Part 5

This vision decided Hund's proceedings. Half-crazed with remorse, he left the pirates that night. After long consideration where to go, he decided upon returning to Erlingsen's. He did not know to what extent they suspected him; he was pretty sure that they held no proofs against him. He felt irresistibly drawn towards poor Erica, now that no rival was there; and if mixed with all these considerations there were some thoughts of the situation of houseman being vacant, and needing much to be filled up, it is no wonder that such a mingling of motives took place in a mind so selfish as Hund's.

Hund performed his journey by night. He did not for a moment think of going by the fiord. Laboriously and diligently therefore he overcame the difficulties of the path, crossing ravines, wading through swamps, scaling rocks, leaping across water-courses, and only now and then throwing himself down on some tempting slope of grass, to wipe his brows, and to moisten his parched throat with the wild strawberries which were fast ripening in the sheltered nooks of the hills. It was now so near midsummer, and the nights were so fast melting into the days, that Hund could at the latest scarcely see a star, though there was not a fleece of cloud in the whole circle of the heavens. While yet the sun was sparkling on the fiord, and glittering on every farmhouse window that fronted the west, all around was as still as if the deepest darkness had settled down. Hund knew as he passed one dwelling after another--knew as well as if he had looked in at the windows--that the inhabitants were all asleep, even with the sunshine lying across their very faces.

Every few minutes he observed how his shadow lengthened, and he longed for the brief twilight which would now soon be coming on. There were a few extremely faint stars--a very few--for only the brightest could now show themselves in the sky where daylight lingered so as never quite to depart. A pale green hue remained where the sun had disappeared, and a deep red glow was even now beginning to kindle where he was soon to rise. But man must have rest, be the sun high or sunk beneath the horizon; so that Hund saw no face, and heard no human voice, before he found himself standing at the top of the steep rocky pathway which led down to Erlingsen's abode.

He found everything in a different state from that in which he had left the place. The stable-doors stood wide, and there was no trace of milk-pails. The hurdles of the fold were piled upon one another in a corner of the yard. It was plain that herd, flock, and dairy-women were gone to the mountain; and though Hund dreaded meeting Erica, it struck upon his heart to think that she was not here. He felt now how much it was for her sake that he had come back.

His eye fell upon the boat which lay gently rocking with the receding tide in its tiny cove; and he resolved to lie down in it and rest, while considering what to do next. He went down, stepping gently over the pebbles of the beach lest his tread should reach and waken any ear through the open windows, lay down at the bottom of the boat, and fell asleep.

Oddo was the first to come forth, to water the one horse that remained at the farm, and to give a turn and a shake to the two or three little cocks of hay which had been mown behind the house. His quick eye noted the deep marks of a man's feet in the sand and pebbles below high-water mark proving that some one had been on the premises during the night. He followed these marks to the boat, where he was amazed to find the enemy (as he called Hund) fast asleep. Oddo was in a great hurry to tell his grandfather (Erlingsen being on the mountain); but he thought it only proper caution to secure his prize from escaping in his absence.

He summoned his companion, the dog which had warned him of many dangers abroad, and helped him faithfully with his work at home; and nothing could be clearer to Skorro than that he was to crouch on the thwarts of the boat, with his nose close to Hund's face, and not to let Hund stir till Oddo came back. Then Oddo ran, and wakened his grandfather, who made all haste to rise and dress. Erica now lived in Peder's house. Hearing Oddo's story, she rushed out, and her voice was soon heard in passionate entreaty, above the bark of the dog, which was trying to prevent the prisoner from rising.

"Only tell me," Erica was heard to say, "only tell me where and how he died. I know he is dead--I knew he would die; from that terrible night when we were betrothed. Tell me who did it--for I am sure you know. Was it Nipen? O Hund, speak! Say only where his body is, and I will try--I will try never to speak to you again--never to----"

Hund looked miserable; he moved his lips, but no sound was heard mingling with Erica's rapid speech.

