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 ^
 
 NORSEMAN'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 BY 
 HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN, 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 SHELDON & COMPANY. 
 1875.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 SHELDON & COMPANY, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 NKWBURGH STEREOTYPE Co.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACK 
 
 In Search of a Margaret 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Retrospect 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A Day at Wartburg 38 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic 56 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 In Rosenthal 76 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Brother Jonathan 's Ball 100 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Ruth's Journal 124 
 
 2041?
 
 4 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FAGS 
 
 The Catastrophe J 33 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 To the Rescue .'"' I 5 I 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Clock Strikes l6 7 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 The Cathedral Tower l8 7 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Land of the Vikings 212 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Ruth's Arrival 2 37 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Glacier Expedition . . . .262 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Conclusion 291
 
 A NORSEMAN'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 In Search of a Margaret. 
 
 LAF VARBERG had been reading " Faust " 
 since the early dawn. He knew it was not 
 exactly the right thing to do on a Sunday, but 
 Germany had had rather a demoralizing effect 
 upon him, and during his six months' stay in 
 Leipsic the original rigor of his notions about 
 the sanctity of the Sabbath had perceptibly 
 relaxed. It was about ten o'clock in the fore- 
 noon. The sun shone brightly, but to Olaf 
 Varberg's eyes it wore a look of perplexity, 
 and he could not get rid of the idea that it 
 was staring directly at him, as much as to say 
 that it was surprised to see him. He leisurely 
 sauntered down the promenade An der Pleisse. 
 The crisp snow crackled under his feet (a very
 
 8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 unusual thing, by the way, for Leipsic) and the 
 tall trees of the avenue now and then shook 
 little whimsical showers of hoar-frost down 
 over the hats of the Sunday-dressed idlers. 
 In the middle of the street, people had gathered 
 in groups of fours and fives, and stood gazing 
 through lorgnettes and opera glasses at a bal- 
 loon which was just rising over the house-tops. 
 They seemed to be thoroughly in earnest ; their 
 faces wore an air of profound meditation, and 
 they occasionally removed their glasses in order 
 to discuss the phenomenon with their neighbors 
 in a manner which might have led you to sup- 
 pose that it was a matter of the gravest scien- 
 tific import. Students with skyblue or scarlet 
 caps, and with deep scars in their faces, lounged 
 up and down the promenade, leisurely smoking 
 their Sunday cigar, and staring impudently at 
 the passing maidens. But Varberg saw nothing 
 of all this. The animated scenes of the street 
 moved before his eyes like an unmeaning pa- 
 geantry. His lungs seemed still to breathe the 
 mediaeval atmosphere of the great tragedy, and 
 with a very pardonable substitution' of " her" for 
 " him," he kept repeating to himself this stanza :
 
 In Search of a Margaret. 9 
 
 My bosom yearns 
 For her alone, 
 Ah, dared I clasp her, 
 And hold, and own!* 
 
 The verse hummed and buzzed in his ears ; 
 it exerted an almost painful fascination over him, 
 not unlike the feeling he had had when, on the 
 way across the Atlantic, the propeller of the 
 steamboat, with a nightmarish regularity, had 
 persisted in drumming Richard Rushmore, 
 Richard Rushmore, the name of one of the 
 passengers on board. He had been afraid of 
 that man ever afterward. 
 
 Varberg had for years had a passionate 
 yearning for Germany ; it had ever been a land 
 of promise to him the home of art, roman- 
 ticism, and poetry. " A fair-haired German 
 maiden " had always been his ideal of womanly 
 loveliness and perfection ; and now he had been 
 nearly three months in Germany and had not 
 yet found anything which even approached that 
 much-cherished ideal. To be sure, he didn't 
 know many German ladies; but those whom 
 he did know were insufferably dull. Now he 
 must be daring, or take the chance of losing his 
 
 * Taylor's translation. 
 1*
 
 io A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 opportunity ; he must keep his eyes open, then 
 take a bold step, as Faust did at the church 
 door, and for the rest trust to fortune. Still, 
 ^Varberg had no intention of giving his love 
 romance a tragic denouement ; he was well satis- 
 fled to have it end, in the old conventional way, 
 with a happy marriage. " The age of Margarets 
 can certainly not be past," said he to himself, 
 " and that beautiful simplicity which is a peculiar 
 trait of the Germans is a thing which can hardly 
 be overrated in this blast age of ours." 
 
