When the widow from Strömshagen rode quietly up to the house, it was evident that she came on some important errand; old Jon went in and put on his coat. Entering the yard, she stopped at a short distance from the door, and behaved very differently in every respect from what would have been expected from the mother of a rich peasant, who boasted of his money. She made a low bow as she entered, modestly refused to sit down, and acted as if she desired to depreciate herself and everything connected with her. She had never had this manner in her poorest days. When her son’s return was mentioned, she answered sighing, that she should take little pleasure in it if he were always as sad as he seemed now. Jon and his wife were not a little surprised at these words, but Sigrid looked earnestly at her, and a faint flush crimsoned her cheeks. At last the mother frankly said that she had come to speak a few words to Sigrid alone.
The two went into an adjoining room. As Sigrid crossed the threshold, every tinge of color faded from her face, and her expression grew cold and proud. Jon shook his head and thought that looked like “no” again.
But when both came out, Sigrid’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes wet with tears, though they were evidently not tears of grief, while her hands trembled so that she could be of no use when she went to help Gjermund’s mother on the horse.
When the latter came home, Gjermund learned what he had probably suspected; that the breach had been a serious one, but it had now been healed so far that it would probably be well for him to go to Evjen himself. The last words his mother uttered with so peculiar an expression that Gjermund’s heart swelled with joy; he gave her no rest until she had told him all.
At first Sigrid had said, with icy coldness, that she thought Gjermund now cared more for his money than for her—otherwise he would not have remained absent so long, without sending her any message; she therefore believed it would be better for everything to continue as it was, and say no more about the matter, as it could only be painful to both. With these words she had put her hand on the door, to end the conversation; nor did she come any nearer when the mother raised her handkerchief to her eyes, and said that this was a sorrowful end to all the struggles of her youth, but merely answered curtly that people in this world strive for many things without attaining them; she, it is true, had had but one goal in view, but Gjermund now had other plans. When the mother replied that Gjermund would gladly give up his wandering life, and become a farmer again if she would consent to be his wife, and she ought not to send the Grey home with such sorrowful tidings, she had suddenly bent her head, embraced her, and wept till it seemed as if she would never stop, but looked so happy when she at last raised her eyes again.
That same afternoon Gjermund and his mother went to Evjen to ask the parents for their daughter. The two young people sat together in the dusky room, and would not unclasp their hands. But Sigrid was at last obliged to go out to make some cream porridge. Gjermund followed, and when the dish came in it was spoiled, a thing that had never happened before under Sigrid’s hands. Old Jon said, laughing, that it was because the weather was too warm outside.
The widow made several attempts to go home, before, at a late hour, mother and son at last departed.
A few days after—matters move quickly on the mountains—the question of fixing the wedding-day was discussed. Now it was Gjermund who urged, and Sigrid who asked delay.
On a beautiful autumn Sunday morning the church was decorated for Sigrid. She wore the bridal wreath on her fair brow, and the bride’s horse waited at the door; it was the Grey, now in good condition, and still tolerably swift-footed.
An unusually large crowd had assembled in the church to see the handsome couple. As they stood before the altar, both were of equal height, but the broad-shouldered Gjermund looked every inch the man.
The festivities were what had been expected when Sigrid Evjen should become a bride. According to the custom of the country, wedding-gifts were numerous. Old Jon’s present was a deed of Evjen—each of the daughters would have a farm, and Evjen was Sigrid’s inheritance. The old people had given up the house, and wished to end their days in a newly-built one at Livöre.
“Well, now that Gjermund is master of both farms,” Jon said jestingly over a mug of foaming beer to the wedded pair, “he must build the bridge over the ravine for both.”
“The bridge was built when these two joined hands,” replied Gjermund’s mother, “but both he and the Grey had to wander about the world a long time to get the logs.”
“Yes, almost too long,” said Jon.
On Kvalholm, down in Helgeland,4 dwelt a poor fisherman, Elias by name, with his wife Karen, who had been in service at the parson’s over at Alstad. They had built them a hut here, and he used to go out fishing by the day about the Lofotens.
There could be very little doubt that the lonely Kvalholm was haunted. Whenever her husband was away, Karen heard all
