e the ancestral bridal crown on
her head, and the little silver disks around its edge tinkled and shook
as she walked. They hailed her with firing of guns and loud hurrahs
as she stepped into the boat; still she did not raise her eyes, but
remained silent. A small cannon, also an heir-loom in the family, was
placed amidships, and Truls, with his violin, took his seat in the prow.
A large solitary cloud, gold-rimmed but with thunder in its breast,
sailed across the sky and threw its shadow over the bridal boat as it
was pushed out from the shore, and the shadow fell upon the bride's
countenance too; and when she lifted it, the mother of the bridegroom,
who sat opposite her, shrank back, for the countenance looked hard, as
if carved in stone--in the eyes a mute, hopeless appeal; on the lips a
frozen prayer. The shadow of thunder upon a life that was opening--it
was an ill omen, and its gloom sank into the hearts of the wedding
guests. They spoke in undertones and threw pitying glances at the bride.
Then at length Syvert Stein lost his patience.

"In sooth," cried he, springing up from his seat, "where is to-day the
cheer that is wont to abide in the Norseman's breast? Methinks I see but
sullen airs and ill-boding glances. Ha, fiddler, now move your strings
lustily! None of your funeral airs, my lad, but a merry tune that shall
sing through marrow and bone, and make the heart leap in the bosom."

Truls heard the words, and in a slow, mechanical way he took the violin
out of its case and raised it to his chin. Syvert in the mean while put
a huge silver beer-jug to his mouth, and, pledging his guests, emptied
it even to the dregs. But the bride's cheek was pale; and it was so
still in the boat that every man could hear his own breathing.

"Ha, to-day is Syvert Stein's wedding-day!" shouted the bridegroom,
growing hot with wrath. "Let us try if the iron voice of the cannon can
wake my guests from their slumber."

He struck a match and put it to the touch-hole of the cannon; a long
boom rolled away over the surface of the waters and startled the echoes
of the distant glaciers. A faint hurrah sounded from the nearest craft,
but there came no response from the bridal boat. Syvert pulled the
powder-horn from his pocket, laughed a wild laugh, and poured the whole
contents of the horn into the mouth of the cannon.

"Now may the devil care for his own," roared he, and sprang up upon the
row-bench. Then there came a low murmuring