 Amid such meditations Varberg had reached 
 the Opera Platz, and was about to change his 
 course toward Rosenthal, when suddenly he 
 observed a young lady crossing the street and 
 advancing toward him. She was tastefully and 
 fashionably dressed, was tall and well formed, 
 but her features were of a clearer, more decided 
 cut than one usually finds in Germany. Varberg 
 came to a sudden stop, and looked at her with 
 an expression as if he were inclined to doubt the 
 evidence of his senses. She dropped her eyes 
 and turned her face away as she passed him. 
 Under other circumstances he would never have 
 thought of pursuing a lady; but in the uncer-
 
 In Search of a Margaret. 1 1 
 
 tain glamour of romance which to-day had pos- 
 sessed his mind, he had an absurd sense of his 
 own irresponsibility, and, little heeding whatever 
 scruples might still have been lurking in the 
 depth of his heart, he deliberately turned on his 
 heel and followed close after her down the snow- 
 sparkling avenue. And was she then so strik- 
 ingly beautiful ? Yes ; there dwelt in her fea- 
 tures a subtle, indefinable charm, which upon 
 Varberg, at least, made the impression of beauty. 
 He could hardly have told, an hour later, whether 
 her nose was straight or curved, but neverthe- 
 less the total impression remained indelibly fixed 
 in his memory. 
 
 The bells of St. Thomas began to chime, 
 and the young girl hastened down the street, 
 directing her steps toward the church door. 
 Varberg, without questioning the propriety of 
 what he was doing, also doubled his speed, 
 and entered the venerable edifice ; with charac- 
 teristic masculine obtuseness he even imagined 
 himself unobserved, and began to revolve in his 
 mind how he should in the most delicate manner 
 attract her attention, without shocking her sensi- 
 bility or disturbing her devotions. The grand
 
 12 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 ( orchestra was just performing in St. Thomas 
 that day, and the church was consequently 
 crowded. The Leipsickers usually leave when 
 the music is finished, and only a few women 
 and children remain to listen to the sermon. 
 As the crowd in the aisle began to disperse, 
 Varberg looked about him in the hope of dis- 
 covering his fair unknown ; but for awhile his 
 search was vain. A sense of desperate reck- 
 lessness came over him. " She shall not escape 
 me," he murmured fiercely, and with great 
 strides approached the door at the opposite 
 end of the transept. 
 
 Then suddenly he caught a glimpse of a fur- 
 trimmed bonnet, which he thought he recognized, 
 and saw a slender figure almost hid in the sha- 
 dow of a huge column. It was she ; she pressed 
 herself more tightly up against the stone as he 
 drew near, but still she did not appear to observe 
 him ; her eyes were steadfastly fixed on the 
 hymn book. His resolution was quickly formed ; 
 he slackened his speed, and, as if quite by ac- 
 cident, dropped down into the seat on the other 
 side of the pillar. The congregation began to 
 chant in a sort of feeble, irregular way, and
 
 In Search of a Margaret. 13 
 
 Varberg felt an irresistible desire to beat the 
 measure with his foot. The fact was, he had 
 no sooner sat down than conscientious scruples 
 woke within him; and as men are apt to do 
 when finding themselves in an absurd situation, 
 he tried to forget one absurdity by venting his 
 energies on another. He did not observe that 
 the people in the neighboring pews were all 
 gazing at him, neither did he see the shocked 
 expression in their pious countenances. " Er ist 
 Auslander" (he is a foreigner), he heard some- 
 body whispering behind him, and looking up he 
 met the eye of an old gray-headed beadle, who 
 had just entered the pew, and had stopped in 
 front of him : 
 
 "Mein Herr," said the man, "this is the 
 women's side. You are disturbing the worship, 
 and I must request you to leave the church." 
 
 Varberg awoke as from a dream, jumped up 
 from his seat, and the blood rushed to his head 
 and throbbed violently in his temples. He sud- 
 denly realized where he was. Throwing a glance 
 at the other side of the pillar, he saw the unknown 
 lady covering her face with her handkerchief and 
 shaking with suppressed laughter.
 
 14 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " You must come at once," said the beadle, 
 as the other hesitated to obey the order. 
 
