"Ay, ay," answered the first speaker, "Lovisa knows,--Lovisa is the wisest woman we have in these parts--that's true! The girl's a witch, for sure!"

And they resumed their work in gloomy silence. Not one of them would have willingly labored on Olaf Guldmar's land, had not the wages he offered been above the usual rate of hire,--and times were bad in Norway. But otherwise, the superst.i.tious fear of him was so great that his fields might have gone untilled and his crops ungathered,--however, as matters stood, none of them could deny that he was a good paymaster, and just in his dealings with those whom he employed.

Thelma and Sigurd took their way in silence across a perfumed stretch of meadow-land,--the one naturally fertile spot in that somewhat barren district. Plenty of flowers blossomed at their feet, but they did not pause to gather these, for Sigurd was anxious to get to the stream where the purple pansies grew. They soon reached it--it was a silvery clear ribbon of water that unrolled itself in bright folds, through green, transparent tunnels of fern and waving gra.s.s--leaping now and then with a swift dash over a smooth block of stone or jagged rock--but for the most part gliding softly, with a happy, self-satisfied murmur, as though it were some drowsy spirit dreaming joyous dreams. Here nodded the grave, purple-leaved pansies,--legendary consolers of the heart,--their little, quaint, expressive physiognomies turned in every direction; up to the sky, as though absorbing the sunlight,--down to the ground, with an almost severe air of meditation, or curled sideways on their stems in a sort of sly reflectiveness.

Sigurd was among them at once--they were his friends,--his playmates, his favorites,--and he gathered them quickly, yet tenderly, murmuring as he did so, "Yes, you must all die; but death does not hurt; no! life hurts, but not death! See! as I pluck you, you all grow wings and fly away--away to other meadows, and bloom again." He paused, and a puzzled look came into his eyes. He turned toward Thelma, who had seated herself on a little knoll just above the stream, "Tell me, mistress," he said, "do the flowers go to heaven?"

She smiled. "I think so, dear Sigurd," she said; "I hope so! I am almost sure they do."

Sigurd nodded with an air of satisfaction.

"That is right," he observed. "It would never do to leave them behind, you know! They would be missed, and we should have to come down again and fetch them--" A crackling among the branches of some trees startled him,--he looked round, and uttered a peculiar cry like the cry of a wild animal, and exclaimed, "Spies, spies! ha! ha! secret, wicked faces that are afraid to show themselves! Come out! Mistress, mistress! make them come out!"

Thelma rose, surprised as his gesticulations, and came towards him; to her utter astonishment she found herself confronted by old Lovisa Elsland, and the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy's servant, Ulrika. On both women's faces there was a curious expression of mingled fear, triumph, and malevolence. Lovisa was the first to break silence.

"At last!" she croaked, in a sort of slow, monotonous tone "At last, Thelma Guldmar, the Lord has delivered you into my hands!"

Thelma drew Sigurd close to her, and slipped one arm around him.

"Poor soul!" she said softly, with sweet pitying eyes fixed fearlessly on the old hag's withered, evil visage. "You must be tired, wandering about on the hills as you do! If you are her friend," she added, addressing Ulrika, "why do you not make her rest at home and keep warm?

She is so old and feeble!"

"Feeble!" shrieked Lovisa; "feeble!" And she seemed choking with pa.s.sion. "If I had my fingers at your throat, you should then see if I am feeble! I--" Ulrika pulled her by the arm, and whispered something which had the effect of calming her a little. "Well," she said, "you speak then! I can wait!"

Ulrika cleared her husky voice, and fixed her dull eyes on the girl's radiant countenance.

"You must go away," she said coldly and briefly; "You and your father, and this creature," and she pointed contemptuously to the staring Sigurd. "Do you understand? You must leave the Alten Fjord. The people are tired of you--tired of bad harvests, ill-luck, sickness, and continued poverty. You are the cause of all our miseries,--and we have resolved you shall not stay among us. Go quickly,--take the blight and pestilence of your presence elsewhere! Go! or if you will not--"

"We shall burn, burn, burn, and utterly destroy!" interrupted Lovisa, with a sort of eldritch shriek. "The strong pine rafters of Olaf Guldmar's dwelling shall be kindled into flame to light the hills with crimson, far and near! Not a plank shall be spared!--not a vestige of his pride be left--"

"Stop!" said Thelma quietly. "What do you mean? You must both be very mad or very wicked! You want us to go away--you threaten to set fire to our home--why? We have done you no harm. Tell me, poor soul!" and she turned with queenly forbearance to Lovisa, "is it for Britta's sake that you would burn the house she lives in? That is not wise! You cursed me the other day,--and why? What have I done that you should hate me?"

The old woman regarded her with steadfast, cruel eyes.

"You are your mother's child!" she said. "I hated her--I hate you! You are a witch!--the village knows it--Mr. Dyceworthy knows it! Mr.

Dyceworthy says we shall be justified in the Lord's sight for wreaking evil upon you! Evil, evil be on those of evil deeds!"

"Then shall the evil fall on Mr. Dyceworthy," said the girl calmly. "He is wicked in himself,--and doubly wicked to encourage _you_ in wickedness. He is ignorant and false--why do you believe in such a man?"

"He is a saint--a saint!" cried Lovisa wildly. "And shall the daughter of Satan withstand his power?" And she clapped her hands in a sort of fierce ecstasy.

