CHAPTER VII.

THE SIEGE OF KORSHOLM.

As soon as Meri--for she was the lonely singer--understood the wild crowd's intention, she flew back to Korsholm. By the silver rays of the moonlight, which shone over the landscape, she plainly distinguished Regina's dark locks, which, blacker than the night, stood in relief from the room in the background, like a shadow in the midst of the shade. Under these locks shone two eyes, dreamy, deep, like the glimmer of the stars in the dusky mirror of a lake. The words died on Meri's lips; all the strange rumours rose like spectres in her mind. She who sat up there alone at the window, was she not, after all, a southern witch, weeping over her fate in being compelled to spend the seven years of her wondrous beauty within these walls, and then reassume her normal shape; a terrible monster, half-woman and half-serpent?

Meri stood as if petrified at the foot of the wall.

But nearer and nearer was heard the murmur of the wild crowd, and the light of the torches began to be reflected on the castle. Then the superstitious countrywoman gathered courage, and raised her voice to the window.

"Fly, your grace," she said rapidly in Swedish; "fly, a great danger threatens you; the soldiers are intoxicated and frantic; they say that you have tried to kill the king, and they demand your life."

Regina saw the pale form in the moonlight, and before her imagination rose all the stories she had heard about this land of witchcraft. During her ten months' stay in Sweden she had in some degree learned to understand the language; she did not immediately comprehend the other's meaning, but a single word sufficed to attract all her attention.

"The king?" she repeated in broken Swedish. "Who are you, and what can you tell me about the great Gustaf Adolf?"

"Lose not a moment, your grace," continued Meri, ignoring Regina's question. "They are already at the gates, and Fru Marta, with six soldiers, will not be able to protect you against two hundred. Quick! don't come out by the door, but tie together sheets and shawls, and let yourself down through the window; I will receive you."

Regina saw that a danger threatened, but far from being terrified by it, she heard it with a secret joy. Was she not a martyr to her faith, transported to this wild land for her zeal in trying to convert the mightiest enemy of her Church? Perhaps the moment was at hand when the saints would grant her a martyr's-crown, richly earned by her devotion. Was it not the tempter himself, who in this pale woman's form, tried to lure her from an imperishable glory?

And Regina answered:

"And Satan saith unto Him: 'Cast Thyself down: for it is written, He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee, that they may preserve Thee, so that no harm may befall Thee...'"*

* Compare Matthew iv. 6, where the Lutheran text differs from the Catholic.

At these words the moon appeared round a corner of the wall and threw its pale beams on the beautiful girl's face. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes burned with an ecstatic fire. Meri looked at her with wonder and dread ... and again it seemed to her that it was not well with a being, who possessed such a singular appearance, and uttered such strange sounds from her lips. An overwhelming fear seized her, and she fled, without knowing why, back to the town.

In the meantime Regina heard the murmur from the castle yard up in her chamber. The drunken horde had been checked by a stout gate, and stood clamouring outside, threatening to burn down the fortress, unless the witch was immediately given up to them. But Fru Marta, just awakened from a sound sleep, was not one easily scared. She had been in more than one siege in her younger days, and understood like a wise commander, that a fortress does not fall at big words.

"One who gains time, gains all," she thought, and therefore began to negotiate about the capitulation, wishing to know what the besiegers especially wanted, and why they wanted it. In the meantime six old muskets were hunted up, with which the defenders were armed; the soldiers were also provided with clubs and pikes; the servant girls themselves received orders to take the poles, with which more than one of Fleming's horsemen received their doom during the Club or Peasants' War. Thus prepared, Fru Marta thought that she could safely break off all negotiations; she therefore advanced to the inside of the gate, and began a tirade which meant action and no play.

"Ye crazy boors!" shrieked the brave dame with more energy than courtesy, "may the devil take you all, drunken ale-bibbers! Be off this instant, or, as sure as my name is Marta Ulfsparre, you shall have a taste of 'Master Hans' on the back, you villains, sots, shameless knaves, and night loafers!"