 The situation was evidently bad enough ; 
 and Varberg had sense enough left to know that 
 resistance would make it worse. So, summoning 
 all the calmness that was still at his disposal, he 
 quietly picked up his hat, and majestically 
 marched out of the church. But no sooner had he 
 reached the street than his folly stood before him 
 in all its terrible magnitude. Like a madman he 
 rushed down the avenue, and barely escaped 
 being challenged by a couple of students, whom 
 he ran against without asking their pardon. Hav- 
 ing gained the house where he lived, he rang the 
 bell furiously, not remembering that he carried 
 the key in his pocket. The meek little landlady 
 stared wonderingly at him as he slammed the 
 door behind him and breathlessly hurried into 
 his room. There he found " Faust " lying open 
 upon the table, where he had left it in the morn- 
 ing. He seized the book, and in a fit of indigna- 
 tion hurled it against the wall, so that the leaves 
 flew about his ears. 
 
 " The devil take all the German Margarets," 
 he cried. " It was the first time I set out in 
 search of an adventure, and it shall be the last."
 
 Retrospect* 15 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 Retrospect. 
 
 "T7OUR months had passed, and the spring 
 * had come. To Varberg these had been long 
 and weary months ; and although he had plunged 
 deeply into German literature and philosophy, 
 and made excellent use of his time, he still was 
 painfully aware of the emptiness of his existence, 
 and heartily yearned for something to break its 
 monotony. A hundred times he bad resolved 
 forever to banish the Margaret adventure from 
 his thought, and a hundred times he had per- 
 suaded himself that he had actually succeeded. 
 Nevertheless he bad persistently haunted the 
 churches and the promenades on Sundays and 
 week days, and always with a half confessed desire 
 to catch another glimpse of the fair lady whose 
 first impression of him, he suspected, must have 
 been anything but favorable. He had a vague 
 idea that merely seeing her a second time would
 
 1 6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 necessarily correct this impression ; he was 
 convinced that his wishes went no further, and 
 that the fascination which she had exercised 
 over him at their first meeting had been nothing 
 but the whim of a morbidly overwrought fancy. 
 It was all due to " Faust," he thought, and he 
 had carefully shunned the book forever after- 
 ward. But now spring had come, and nature 
 was awakening to a stronger and more conscious 
 life. And Varberg too felt his blood running 
 more swiftly in his veins ; bolder fancies flitted 
 through his brain, and a vague restlessness dif- 
 fused itself through all his being. It was the 
 old Norse blood which was stirring, and like his 
 Viking fathers he yearned for great deeds, and 
 planned wide excursions over the land and over 
 the sea. His first choice fell upon Wartburg. 
 
 Olaf Varberg was, as has already been 
 hinted, by birth a Norwegian. His childhood 
 had been spent on the fjords of Norway, where 
 the grand solemnity of nature had tended to 
 foster a certain brooding disposition of his mind. 
 Every hill, every stone, and every tree was a 
 monument of past heroism, or at least to his 
 wakeful sense suggested some untold record of
 
 Retrospect. 17 
 
 the Norseman's forgotten glory. Not a hundred 
 steps from his home stood King Bele's venerable 
 tomb, and on this very strand, where so often 
 he had sat pensively gazing down into the blue 
 deep, it was that Frithjof landed in the summer 
 nights, and hastened to those forbidden meet- 
 ings with his beloved hi Balder 's grove; and 
 not very far from the house there was a huge 
 birch, which certainly must have been centuries 
 old. It grew upon a green hillock which the 
 boy fancied looked like a tomb. Here, under 
 this tree, he had spent perhaps the happiest 
 moments of his life. In the long, light summer 
 evenings he would sit there for hours, listening 
 to the strange, soft melodies of the wind as it 
 breathed through the full-leafed crown. 
 
 He felt sure that it was a Scald who was 
 buried hert; for in the songs of the wind he 
 had seemed to recognize the same strain that 
 had rung in his ears so often, while reading the 
 Scaldic lays in the old Sagas. Then strange 
 emotions would thrill through his breast; he 
 felt that he was himself a Scald, and that he was 
 destined to revive the expiring song and the 
 half-forgotten traditions of the great old time.
 
