oes not matter, as I am to
die so soon," she said to herself.

But she sent him away soon after, and when he asked if he might not
come again, she forbade him absolutely. "But," she said, "do you
remember our graveyard up on the hill, Petter Nord. You can come
there in a few weeks and thank death for that day."

As Petter Nord came out of the garden, he met Halfvorson. He was
walking forward and back in despair, and his only consolation was
the thought that Edith was laying the burden of remorse on the
wrong-doer. To see him overpowered by pangs of conscience, for that
alone had he sought him out. But when he met the young workman, he
saw that Edith had not told him everything. He was serious, but at
the same time he certainly was madly happy.

"Has Edith told you why she is dying?" said Halfvorson.

"No," answered Petter Nord.

Halfvorson laid his hand on his shoulder as if to keep him from
escaping.

"She is dying because of you, because of your damned pranks. She
was slightly ill before, but it was nothing. No one thought that
she would die; but then you came with those three wretched tramps,
and they frightened her while you were in my shop. They chased her,
and she ran away from them, ran till she got a hemorrhage. But that
is what you wanted; you wished to be revenged on me by killing her,
wished to leave me lonely and unhappy without a soul near me who
cares for me. All my joy you wished to take from me, all my joy."

He would have gone on forever, overwhelmed Petter Nord with
reproaches, killed him with curses; but the latter tore himself
away and ran, as if an earthquake had shaken the town and all the
houses were tumbling down.

IV

Behind the town the mountain walls rise perpendicularly, but after
one has climbed up them by steep stone steps and slippery pine
paths, one finds that the mountain spreads out into a wide,
undulating plateau. And there lies an enchanted wood.

Over the whole stretch of the mountain stands a pine wood without
pine-needles; a wood which dies in the spring and grows green in
the autumn; a lifeless wood, which blossoms with the joy of life
when other trees are laying aside their green garments; a wood that
grows without any one knowing how, that stands green in winter
frosts and brown in summer dews.

It is a newly-planted wood. Young firs have been forced to take
root in the clefts between the granite blocks. Their tough roots
have bored down like sharp wedges into