"Master Hans" was a good-sized braided rattan, which seldom left Fru Marta's hand, and for which all the inmates of the castle entertained a profound respect. But whether the noisy crowd did not know of "Master Hans'" fine qualities, or whether Fru Marta's words were only imperfectly heard in the uproar, the mob continued to press on with loud cries, and the strong gate shook on its hinges.

"Out with the witch!" shouted the most excited, and some threw lighted brands against the gate, hoping to set it on fire.

Fru Marta had on the ramparts two old cannon from Gustaf I.'s time, called "the hawk" and "the dove." Their functions were to respond to the salutes of vessels arriving in the harbour, and to roar forth the delight of the people on royal christening days and nuptials. It is true that the ramparts lay outside the high fence with its iron spikes, which constituted the only fortification of the castle, and were thus easily accessible to the besiegers. But Fru Marta thought correctly, that a cannonade from the ramparts would frighten the enemy, and serve as a signal of distress, to summon assistance from the man-of-war and the town. She therefore ordered two of her soldiers to steal out under cover of the night, load "the hawk" and "the dove," and directly after the blank charges were fired, to return quickly to the castle.

The effect was instantaneous. The uproar ceased at once, and Fru Marta did not let the opportunity slip from her grasp.

"Do you hear, you pack of thieves?" she screamed, mounted on a ladder, so that her white night-cap was seen in the moonlight just above the gate, "if you don't take yourselves off this minute from his Majesty's castle, I will make my cannon shatter you into fragments, like cabbage stalks, you noisy, drunken swine! Angry dogs get torn skins; and the chicken who sticks his neck in the jaws of the fox will have to look around to see where his head is. I will cut you to pieces, you rowdy set," continued Fru Marta, getting more and more excited. "I will let them make mince-meat of you, and throw you to the----"

Unhappily the brave commander was not allowed to finish her heroic speech. One of the crowd had found a rotten turnip on the ground, and hurled it with such good aim at the white night-cap, which shone in the moonlight, that Fru Marta, struck right on the brow, was obliged to retreat, and for the first time in her life had her tongue silenced. A huge laugh now spread through the crowd, and with it Fru Marta's supremacy was at an end. The enemy battered still more arrogantly against the gate, the hinges bent, the boards gave way, and finally half of the gate fell in with a great crash, and the whole crowd rushed into the courtyard.

Now one would say that Fru Marta would have to surrender. But no, she quickly withdrew with all her force to the interior of the castle, barred the entrance, and placed her musketeers at the windows, threatening to shoot down the first comers. Such determined courage ought to have succeeded, but the infuriated mob neither heard or saw. One of the front men, who had found a crowbar, began to batter the door...

Then confusion and outcries arose in the rear of the crowd ... those in the middle turned round and saw through the broken gate, as far as one could discern in the moonlight, the whole way filled with heads and muskets. It was as if an army had sprung from the earth in order to annihilate the besiegers. Could it be the shades of all the dead champions of Korsholm, who had risen from their graves to avenge the violence offered against their old fortress?

In order to explain the unexpected sight which now alarmed the crowd, one must remember that a large portion of the country people from the adjacent hamlets had flocked to the town to witness the departure of the recruits. It should also be mentioned that the peasant king had remained all night in Vasa, probably in the secret expectation of hearing some news about Bertel from the crew of the "Maria Eleonora." The burning of the ale-house and the march of the intoxicated crowd towards Korsholm had set all Vasa in commotion, and when Meri arrived in breathless haste, imploring her father to rescue the imprisoned lady, she found everywhere willing ears. The East Bothnian is soon ready for battle, and when the peasants learned the insults put upon old Bertila, their best man, the ancient animosity arose within them against the soldiers. They forgot that many of their own sons and brothers were conscripts; they could not neglect such a fine chance to give the soldiers a thrashing, both in the name of humanity and loyalty to the crown. They marched therefore, with Bertila at their head, about a hundred strong, to the rescue of the castle, and what in the moonlight appeared to be pikes and muskets, were mostly poles and rails, which had been hastily snatched up, the usual weapons employed in the battles of that region.

