his strong arm. He had waited until theyhad stood on the Devil's Seat, and then he had thrown off his pack andfaced him, man to man. The Englishman was strong and active, taller andheavier than Cnut. He had Harald's name, but he had not Harald's heartnor blood, and Cnut had carried him in his arms over the cliff, with hisfalse heart like water in his body. "I sat there all day and into the night; for I knew that he would betrayno one more. I sorrowed for Cnut, for he was my very son. And after atime I would have gone back to her, but I thought of her at home waitingand watching for me with a letter, and I could not; and then I wept, andI wished that I were Cnut, for I knew that he had had one moment of joywhen he took the Englishman in his arms. And then I took the scatteredthings from the snow and threw them over the cliff; for I would not letit be known that Cnut had flung the Englishman over. It would be talkedabout over the mountain, and Cnut would be thought a murderer by thosewho did not know, and some would say he had done it foully; and soI went on over the mountain, and told it there that Cnut and theEnglishman had gone over the cliff together in the snow on their way, and it was thought that a slip of snow had carried them. And I came backand told her only that no letter had come. " He was silent so long that I thought he had ended; but presently, in avoice so low that it was just like a whisper, he added: "I thought shewould forget, but she has not, and every fortnight she begins to sew herdress and I go over the mountains to give her peace; for each time shedraws nearer to the end, and wears away more and more; and some day thethin blade will snap. " "The thin blade" was already snapping, and even while he was speakingthe last fibres were giving way. The silence which followed his words was broken by Elsket; I heard astrange sound, and Elsket called feebly, "Oh, father. " Olaf went quickly to her bedside. I heard him say, "My God in Heaven!"and I sprang up and joined him. It was a hemorrhage. Her life-blood was flowing from her lips. She could not last like thatten minutes. Providentially the remedies provided by Doctor John were right at hand, and, thanks to them, the crimson tide was stayed before life wentout; but it was soon apparent that her strength was gone and her powerexhausted. We worked over her, but her pulse was running down like a broken clock. There was no time to have got a physician, even had there been one toget. I mentioned it; Olaf shook his head. "She is in the hands of God, "he said. Olaf never left the bedside except to heat water or get some stimulantfor her. But, notwithstanding every effort, she failed to rally. The overtaxedheart was giving out, and all day she sank steadily. I never saw such adesperate face as that old man's. It haunts me now. He hung over her. He held her hand, now growing cold, against his cheek to keep itwarm--stroked it and kissed it. As towards evening the short, quickbreaths came, which precede dissolution, he sank on his knees. At first, he buried his face in his hands; then in the agony of his despair, hebegan to speak aloud. I never heard a more moving appeal. It was a manspeaking face to face with God for one about to enter his presence. His eyes were wide open, as if he saw His face. He did not ask that sheshould be spared to him; it was all for his "Elska, " his "Darling, " thatJesus would be her "Herder, " and lead her beside the still waters; thatshe might be spared all suffering and sorrow, and have peace. Presently he ended and buried his face in his hands. The quick, faintbreaths had died away, and as I looked on the still white face on thepillow I thought that she had gone. But suddenly the large eyes slowlyopened wide. "Father, " she said, faintly. "Elsket, " the old man bent over her eagerly. "I am so tired. " "My Elsket. " "I love you. " "Yes, my Elsket. " "You will stay with me?" "Yes, always. " "If Cnut comes?". "Yes, my Elsket. " "If Cnut comes----" very faintly. Her true lover's name was the last on her lips. He bent his ear to her lips. "Yes?" But we never knew just what she wanted. The dim, large eyes closed, andthen the lids lifted slowly a little; there was a sigh, and Elsket'swatching was over; the weary spirit was at peace. "She is with God, " he said, calmly. I closed the white lids gently, and moved out. Later I offered to helphim, but he said "No, " and I remained out of doors till the afternoon. About sunset he appeared and went up toward the old church, and I wentinto the house. I found that he had laid her out in the large room, andshe lay with her face slightly turned as if asleep. She was dressed likea bride in the bridal dress she had sewn so long; her hair was unbound, and lay about her, fine and silken, and she wore the old silverornaments she had showed me. No bride had ever a more faithfulattendant. He had put them all upon her. After a time, as he did not come back, I went to look for him. As Iapproached I heard a dull, thumping sound. When I reached the clearedplace I found him digging. He had chosen a spot just in front of thequaint old door, with the rude, runic letters, which the earliestsunbeams would touch. As I came up I saw he was digging her grave. I offered to help, but he said "No. " So I carried him some food andplacing it near him left him. Late that evening he came down and asked me if I would sit up thatnight. I told him, yes. He thanked me and went into the house. Ina little while he came out and silently went up the path toward themountain. It was a strange night that I spent in that silent valley in that stillhouse, only I, and the dead girl lying there so white and peaceful. Ihad strange thoughts, and the earth and things earthly disappeared forme that night shut in by those mountain walls. I was in a world alone. I was cut off