the birch copse above the Skogli mansion; now
it sounded like a wail of distress, then like a fierce, defiant laugh,
and now again the music seemed to hush itself into a heart-broken,
sorrowful moan, and the people crossed themselves, and whispered: "Our
Father;" but Borghild sat at her gable window and listened long to the
weird strain. The midnight came, but she stirred not. With the hour
of midnight the music ceased. From the windows of hall and kitchen the
light streamed out into the damp air, and the darkness stood like a wall
on either side; within, maids and lads were busy brewing, baking, and
washing, for in a week there was to be a wedding on the farm.

The week went and the wedding came. Truls had not closed his eyes all
that night, and before daybreak he sauntered down along the beach and
gazed out upon the calm fjord, where the white-winged sea-birds whirled
in great airy surges around the bare crags. Far up above the noisy
throng an ospray sailed on the blue expanse of the sky, and quick as
thought swooped down upon a halibut which had ventured to take a peep
at the rising sun. The huge fish struggled for a moment at the water's
edge, then, with a powerful stroke of its tail, which sent the spray
hissing through the air, dived below the surface. The bird of prey gave
a loud scream, flapped fiercely with its broad wings, and for several
minutes a thickening cloud of applauding ducks and seagulls and
showers of spray hid the combat from the observer's eye. When the birds
scattered, the ospray had vanished, and the waters again glittered
calmly in the morning sun. Truls stood long, vacantly staring out upon
the scene of the conflict, and many strange thoughts whirled through his
head.

"Halloo, fiddler!" cried a couple of lads who had come to clear the
wedding boats, "you are early on foot to-day. Here is a scoop. Come on
and help us bail the boats."

Truls took the scoop, and looked at it as if he had never seen such a
thing before; he moved about heavily, hardly knowing what he did, but
conscious all the while of his own great misery. His limbs seemed half
frozen, and a dull pain gathered about his head and in his breast--in
fact, everywhere and nowhere.

About ten o'clock the bridal procession descended the slope to the
fjord. Syvert Stein, the bridegroom, trod the earth with a firm, springy
step, and spoke many a cheery word to the bride, who walked, silent and
with downcast eyes, at his side. She wor