As soon as the soldiers saw that they were attacked in the rear, they tried to conceal their alarm with loud shouts and cries. Uncertain of the enemy's strength, some of them already wished to beat a dangerous retreat over the spiked fence; others imagined that they had to deal with an army of goblins, called up by the incantations of the foreign witch. They were soon aroused from this delusion, however, by hearing the sounds of Malax Swedish, and Lillkyro Finnish, which could reasonably be thought to come from human and not spectral lips. At the moment the outer enemy blocked the gate with his forces, a silence arose on both sides, during which one could hear two voices speaking, together: one from the castle window, and the other from the ramparts.

"What did I tell you?" shrieked Fru Marta from the window; "didn't I tell you, drunkards and vagabonds, that you ought to think seven times before putting your noses between the wedges of the tree, and if the tail has once got into the fox-trap, there is nothing left but to bite it off. A large mouth needs a broad back, and now hold yourself in readiness to pay the fiddler."

With this outburst Fru Marta drew back; possibly from fear of another rotten turnip.

The other voice was that of an old man, who, in powerful tones, cried to the soldiers:

"Lay down your arms, and give up your leaders, then the rest may go in peace. If not, there will be a dance, the like of which Korsholm has never seen, and we will see to it that the bows are well rosined."

"May all the demons seize you, rascal peasant!" answered a voice from the courtyard, which clearly belonged to the jovial sergeant, Bengt Kristerson. "If I had you down here I would, blitz-donner-kreutz-Pappenheim, teach you to insult brave soldiers with offers of surrender. Go ahead, boys; clear the gateway, and drive the crew back to their porridge kettles!"

Fortunately none of the conscripts had muskets, which had not yet been distributed, and very few possessed swords. Most of them had only extinguished brands, fragments of broken carriages, and faggots snatched from a wood-pile in the yard. Thus armed, the warriors bore down upon the entrance.

At the first onset the recruits were received with such vigorous blows, that numbers had broken heads. Soon the press at the gate became so dense that no arm could be raised or blow dealt; those in front struggled furiously to extricate themselves, whilst the rest closed upon them and rendered all movement impossible. Strong arms and broad shoulders exerted themselves fruitlessly to make a way through the crowd. At last the pressure from within became so great, that the first ranks of the peasants were broken, and about half of the soldiers cleared a way towards the open plain outside the ramparts, whilst the remainder were again penned up in the courtyard.

A regular battle began. Poles, sticks, whips, and fists were used. Many a vigorous blow was delivered, which would have been much better bestowed on Isolani's Croats; many a fine exploit was performed, more in place on the German battlefields. The soldiers were split in two parties by the gate, and although the most numerous, soon had the worst of it. The youngest recruits took to flight, and ran towards the town; some were overpowered and badly beaten; others, including the old veterans, retired to the ramparts, and with backs to the wall defended themselves valiantly.

Victory now seemed on the side of the peasants, when their opponents received new assistance. The peasants at the gate, who on account of the struggle outside, forgot the enemy within, were surprised by the penned-up soldiers, who now rushed out to help their comrades. The latter thus relieved, fell upon the peasants with redoubled ardour; the affray became more and more involved, and victory more and more uncertain; both parties had defeats to avenge, and the rage on both sides increased as their strength became equal.

Over this scene of tumult, confusion, and wild conflict, the silvery August moon beamed like a heavenly eye. All the inlets shone in the moonlight; and in the tree-tops and the moist grass glittered millions of dewdrops, like pearls on summer's green robe. All nature seemed at peace; a gentle breeze from the west rippled the surface of the sea, and passed softly over the land; the monotonous roll of the surf upon the beach was heard in the distance, and the twinkling, silent stars looked down into the dark waters. When the yard was empty, Fru Marta and her men ventured out again to behold the strife from the ramparts. The courageous old lady undoubtedly wished to join in some way in the contest, for she cried to the peasants in a loud voice:

"That's right, boys, go ahead; let the sticks fly; many have danced to worse tunes!"