Madame Erlingsen, who, with Orga, had by this time reached the spot, laid her hand on Erica's arm, to beg for a moment's silence, made Oddo call his dog out of the boat, and then spoke, in a severe tone, to Hund.

"Why do you shake your head, Hund, and speak no word? Say what you know, for the sake of those whom, we grievously suspect, you have deeply injured. Say what you know, Hund."

"What I say is, that I do not know," replied Hund in a hoarse and agitated voice. "I only know that we live in an enchanted place, here by this fiord, and that the spirits try to make us answer for their doings. The very first night after I went forth, this very boat was spirited away from me, so that I could not come home. Nipen had a spite against me there--to make you all suspect me. I declare to you that the boat was gone, in a twinkling, by magic, and I heard the cry of the spirit that took it."

"What was the cry like?" asked Oddo gravely.

"Where were you, that you were not spirited away with the boat?" asked his mistress.

"I was tumbled out upon the shore, I don't know how," declared Hund; "found myself sprawling on a rock, while the creature's cries brought my heart into my mouth as I lay."

"Alone? Were you alone?" asked his mistress.

"I had landed the pastor some hours before, madame; and I took nobody else with me, as Stiorna can tell, for she saw me go."

"Stiorna is at the mountain," observed madame coolly.

"But, Hund," said Oddo, "how did Nipen take hold of you when it laid you sprawling on the rock? Neck and heels? Or did it bid you go and hearken whether the pirates were coming, and whip away the boat before you came back? Are you quite sure that you sprawled on the rock at all before you ran away from the horrible cry you speak of? Our rocks are very slippery when Nipen is at one's heels."

Hund stared at Oddo, and his voice was yet hoarser when he said that he had long thought that boy was a favourite with Nipen, and he was sure of it now.

Erica had thrown herself down on the sand hiding her face on her hands, on the edge of the boat, as if in despair of her misery being attended to--her questions answered. Old Peder stood beside her, stroking her hair tenderly, and he now spoke the things she could not.

"Attend to me, Hund," said Peder, in the grave, quiet tone which every one regarded. "Hear my words; and for your own sake answer them. We suspect you of being in communication with the pirates yonder; we suspect that you went to meet them when you refused to go hunting the bears. We know that you have long felt ill-will towards Rolf--envy of him--jealousy of him--and----"

Here Erica looked up, pale as ashes, and said: "Do not question him further. There is no truth in his answers. He spoke falsehood even now."

Peder knew how Hund shrank under this, and thought the present the moment to get truth out of him, if he ever could speak it. He therefore went on to say--

"We suspect you of having done something to keep your rival out of the way, in order that you might obtain the house and situation--and perhaps something else that you wish."

"Have you killed him?" asked Erica abruptly, looking full in his face.

"No," returned Hund firmly. From his manner everybody believed this much.

"Do you know that anybody else has killed him?"

"No."

"Do you know whether he is alive or dead?"

To this Hund could, in the confusion of his ideas about Rolf's fate and condition, fairly say "No;" as also to the question, "Do you know where he is?"

Then they all cried out--

"Tell us what you do know about him."

"Ay, there you come," said Hund, resuming some courage, and putting on the appearance of more than he had. "You load me with foul accusations, and when you find yourselves all in the wrong, you alter your tone, and put yourselves under obligation to me for what I will tell. I will treat you better than you treat me, and I will tell you plainly why. I repent of my feelings towards my fellow-servant, now that evil has befallen him----"

"What? Oh, what?" cried Erica.

"He was seen fishing on the fiord in that poor little worn-out skiff. I myself saw him. And when I looked next for the skiff, it was gone."

"And where were you?"

"Never mind where I was. I was about my own business. And I tell you, I no more laid a finger on him than any one of you."

"Where was it?"

"Close by Vogel islet."

Erica started, and in one moment's flush of hope told that Rolf had said he should be safe at any time near Vogel islet. Hund caught at her words so eagerly as to make a favourable impression on all, who saw, what was indeed the truth, that he would have been glad to know that Rolf was alive.