from all but God and the dead. I have dear ones in heaven, and I was nearer to them that night, amid the mountain-tops of Norway, than I was to earthly friends. I think I was nearer to heaven that nightthan I ever shall be again till I get there. Day broke like a great pearl, but I did not heed it. It was all peace. Suddenly there was a step outside, and Olaf, with his face drawn andgray, and bowing under the weight of the burden upon his shoulder, stepped wearily in at the door. To do Elsket honor he had been over the mountain to get it. I helpedlift it down and place it, and then he waited for me to go. As I passedout of the door I saw him bend over the quiet sleeper. I looked inlater; he had placed her in the coffin, but the top was not on and hewas on his knees beside her. He did not bury her that day; but he never left her side; he sat by herall day and all night. Next day he came to the door and looked at me. I went in and understood that he wanted me to look for the last time onher face. It was fairer than I ever saw it. He had cut her flowersand placed them all about her, and on her breast was a small packet ofletters. All care, all suffering, all that was merely of the earth werecleansed away, and she looked as she lay, like a dead angel. After Icame out I heard him fastening on the top, and when he finished Iwent in again. He would have attempted to carry it by himself, but Irestrained him, and without a word he took the head and I the foot, andso lifting her tenderly we went gently out and up toward the church. Wehad to pause and rest several times, for he was almost worn out. Afterwe had lowered her into the grave I was in doubt what to do; but Olafdrew from his coat his two books, and standing close by the side of thegrave he opened first the little Bible and began to read in a low butdistinct voice: "Lord, thou hast been our refuge, from one generation toanother. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth andthe world were made, thou art God from everlasting, and world withoutend. " When he finished this he turned and read again: "Now is Christ risenfrom the dead, and become the first-fruits of them that slept, " etc. They were the Psalm and the chapter which I had heard him read to Elsketthat first day when she became excited, and with which he had so oftencharmed her restless spirit. He closed, and I thought he was done, but he opened his hymn-book andturning over a few leaves sang the same hymn he had sung to her thatday. He sang it all through to the end, the low, strange, dirge-likehymn, and chanted as it was by that old man alone, standing in thefading evening light beside the grave which he had dug for his daughter, the last of his race, I never heard anything so moving. Then he knelt, and clasping his hands offered a prayer. The words, from habit, ranalmost as they had done when he had prayed for Elsket before, thatGod would be her Shepherd, her "Herder, " and lead her beside the stillwaters, and give her peace. When he was through I waited a little, and then I took up a spade tohelp him; but he reached out and took it quietly, and seeing that hewanted to be alone I left him. He meant to do for Elsket all the lastsacred offices himself. I was so fatigued that on reaching the house I dropped off to sleep andslept till morning, and I do not know when he came into the house, ifhe came at all. When I waked early next morning he was not there, and Irose and went up to the church to hunt for him. He was sitting quietlybeside the grave, and I saw that he had placed at her head a littlecross of birchwood, on which he had burned one word, simply, "Elsket. " I spoke to him, asking him to come to the house. "I cannot leave her, " he said; but when I urged him he rose silently andreturned with me. I remained with him for a while after that, and each day he went and satby the grave. At last I had to leave. I urged him to come with me, buthe replied always, "No, I must watch over Elsket. " It was late in the evening when we set off to cross the mountain. Wecame by the same path by which I had gone, Olaf leading me as carefullyand holding me as steadily as when I went over before. I stopped at thechurch to lay a few wild flowers on the little gray mound where Elsketslept so quietly. Olaf said not a word; he simply waited till I was doneand then followed me dumbly. I was so filled with sorrow for him thatI did not, except in one place, think much of the fearful cliffs alongwhich we made our way. At the Devil's Seat, indeed, my nerves for amoment seemed shaken and almost gave way as I thought of the false younglord whose faithlessness had caused all the misery to these simple, kindly folk, and of the fierce young Norseman who had there found sosweet a revenge. But we came on and passed the ledge, and descendingstruck the broader path just after the day broke, where it was no longerperilous but only painful. There Olaf paused. "I will go back if you don't want me, " he said. Idid not need his services, but I urged him to come on with me--to pay avisit to his friends. "I have none, " he said, simply. Then to come homewith me and live with me in old Virginia. He said, "No, " he "must watchover Elsket. " So finally I had to give in, and with a clasp of the handand a message to "her friend" Doctor John, to "remember Elsket, " he wentback and was soon lost amid the rocks. I was half-way down when I reached a cleared place an hour or so later, and turned to look back. The sharp angle of the Devil's Ledge was thehighest point visible, the very pinnacle of the mountain, and there, clear against the burnished steel of the morning sky, on the very edge, clear in the rare atmosphere was a small figure. It stood for a second, a black point distinctly outlined, and then disappeared. It was Olaf of the Mountain, gone back to keep watch over Elsket.