And to the soldiers she screamed:

"Good luck to you, my children; help yourselves to a little supper; Korsholm offers what it can give. Be at ease; your witch is in good keeping; Korsholm has bolts and bars for you too, miscreants!"

But as if a capricious destiny wished to convict the old lady of error and put her to the blush, a tall, dark female figure now appeared on the top of the ramparts, and was outlined against the clear night sky.

Fru Marta's words froze on her lips from dismay, when she recognised the figure of her well-guarded prisoner. How Lady Regina had got through locked doors and closed windows was an inexplicable problem, and for a moment she was infected by the common belief in the strange girl's alliance with the powers of darkness. She renounced all idea of arresting the fugitive, and expected each moment to see large black wings grow out of her shoulders, that she might take flight like a monstrous raven, and soar aloft to the starry heavens.

The reader, however, can easily discover a natural solution of the difficulty. The din of the conflict and the cannon-shots had reached Regina's isolated chamber. Every moment she expected her room to be invaded, and herself seized by executioners and dragged to a certain death; and so glorious did this martyrdom seem to her, that her impatience increased to the highest point. Then an hour passed, and whilst the noise below continued, no footsteps approached her door. At last the thought took possession of her fanatical soul that the Prince of Darkness envied her so grand a fate, and that the strife was fomented by him to ensure her a languishing life in captivity, without profit to herself or the Holy Faith. Then she remembered the advice of the singing woman, to let herself down through the open window by means of sheets and shawls; she took a sudden resolve, and in a few minutes stood on the ramparts in full view of all the combatants.

As soon as the latter saw the tall form in the moonlight, they were seized with the same superstitious dread which had just paralyzed Fru Marta's nimble tongue. The conflict gradually subsided in the vicinity, and continued only at the most remote points; friend and foe were affected by a common horror, and near the ramparts rose a silence so profound, that one could hear in the distance the sea's low murmur on the pebbly beach.

Lady Regina then spoke with a voice so strong and clear, that if her terribly imperfect Swedish had not stood in the way, she would have been understood by all those within hearing.

"Ye children of Belial," she said in tones, trembling at first, but soon calm and composed, "ye people of the heretic faith, why do ye delay to take my life? I am defenceless, without human protection, with the high heavens above me, and the earth and sea at my feet, and say to you: Your Luther was a false prophet; there is no salvation except in the orthodox Catholic Church. Be converted, therefore, to the Holy Virgin and all the saints, acknowledge the Pope to be Christ's vicegerent, as he truly is, that you may avert St. George's sword from your heads, which is already raised to destroy you. But you can kill me in order to seal the veracity of my faith; here I stand; why do you hesitate? I am ready to die for my faith."

It was Lady Regina's good fortune that her speech was not understood by the crowd, for so strong was the power of Lutheranism at this fanatical time, when nations and individuals sacrificed life and welfare for their creed, that all were filled with flaming zeal, and a blind hatred for the Pope and his followers--of which our crabbed but pithy old psalm-books bear witness to-day. Had this crowd, whether peasants or soldiers, heard Regina extol the Pope, and declare Luther a false prophet, they would have certainly torn her to pieces in their rage. As it was, the young girl's meaning escaped them; they saw her bold bearing, and the respect which courage and misfortune together always inspire, did not fail to have its effect upon them; they now stood wavering, and at a loss what to think or do.

Lady Regina again expected, in vain, to be dragged to death. She descended from the rampart, and mingled with the irresolute crowd; they all saw that she was quite unprotected, and yet not a hand was put forth to seize her.

"She is not honest flesh and blood; she is a shadow," said an old Worä peasant doubtingly. "It seems to me that I see the moon shine right through her."