 1 8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 When he was twelve years old he had himself 
 written a long poem which he had entitled 
 " The Saga of the Scald." He had only ven- 
 tured to read it to his grandmother, but she had 
 cried over it for a whole day, and that he felt to 
 be a great reward. His next effort was a tragedy 
 in which the hero was killed in the first act, and 
 was a ghost in the remaining four. His grand- 
 father, in whose house he had been brought up, 
 did not look with so favorable an eye upon his 
 poetic labors, and even did everything in his 
 power to discourage them. 
 
 The old Mr. Varberg had had but one son, 
 Olaf's father. But this son had been a wild and 
 unruly spirit, and during his lifetime had been 
 a source of infinite vexation and grief to the 
 worthy old man. The one desire of his mind 
 had been to become an artist ; and when his 
 father had refused to furnish him the means for 
 going abroad, he had sold his furniture and his 
 law-books, and had started out in the world as 
 a regular adventurer. During his stay in France 
 he had caught the spirit of the revolution, and 
 had at last returned home full of enthusiasm for 
 liberty and the rights of men. Now the old Mr,
 
 Retrospect. 1 9 
 
 Varberg had always been a stanch conservative, 
 and hated the revolution with all his soul. He 
 was thoroughly convinced that Norway was the 
 freest and happiest land on the earth, and that 
 the existing state of things left nothing to be 
 desired ; the son, on the contrary, was never 
 weary of pointing out a thousand instances of 
 injustice and abuse, and his heart yearned to 
 sacrifice life and happiness for the cherished 
 cause of human liberty. Both were strong and 
 determined men, and equally unwilling to yield ; 
 and one may easily imagine what must have 
 been the relation of the two under such cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 It is not necessary here to recount the long 
 and manly struggles and the dire failures of the 
 younger Varberg in his efforts to plant the flag 
 of the revolution in the Norse soil. Suffice it to 
 say that one day the sweet face of a Norse maiden 
 sunk deeply into his heart, and that in his mar- 
 riage with her he found the happiness which he 
 had vainly sought in his unselfish devotion to 
 the cause of our common humanity. He again 
 took up the study of law, was zealous in his 
 supervision of the extensive estate which his
 
 2O A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 father hoped soon to give over into his hands, 
 and promised fair to become the pattern of a 
 husband, and an order-loving citizen. The old 
 man's joy knew no bounds ; but he was careful 
 not to show either surprise or delight ; he rather 
 seemed to regard the change as a matter of 
 course, and even hinted that he had foreseen it 
 from the very beginning. But little did he know 
 of the combat which it had cost the son thus to 
 abandon one by one the cherished hopes of his 
 youth, and still less did he suspect the ferment 
 which was even now stirring at the bottom of 
 that strong and generous soul. The relation, 
 however, between the two never became a cor- 
 dial one ; they talked mostly on indifferent sub- 
 jects, and the hopes and desires which lay near- 
 est to the hearts of both they seldom broached 
 to each other. 
 
 Then an event occurred which rudely tore 
 the veil from the old man's eyes, and again re- 
 vealed to him the great gulf which separated 
 him from his son. After a marriage of five years 
 the latter's wife died, leaving behind her two 
 children, Olaf the son, and a daughter Brynhild. 
 It was the love of his wife which had bound het
 
 Retrospect. 2 1 
 
 husband to his old home, and had reconciled his 
 large and light-loving soul to a life in a narrow- 
 minded and bigoted society. Now the old rest- 
 lessness awoke within him; his early longings 
 began to stir in his bosom, and suddenly he 
 packed his trunk and again started out in search 
 of the lost ideals of his youth. But he was des- 
 tined to experience fresh disappointments. The 
 blind reaction which in Europe had succeeded 
 the enthusiasm of the revolution disheartened 
 and disgusted him, and he was just on the point 
 of bidding farewell to all that his heart held dear, 
 when suddenly the thought struck him that 
 there was still one land remaining which once 
 had received the gospel of liberty with willing 
 ears. And he threw one last sad glance at the 
 old world, and embarked for America. 
 
