Trond Vigfusson must have made a rich harvest of legends at Kvaerk, at
least judging by the time he stayed there; for days and weeks passed, and
he had yet said nothing of going. Not that anybody wished him to go; no,
on the contrary, the longer he stayed the more indispensable he seemed to
all; and Lage Ulfson could hardly think without a shudder of the
possibility of his ever having to leave them. For Aasa, his only child,
was like another being in the presence of this stranger; all that weird,
forest-like intensity, that wild, half supernatural tinge in her character
which in a measure excluded her from the blissful feeling of fellowship
with other men, and made her the strange, lonely creature she was,—all
this seemed to vanish as dew in the morning sun when Vigfusson’s eyes
rested upon her; and with every day that passed, her human and womanly
nature gained a stronger hold upon her. She followed him like his shadow
on all his wanderings, and when they sat down together by the wayside, she
would sing, in a clear, soft voice, an ancient lay or ballad, and he would
catch her words on his paper, and smile at the happy prospect of
perpetuating what otherwise would have been lost. Aasa’s love, whether
conscious or not, was to him an everlasting source of strength, was a
revelation of himself to himself, and a clearing and widening power which
brought ever more and more of the universe within the scope of his vision.
So they lived on from day to day and from week to week, and, as old Lage
remarked, never had Kvaerk been the scene of so much happiness. Not a
single time during Vigfusson’s stay had Aasa fled to the forest, not a
meal had she missed, and at the hours for family devotion she had taken
her seat at the big table with the rest and apparently listened with as
much attention and interest. Indeed, all this time Aasa seemed purposely
to avoid the dark haunts of the woods, and, whenever she could, chose the
open highway; not even Vigfusson’s entreaties could induce her to tread
the tempting paths that led into the forest’s gloom.
“And why not, Aasa?” he would say; “summer is ten times summer there when
the drowsy noonday spreads its trembling maze of shadows between those
huge, venerable trunks. You can feel the summer creeping into your very
heart and soul, there!”
“Oh, Vigfusson,” she would answer, shaking her head mournfully, “for a
hundred paths that lead in, there is only one that leads out again, and
sometimes even that one is nowhere to be found.”
He understood her not, but fearing to ask, he remained silent.
His words and his eyes always drew her nearer and nearer to him; and the
forest and its strange voices seemed a dark, opposing influence, which
strove to take possession of her heart and to wrest her away from him
forever; she helplessly clung to him; every thought and emotion of her
soul clustered about him, and every hope of life and happiness was staked
on him.
One evening Vigfusson and old Lage Ulfson had been walking about the
fields to look at the crop, both smoking their evening pipes. But as they
came down toward the brink whence the path leads between the two adjoining
rye-fields, they heard a sweet, sad voice crooning some old ditty down
between the birch-trees at the precipice; they stopped to listen, and soon
recognized Aasa’s yellow hair over the tops the rye; the shadow as of a
painful emotion flitted over the father’s countenance, and he turned his
back on his guest and started to go; then again paused, and said,
imploringly, “Try to get her home if you can, friend Vigfusson.”
Vigfusson nodded, and Lage went; the song had ceased for a moment, now it
began again:
Her voice fell to a low unintelligible murmur; then it rose, and the last
verses came, clear, soft, and low, drifting on the evening breeze:
The young man felt the blood rushing to his face—his heart beat
violently. There was a keen sense of guilt in the blush on his cheek, a
loud accusation in the throbbing pulse and the swelling heart-beat. Had he
not stood there behind the maiden’s back and cunningly peered into her
soul’s holy of holies? True, he loved Aasa; at least he thought he did,
and the conviction was growing stronger with every day that passed. And
now he had no doubt that he had gained her heart. It was not so much the
words of the ballad which had betrayed the secret; he hardly knew what it
was, but somehow the truth had flashed upon him, and he could no longer
doubt.
Vigfusson sat down on the moss-grown rock and pondered. How long he sat
there he did not know, but when he rose and looked around, Aasa was gone.
Then remembering her father’s request to bring her home, he hastened up
the hill-side toward the mansion, and searched for her in all directions.
It was near midnight when he returned to Kvaerk, where Aasa sat in her
high gable window, still humming the weird melody of the old ballad.
By what reasoning Vigfusson arrived at his final conclusion is difficult
to tell. If he had acted according to his first and perhaps most generous
impulse, the matter would soon have been decided; but he was all the time
possessed of a vague fear of acting dishonorably, and it was probably this
very fear which made him do what, to the minds of those whose friendship
and hospitality he had accepted, had something of the appearance he wished
so carefully to avoid. Aasa was rich; he had nothing; it was a reason for
delay, but hardly a conclusive one. They did not know him; he must go out
in the world and prove himself worthy of her. He would come back when he
should have compelled the world to respect him; for as yet he had done
nothing. In fact, his arguments were good and honorable enough, and there
would have been no fault to find with him, had the object of his love been
as capable of reasoning as he was himself. But Aasa, poor thing, could do
nothing by halves; a nature like hers brooks no delay; to her love was
life or it was death.
The next morning he appeared at breakfast with his knapsack on his back,
and otherwise equipped for his journey. It was of no use that Elsie cried
and begged him to stay, that Lage joined his prayers to hers, and that
Aasa stood staring at him with a bewildered gaze. Vigfusson shook hands
with them all, thanked them for their kindness to him, and promised to
return; he held Aasa’s hand long in his, but when he released it, it
dropped helplessly at her side.