"We will soon prove that," exclaimed a rough fellow from Ilmola, laying his coarse hand rather heavily on Regina's shoulder.

It was a critical moment; the young girl turned round and looked her molester right in the face with such deep, shining eyes, that the latter seized with a strange feeling, immediately drew back, and stole away abashed. Some of the nearest bystanders followed him. None could understand the power of these dark eyes in the moonlight, but all felt their wondrous influence. In a few moments the space near Regina was empty, and the strife had ceased. A patrol, who now arrived, arrested the ringleaders.

Not long, however, did the rivalry engendered by the Club War continue between the peasants and the soldiers; between the peaceful _plough_, Finland's pride, and the conquering sword, which at this time was drawn to subdue the Roman Emperor himself.

Of Regina we need only say that she willingly allowed herself, yet with a sigh over the martyr's-crown she had missed, to be taken back to the dark, solitary prison-chamber. But Bertila returned with his daughter to Storkyro; the old man with thoughts of coming greatness, the young woman with the memory of a past joy. All this occurred during two days in the summer of 1632, thus, before King Gustaf Adolf's death.

Days and months elapsed, and human destinies changed their forms, so that the swift word is obliged to check its flight, and remain silent awhile in expectation of the evenings which are to come. For the surgeon's stories, like a child's joy or sorrow, lasted but a brief time--long enough for those who with friendship listened to them, and perhaps sufficiently long for the others. But never was the thread of the story clipped in the middle of its course without both young and old anticipating more. And the surgeon had to promise this. He had so much still left to relate about the half-spun skein of two family histories, that next time it will probably be spun; longer--if not to the end, at least to the knot, which says that the skein has reached its right length.

III.--FIRE AND WATER.

Six weeks passed before the surgeon and his circle of listeners gathered again. During that time an accident had happened to old Bäck. Most of us in this world possess hobbies, and old bachelors in particular. Bäck had got it into his mind that he ought to have a certain comfort in his old age; he had in his garret a good-sized sack of feathers, which he increased in spring and autumn by bird-shooting. To what use these feathers were to be put no one knew; when he was asked about it, he said:

"I will do like Possen at the 'Wiborg explosion'; if Finland is in need, I will go up some tower and shake my feathers into the air, then there will be as many soldiers as the sack has feathers."

"You talk like a goose, my brother," replied Captain Svanholm, the postmaster. "In our days one must have different stuff to make soldiers of. By my soul, I think you consider us warriors like chickens!"

"Yes," added the surgeon, when the captain was about to continue, "I know what you wish to say: exactly like Fieandt at Karstula."

However, the fact was, that the surgeon had one fine April day gone to the sea-shore on a shooting expedition, with artificial decoy ducks. He was accompanied by an old one-eyed corporal called Ritsi (Finnish for Fritz), who had been a pedlar in his youth, and wandered over Germany with a pack on his back; but he brought home nothing except a change in his name.

The ice still remained in patches, with gaps between; both the old men strolled along the edge, and discharged a shot every now and then; but it amounted to very little, as both of them had rather poor eyesight. It happened early one morning that Bäck thought he saw a pair of fine ducks at the further end of the ice, which could only be reached by making a long circuit. He set off, and sure enough the ducks were there. He crept as near as he dared, aimed, and fired ... the ducks' feathers were slightly agitated, but they did not stir from the spot. "Those creatures are pretty tough," thought Bäck; he reloaded, and fired again at thirty paces. The same result followed. Much astonished, Bäck went nearer, and discovered for the first time that he had been shooting at his own decoy ducks, which the wind had imperceptibly driven from the inner to the outer edge of the ice.

The old gentleman now thought about returning; but this was easier said than done. The wind had separated the ice on which _he_ stood, from the ice which held Ritsi, and the loose block was drifting out to sea. The two old friends looked sadly at each other; scarcely a dozen yards separated them, and yet the corporal could not assist his companion, for there was no boat. Bäck was drifting slowly and steadily out to sea.