"I believe some of the things you have told. I believe that you did not lay hands on Rolf."

"Bless you! Bless you for that!" interrupted Hund, almost forgetting how far he really was guilty.

"Tell me then," proceeded Erica, "how you believe he really perished."

"I believe," whispered Hund, "that the strong hand pulled him down--down to the bottom."

"I knew it," said Erica, turning away.

"Erica--one word," exclaimed Hund. "I must stay here--I am very miserable, and I must stay here and work, and work till I get some comfort. But you must tell me how you think of me--you must say that you do not hate me----"

"I do hate you," said Erica with disgust, as her suspicions of his wanting to fill Rolf's place were renewed, "I mistrust you, Hund, more deeply than I can tell."

"Will no penitence change your feelings, Erica? I tell you I am as miserable as you."

"That is false, like everything else that you say," cried Erica. "I wish you would go--go and seek Rolf under the waters."

Hund shuddered at the thought, as it recalled what he had seen and heard at the islet. Erica saw this, and sternly repeated--

"Go and bring back Rolf from the deeps, and then I will cease to hate you."

As Erica slowly returned into Peder's house, Oddo ran past, and was there before her. He closed the door when she had entered, put his hand within hers, and said--

"Did Rolf really tell you that he should be safe anywhere near Vogel islet?"

"Yes," sighed Erica, "safe from the pirates. That was his answer when I begged him not to go so far down the fiord; but Rolf always had an answer when one asked him not to go into danger."

"Erica, you went one trip with me, and I know you are brave. Will you go another? Will you go to the islet and see what Rolf could have meant about being safe there?"

Erica brightened for a moment, and perhaps would have agreed to go; but Peder came in, and Peder said he knew the islet well, and that it was universally considered that it was now inaccessible to human foot, and that that was the reason why the fowl flourished there as they did in no other place. Erica must not be permitted to go so far down among the haunts of the pirates. Instead of this, her mistress had just decided that, as there were no present means of getting rid of Hund, and as Erica could not be expected to remain just now in his presence, she should set off immediately for the mountain, and request Erlingsen to come home.

Under Peder's urgency she made up her bundle of clothes, took in her hand her lure,[3] with which to call home the cattle in the evenings, bade her mistress farewell privately, and stole away without Hund's knowledge.

[3] The lure is a wooden trumpet, nearly five feet long, made of two hollow pieces of birch-wood, bound together throughout the whole length with slips of willow. It is used to call the cattle together on a wide pasture.

Wandering with unwilling steps farther and farther from the spot where she had last seen Rolf, Erica dashed the tears from her eyes, and looked behind her at the entrance of a ravine which would hide from her the fiord and the dwelling she had left. Thor islet lay like a fragment of the leafy forest cast into the blue waters, but Vogel islet could not be seen. It was not too far down to be seen from an elevation like this, but it was hidden behind the promontories by which the fiord was contracted. She looked behind her no more, but made her way rapidly through the ravine; the more rapidly because she had seen a man ascending by the same path at no great distance, and she had little inclination to be joined by a party of wandering Laplanders, still less by any neighbour from the fiord who might think civility required that he should escort her to the seater. This wayfarer was walking at a pace so much faster than hers that he would soon pass, and she would hide among the rocks beside the tarn at the head of the ravine till he had gone by.

Through the rich pasture Erica waded till she reached the tarn which fed the stream that gambolled down the ravine. The death-cold unfathomed waters lay calm and still under the shelter of the rocks which nearly surrounded them.

In the shadow of one of these rocks, Erica sank down into the long grass. Here she would remain long enough to let the other wayfarer have a good start up the mountain, and by that time she should be cool and tranquillised. She hid her face in the fragrant grass, and did not look up again till the grief of her soul was stilled. Then her eye and her heart were open to the beauty of the place which she had made her temple of worship, and she gazed around till she saw something that surprised her.