Thelma glanced at her pityingly and smiled. "A saint! Poor thing, how little you know him!" she said. "And it is a pity you should hate me, for I have done you no wrong. I would do good to all if I knew how,--tell me can I comfort you, or make your life more cheerful? It must be hard to be so old and all alone!"

"Your death would comfort me!" returned Lovisa grimly. "Why do you keep Britta from me?"

"I do not keep her," Thelma answered. "She stays with me because she is happy. Why do you grudge her, her happiness? And as for burning my father's house, surely you would not do so wicked and foolish a thing!--but still, you must do as you choose, for it is not possible that we shall leave the Altenfjord to please you."

Here Ulrika started forward angrily. "You defy us!" she cried. "You will not go?" And in her excitement she seized Thelma's arm roughly.

This action was too much for Sigurd; he considered it an attack on the person of his beloved mistress and he resented it at once in his own fashion. Throwing himself on Ulrika with sudden ferocity, he pushed and beat her back as though he were a wolf-hound struggling with refractory prey; and though the ancient Lovisa rushed to the rescue, and Thelma imploringly called upon her zealous champion to desist,--all remonstrances were unavailing, till Sigurd had reduced his enemy to the most abject and whimpering terror.

"A demon--a demon!" she sobbed and moaned, as the valiant dwarf at last released her from his clutches; and, tossing his long, fair locks over his misshapen shoulders, laughed loudly and triumphantly with delight at his victory. "Lovisa! Lovisa Elsland! this is your doing; you brought this upon me! I may die now, and you will not care! O Lord, Lord, have mercy--"

Suddenly she stopped; her eyes dilated,--her face grew grey with the sickening pallor of fear. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed to Sigurd--his fantastic dress had become disordered in the affray, and his jacket was torn open,--and on his bare chest a long red scar in the shape of a cross was distinctly visible. "That scar!" she muttered. "How did he get that scar?"

Lovisa stared at her in impatient derision. Thelma was too surprised to answer immediately, and Sigurd took it upon himself to furnish what he considered a crushing reply.

"Odin's mark!" he said, patting the scar with much elation. "No wonder you are afraid of it! Everybody knows it--birds, flowers, trees, and stars! Even you--you are afraid!"

And he laughed again, and snapped his fingers in her face. The woman shuddered violently. Step by step she drew near to the wondering Thelma, and spoke in low and trembling accents, without a trace of her former anger.

"They say you are wicked," she said slowly, "and that the devil has your soul ready, before you are dead! But I am not afraid of you. No; I will forgive you, and pray for you, if you will tell me, . . ." She paused, and then continued, as with a strong effort. "Yes--tell me _who_ is this Sigurd?"

"Sigurd is a foundling," answered Thelma simply. "He was floating about in the Fjord in a basket, and my father saved him. He was quite a baby.

He had this scar on his chest then. He has lived with us ever since."

Ulrika looked at her searchingly,--then bent her head,--whether in grat.i.tude or despair it was difficult to say.

"Lovisa Elsland," she said monotonously, "I am going home. I cannot help you any longer! I am tired--ill." Here she suddenly broke down, and, throwing up her arms with a wild gesture, she cried, "O G.o.d, G.o.d! O G.o.d!" and burst into a stormy pa.s.sion of sobs and tears.

Thelma, touched by her utter misery, would have offered consolation, but Lovisa repelled her with a fierce gesture.

"Go!" said the old woman harshly. "You have cast your spells upon her--I am witness of your work! And shall you escape just punishment? No; not while there is a G.o.d in heaven, and I, Lovisa Elsland, live to perform His bidding! Go,--white devil that you are!--go and carry misfortune upon misfortune to your fine gentleman-lover! Ah!" and she chuckled maliciously as the girl recoiled from her, her proud face growing suddenly paler, "have I touched you there? Lie in his breast, and it shall be as though a serpent stung him,--kiss his lips, and your touch shall be poison,--live in doubt, and die in misery! Go! and may all evil follow you!"

She raised her staff and waved it majestically, as though she drew a circle in the air,--Thelma smiled pityingly, but deigned no answer to her wild ravings.

"Come, Sigurd!" she said simply, "let us return home. It is growing late--father will wonder where we are."

"Yes, yes," agreed Sigurd, seizing the basket full of the pansies he had plucked. "The sunshine is slipping away, and we cannot live with shadows! These are not real women, mistress; they are dreams--black dreams,--I have often fought with dreams, and I know how to make them afraid! See how the one weeps because she knows me,--and the other is just going to fall into a grave. I can hear the clods thrown on her head--thump--thump! It does not take long to bury a dream! Come, mistress, let us follow the sunshine!"

And, taking the hand she extended towards him, he turned away, looking back once, however, to call out loudly--

"Good-bye, bad dreams!"

As they disappeared behind the trees, Lovisa turned angrily to the still-sobbing Ulrika.

"What is this folly?" she exclaimed, striking her staff fiercely into the ground. "Art mad or bewitched?"

Ulrika looked up,--her plain face swollen and stained with weeping.

"O Lord, have mercy upon me! O Lord, forgive me!" she moaned. "I did not know it--how _could_ I know?"

Lovisa grew so impatient that she seized her by the shoulder and shook her violently.

"Know what?" she cried; "know what?"

"Sigurd is my son!" said Ulrika, with a sort of solemn resignation,--then, with a sudden gesture, she threw her hands above her head, crying, "My son, my son! The child I thought I had killed! The Lord be praised I did not murder him!"