"Good-bye, now, comrade," cried the surgeon, whilst still within hearing. "Tell Svenonius and Svanholm that my will is locked up in the bureau-drawer to the right. Tell them to have the bells rung for me next Sunday. As for the funeral, you need not give yourself any trouble; I will attend to that myself."

"God have mercy!" yelled the corporal, putting the wrong side of his jacket to his eyes, and returning to the shore slowly and tranquilly, as if nothing had happened.

For the honour of the good town, it must be said, that the rest of the surgeon's friends were far from taking the matter like the corporal. The postmaster cursed and swore; the schoolmaster marched out at the head of his boys; and the old grandmother quietly sent off a couple of able-bodied pilots in their boats to cruise between the blocks of ice. The greatest excitement prevailed; confusion and running about everywhere; and those who made the most fuss accomplished the least.

Two days passed without any trace of the surgeon; on the third the pilots came back from a fruitless search. All gave the surgeon up for lost. There was sincere mourning in the town for such an old institution as Bäck--everyone's friend, and everybody's confidant--he was one of the little town's house-spirits, without whom the community could not get on. But what could be done? When the third Sunday arrived, without any news of the unfortunate bird-hunter, the bells were rung for his soul, according to custom, and a fine eulogy composed by Svenonius, was read in the church, and the city magistrate appointed a day in the ensuing week for taking an inventory of his effects.

I hope, however, that the reader, who has noticed the title of this veracious story, will not be alarmed. In reality it would be very hard if the surgeon should be called away just now, when Regina sits imprisoned at Korsholm, under Fru Marta's stern control, and Bertel lies bleeding on the battlefield of Lützen. And what would become of the gentle Meri, of the peasant king of Storkyro, and of so many other important personages in this narrative? Patience! the surgeon had certainly gone through worse experiences in his day ... he had not been born for nothing on the same day as Napoleon!

Everything was arranged to take the inventory. Astonishing order prevailed in Bäck's garret; something unusual had happened there; the place was swept and cleaned. All his things were set out: medicine chest dusted, stuffed birds placed in a row, the collection of eggs exposed to view. The silver-headed Spanish cane stood in a corner; the old peruke hung with a melancholy look on its hook; the innermost mysteries of Bäck's bureau, the pale locks of hair from former days, were drawn forth to be valued in roubles and kopeks; probably not at high amounts. An alderman, with an official air, had taken his place at the old oak table, where a large sheet of official paper now occupied the space usually reserved for the surgeon's carpenter's tools; a clerk was sharpening his pencil opposite the alderman, and the old grandmother as hostess, had presented herself with moist eyes to deliver up Bäck's property, as the old man had no relations. One thing, however, was still unopened: it was the old seal-skin trunk under the surgeon's bed. The official's eyes occasionally wandered there with a pious thought of the profit to be derived from the inheritance; but no one knew what the trunk contained, and who was the rightful and legal heir.

It was time to begin. Svanholm and Svenonius were called as appraisers. The alderman coughed once or twice, assumed a judicial air, and then said:

"Whereas it has come to the knowledge of the worthy magistrate that the deceased surgeon of the High Crown, Andreas Bäck, met his death on the ice whilst engaged in bird-shooting; and although not found in body, is in soul, rightfully and lawfully killed..."

"I would most humbly beg to contradict that!" suddenly interrupted a voice from the door.

The effect was truly marvellous.

The magistrate lost both his wits and official bearing; he turned his eyes upwards, and his eloquent tongue for the first time refused its office. The secretary sprang up like a rocket, and knocked over the learned Svenonius, who, being somewhat deaf, had not heard the cause of the sudden commotion. The brave Svanholm was in a terrible plight; one could have sworn that not even at Karstula had he gone through such an ordeal. He looked as white as a ghost, and tried in vain to compel his left foot to advance. The old grandmother was the only one who showed self-possession; she put on her spectacles, went straight to the new-comer, and shook her ancient head dubiously, as if to say that it was very wrong of corpses to come to life again.

