more imperishable than these innocent roses at their feet. So
long as Gausta stands, and the Rjukan sings his thunder-song, will the
memory of Mari-Stien live, and his tales of joy and sorrow be told; so
long as the ice-sea of Folgefond rests over his silent, dark secrets,[1]
so long will the little island become green, of which it is said, that
it is eternally wetted with the tears of true love.

Be it who it may--they who write with their own life, song and legend,
who express the depths of being by the silent but mighty language of
deeds--they are the real authors, the first poets of the earth. In the
second rank stand those who relate that which the others have lived.

When the day's work was over, and Mrs. Astrid had again betaken herself
to her chamber after her slight evening meal, it gave Harald great
pleasure to read aloud or to relate histories to Susanna, whilst she
sewed, or her spinning-wheel hummed often in lively emulation of Larina
and Karina, and whilst the flames of the fire danced up the chimney, and
threw their warm joyous gleams over the assembled company. It pleased
Harald infinitely to have Susanna for his auditor, to hear her
exclamation of childish terror and astonishment, or also her hearty
laughter, or to see her tears over his now merry and now sorrowful
tales.

How deeply was Susanna's heart touched by the relation of Mari-Stien,
whose path over the mountain on the edge of the abyss of Rjukan-force,
which in these days the traveller treads with dread, was discovered by a
young girl guided by the courage of love. It was by this path that the
beautiful Mary of Vestfjordal went with light and firm foot to meet the
friend of her childhood and her beloved, Ejstein Halfvordsen. But the
avarice of her father separated them, and Mary's tears and prayers
obliged Ejstein to fly, in order to escape the schemes of a treacherous
rival against his life. Years passed on, and Mary remained steadfast in
her faith. Her father died. Ejstein had, by his bravery and his
magnanimity, made his former enemy his friend, and the lovers were now
about to meet after a long separation, never again to be divided.
Ejstein hastened by the shorter road of the Mari-Stien to meet his
beloved. Long had she awaited him. She saw him coming, and his name
escaped her with a cry of joy. He saw her--stretched forth his arms, as
his whole soul, eagerly towards her, and he forgot--that he had no
pinions. He fell, and the Rjukan swal