The traveller, who she had hoped was now some way up the mountain, was standing on the margin of the tarn, immediately opposite to her.

She sat up, and took her bundle and her lure, believing now that she must accept the unwelcome civility of an escort for the whole of the rest of the way, and thinking that she might as well make haste and get it over. The man approached and took his seat on the huge stone beside her, crossed his arms, made no greeting, but looked her full in the face.

She did not know the face, nor was it like any that she had ever seen. There was such long hair, and so much beard, that the eyes seemed the only feature which made any distinct impression. Erica's heart now began to beat violently. Though wishing to be alone, she had not dreamed of being afraid till now; but now it occurred to her that she was seeing the rarest of sights--one not seen twice in a century, no other than the mountain-demon.

She sprang to her feet, and began to wade back through the high grass to the pathway, almost expecting to be seized by a strong hand and cast into the unfathomable tarn, whose waters were said to well up from the centre of the earth. Her companion, however, merely walked by her side. As he did not offer to carry her bundle, he could be no countryman of hers.

They walked quietly on till the tarn was left some way behind. Erica found she was not to die that way. Presently after, she came in sight of a settlement of Lapps--a cluster of low and dirty tents, round which some tame reindeer were feeding. Erica was not sorry to see these, though no one knew better than she the helpless cowardice of these people; and it was not easy to say what assistance they could afford against the mountain-demon. Yet they were human beings, and would appear in answer to a cry. She involuntarily shifted her lure, to be ready to utter a call. The stranger stopped to look at the distant tents, and Erica went on at the same pace. He presently overtook her, and pointed towards the Lapps with an inquiring look. Erica only nodded.

"Why you no speak?" growled the stranger in broken language.

"Because I have nothing to say," declared Erica, in the sudden vivacity inspired by the discovery that this was probably no demon. Her doubts were renewed, however, by the next question.

"Is the bishop coming?"

Now, none were supposed to have a deeper interest in the holy bishop's travels than the evil spirits of any region through which he was to pass.

"Yes, he is coming," replied Erica. "Are you afraid of him?"

The stranger burst into a loud laugh at her question: and very like a mocking fiend he looked, as his thick beard parted to show his wide mouth, with its two ranges of teeth. When he finished laughing, he said, "No, no--we no fear bishop."

"'We!'" repeated Erica to herself. "He speaks for his tribe as well as himself."

"We no fear bishop," said the stranger, still laughing. "You no fear----" and he pointed to the long stretch of path--the prodigious ascent before them.

Erica said there was nothing to fear on the mountain for those who did their duty to the powers, as it was her intention to do. Her first Gammel cheese was to be for him whose due it was, and it should be the best she could make.

This speech she thought would suit, whatever might be the nature of her companion. If it was the demon, she could do no more to please him than promise him his cheese.

Her companion seemed not to understand or attend to what she said.

When Erica saw that she had no demon for a companion, but only a foreigner, she was so much relieved as not to be afraid at all.

The stranger pointed to the tiny cove in which Erlingsen's farm might be seen, looking no bigger than an infant's toy, and said--

"Do you leave an enemy there, or is Hund now your friend?"

"Hund is nobody's friend, unless he happens to be yours," Erica replied, perceiving at once that her companion belonged to the pirates. "Hund is everybody's enemy; and, above all, he is an enemy to himself. He is a wretched man."

"The bishop will cure that," said the stranger. "He is coward enough to call in the bishop to cure all. When comes the bishop?"

"Next week."

"What day, and what hour?"