But old Bäck--for who else could it be?--was not at all daunted. His feelings had quite a different character. When he beheld his dear old garret so altered, his precious effects on show, and the magistrate in full activity with what Bäck thought none of his business, he was seized, excusably enough, with righteous anger, and took the myrmidons of the law by the neck, one after the other, and threw them without ceremony from the room. Then came the turn of brother Svenonius, who was not spared, and finally Svanholm, before he could utter a word, found himself rolling headlong down the stairs. All this happened in the twinkling of an eye. Only the grandmother remained. When Bäck met her mild, reproachful glance, he was ashamed, and came to his senses.

"Well, well," said he, "you must not take it ill, cousin; I shall teach brooms and dusters to disorder my room ... be so kind as to take a seat. It would provoke a stone to see such actions. See how these wretches have scrubbed my room and dusted my birds. It is a positive crime!"

"Dear cousin," said the grandmother, at once vexed and delighted, "I am the one to be blamed; we thought you must be drowned."

"Drowned, indeed!" muttered the surgeon. "I tell you, cousin, that poor powder isn't so easily got rid of. It is true that I floated around on that miserable ice-floe for three whole days and nights. It wasn't exactly a warm bed and spread table, but it served. I shot a venturesome seal. It was pretty oily, I assure you, but 'better that than nothing.' I had a tinder-box and salt, too; so I made a fire of my game bag, and fried a steak. On the fourth day I drifted to firm ice at West Bothnia, and marched ashore. 'Now it's time to go home,' I thought. Said and done; I sold my gun and hired a team. And I tell you what, cousin, they would have been spared from upsetting my room, and sticking their noses into my affairs, had not the Swedes quadrupled the rate, compared with old times. My purse was empty before I came to Haparanda. Then I thought, 'let the Medical College go to the dogs!' and began my old practice with the lancet and 'essentia dulcis,' as I went along; and all the old women--God bless you, I thought you were going to sneeze--and all the old women were amazed to see former times revived. In this manner I was able to reach home--a little too late, but still in time to throw out my uninvited guests."

The surgeon had great difficulty in pardoning his friends for their invasion of his peaceful kingdom. Had they taken his treasures, or slandered his good name, he could have forgiven them, but to put his room in order was more than he could stand! Little by little, however, the storm was allayed through the old grandmother's wise diplomacy; and so the day came when the reconciliation was celebrated with a third tale. It is true that some plain people still looked upon the surgeon as a ghost; the magistrate doubted his right to live when he had been legally declared dead; the postmaster swore over his sore back, which still bore the marks of the meeting with brother Bäck; Svenonius sighed over a hole in his twenty-year-old black coat, which he had worn in honour of the solemn occasion. But the old grandmother smiled as usual; Anne Sophie was friendly as ever; the little folks were as noisy; and--thus it happened that the sunshine scattered the morning mists, and the horizon was cleared for the captive Regina.

* * * * *

"My dear friends," began the surgeon, "it may puzzle you why I call this story 'Fire and Water.' You understand _The King's Ring_, and how _The Sword and the Plough_ came into conflict. Perhaps you think that I shall now treat you to natural history. That would be well and good. But I entertain the opinion that in a story, humanity is the great thing. If we look at pictures, we heartily admire a fruit or a game painting, but I believe figure-painting, with fine human forms, is nevertheless superior. Therefore I do not intend to describe conflagrations and deluges, but have chosen my title from the fact that human temperaments correspond to the elements--some to fire, some to air, others to water and earth. I intend to tell you about four persons: two of whom possessed a fiery nature, and two a watery. All is not said that could be said, for most titles have the fault of only giving one aspect of many. I thought of calling this part 'The Coat of Arms,' when I realised that it might also be called 'The Axe.' I might have alarmed you with the terrible title of 'The Curse'; but when I came to think it over, I found that it could just as well be styled 'The Blessing.' Therefore you will have to be contented with the elements; I have now said all I wished, and I will leave you to guess the rest."