Erica did not choose to gratify so close a curiosity as this. She did not reply; and while silent, was not sorry to hear the distant sound of cattle-bells--and Erlingsen's cattle-bells too. The stranger did not seem to notice the sound, even though quickening his pace to suit Erica's, who pressed on faster when she believed protection was at hand. And yet the next thing the stranger said brought her to a full stop. He said he thought a part of Hund's business with the bishop would be to get him to disenchant the fiord, so that boats might not be spirited away almost before men's eyes, and that a rower and his skiff might not sink like lead one day, and the man may be heard the second day, and seen the third, so that there was no satisfactory knowledge as to whether he was really dead. Erica stopped, and her eager looks made the inquiry which her lips could not speak. Her eagerness put her companion on his guard, and he would explain no further than by saying that the fiord was certainly enchanted, and that strange tales were circulating all round its shores, very striking to a stranger; a stranger had nothing more to do with the wonders of a country than to listen to them. He wanted to turn the conversation back to Hund. Having found out that he was at Erlingsen's, he next tried to discover what he had said and done since his arrival. Erica told the little there was to tell--that he seemed full of sorrow and remorse. She told this in hope of a further explanation about drowned men being seen alive, but the stranger stopped when the bells were heard again, and a woman's voice singing, nearer still. He complimented Erica on her courage, and turned to go back the way he came, and walked away rapidly.

The only thing now to be done was to run forwards. Erica forgot heat, weariness, and the safety of her property, and ran on towards the singing voice. In five minutes she found the singer, Frolich, lying along the ground and picking cloud-berries, with which she was filling her basket for supper.

"Where is Erlingsen?--quick--quick!" cried Erica.

"My father? You may just see him with your good eyes--up there."

And Frolich pointed to a patch of verdure on a slope high up the mountain, where the gazer might just discern that there were haycocks standing, and two or three moving figures beside them.

"Stiorna is there to-day, besides Jan. They hope to finish this evening," said Frolich; "and so here I am, all alone; and I am glad you have come to help me to have a good supper ready for them. Their hunger will beat all my berry-gathering."

"You are alone!" said Erica, discovering that it was well that the pirate had turned back when he did. "You alone, and gathering berries, instead of having an eye on the cattle!"

"But why are your hands empty?" asked Frolich. "Who is to lend you clothes? And what will the cows say to your leaving your lure behind, when you know they like it so much better than Stiorna's?"

Erica returned for her bundle and lure; and then proceeded to an eminence where two or three of her cows were grazing, and there sounded her lure. She put her whole strength to it, in hope that others besides the cattle might appear in answer, for she was really anxious to see her master.

The peculiar and far from musical sounds spread wide over the pastures and up the slopes, and through the distant woods, so that the cattle of another seater stood to listen, and her own cows began to move, leaving the sweetest tufts of grass and rising up from their couches in the richest herbage, to converge towards the point whence she called. The far-off herdsman observed to his fellow that there was a new call among the pastures; and Erlingsen, on the upland, desired Jan and Stiorna to finish cocking the hay, and began his descent to his seater, to learn whether Erica had brought any news from home.

Long before he could appear, Frolich threw herself down at Erica's feet.

"You want news," said Erica, avoiding as usual all conversation about her superstitions. "How will it please you that the bishop is coming?"

"Very much, if we had any chance of seeing him. Very much, whether we see him or not, if he can give any help--any advice. My poor Erica, I do not like to ask; but you have had no good news, I fear."

Erica shook her head.

"I saw that in your face in a moment. Do not speak about it till you tell my father. He may help you, I cannot; so do not tell me anything."

Erica was glad to take her at her word. She kissed Frolich's hand, which lay on her knee, in token of thanks, and then inquired whether any Gammel cheese was made yet.

"No," said Frolich, inwardly sighing for news. "We have the whey, but not sweet cream enough till after this evening's milking. So you are just in time."

Erica was glad, as she could not otherwise have been sure of the demon having his due.

"There is your father," said Erica. "Now do go and gather more berries, Frolich. There are not half enough."

It may be supposed that Erlingsen was anxious to be at home when he had heard Erica's story. He was not to be detained by any promise of berries and cream for supper. He put away the thought even of his hay, yet unfinished on the upland, and would hear nothing that Frolich had to say of his fatigue at the end of a long working day. He took some provision with him, drank off a glass of corn-brandy, and set off at a good pace down the mountain.