 His children in the meanwhile had remained 
 behind in Norway, and they thrived and grew 
 strong under the ever-watchful care of their 
 anxious grand-parents. The old Mr. Varberg, 
 who prided himself on his name and his blood, 
 took an intense satisfaction in seeing the family 
 features and even its hereditary faults repeated 
 in his grandson. He observed that Olaf had a
 
 22 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 frank and a generous mind, and this observation 
 was a source of ever fresh delight to him, not 
 because frankness and generosity were morally 
 commendable qualities, but rather because all 
 the Varbergs had been frank and generous. Olaf 
 also had a large nose, which is not generally re- 
 garded as a mark of beauty ; but the grandfather 
 also delighted in this feature, because he believed 
 that there was a peculiar virtue in the family nose. 
 The only thing which displeased him in 
 Olaf's character was his tendency to solitary 
 brooding, and his love of poetry. And he feared 
 these traits the more, not only because they had, 
 as he thought, led his son astray, but because in 
 his youth he had been conscious of similar things 
 lurking in some remote corner of his own mind. 
 With him an early marriage and continued pros- 
 perity had quelled the unruly longings ; but 
 what they might lead to, his son's sad career 
 sufficiently proved. The only artistic enjoyment 
 which the elder Varberg allowed himself to in- 
 dulge in was music; and he had succeeded in 
 convincing himself that this art was in no way 
 akin to poetry and revolution. He was always 
 wont to class these two terms together.
 
 Retrospect. 23 
 
 He had himself a most sensitive ear, and 
 played the violin and violoncello to perfection. 
 Every Wednesday evening he used to gather all 
 the musical dilfltanti of the neighborhood in his 
 house, and play with them Beethoven's quartets 
 and Haydn's trios until midnight. Olaf and 
 Brynhild were soon needed for the piano parts, 
 and he willingly paid them a quarter of a dollar 
 an hour for practising. Among the boy's earliest 
 recollections were these musical soirfrs, and the 
 strange faces his grandfather made when he 
 played the violoncello. 
 
 Since it had become definitely known that 
 the younger Varberg had gone to America, his 
 name was seldom heard in his old home. Only 
 his mother would occasionally refer to something 
 which he had wo'n, or something which he had 
 been fond of in his student days, and would 
 then invariably speak of him only as he, with a 
 peculiar emphasis. 
 
 " That was one of his fancies, too, poor boy," 
 she would say ; " he always liked me best in my 
 old moire antique ; and when that was at last 
 worn out, he would persist in calling all those 
 dresses of mine which he liked moire antiques"
 
 24 A Norseman" 1 * Pilgrimage. 
 
 And she would heave a sigh of resignation,, 
 and dismiss the subject. 
 
 On the days when Olaf received letters from 
 his father, a profound silence always reigned at 
 the dinner-table, until at last the old gentleman 
 would lay down knife and fork and ask, " Is he 
 well ? " And Olaf would answer in the same 
 solemn tone, " He is well ; " whereto the grand- 
 mother would add an " Amen," " God be praised," 
 or some similar devout phrase. Little did the old 
 people suspect what an influence these letters 
 were to have upon the boy's future life. There 
 was a grand sweep and a fervor in these lines 
 which fell like flames into his mind, kindling it 
 to nobler resolves, and wakening to life the good 
 germs which still lay slumbering in its soil. The 
 image of this absent father, with his broad pen- 
 sive forehead, his thick light beard, and the dark 
 blue eyes with that strange flash in them, still 
 dimly lived in his memory, and it often appeared 
 to him that there was but the helmet and the 
 mantle lacking to make it the perfect likeness of 
 a hero from the Saga's golden times. 
 
 Then one day it was in the year 1862 
 there came a letter with American stamps on it,
 
 Retrospect. 25 
 
 which suddenly threw the family into the great- 
 est consternation. It informed Olaf that his fa- 
 ther had enlisted as a private in the war, and that 
 he had made arrangements with a reliable friend, 
 who, in case of his death, would write to Norway 
 and deliver his affairs over into the proper hands. 
 " I am happier," he wrote, " than I have ever 
 been before. For I have at last found a cause 
 worth dying for." And in the year 1863 came 
 the letter announcing his death ; he was killed 
 on the field in the battle of Gettysburg. A slip 
 of paper bearing the date of the day before the 
 engagement, and addressed to his son, had been 
 found on his breast. It read as follows : 
 
 MY DEAR BOY : When this reaches you, the hand which 
 writes it will be cold and dead. My life has been fall of error, 
 sorrow, and disappointment, and still I venture to call myself a 
 happy man. For my career has been an unceasing pursuit of 
 that which I have loved above all other things, truth and liberty. 
 And my joy in this moment is the thought that I have a son who 
 will find in clearness that which I groped for in the twilight a 
 son who will finish the work which I have left undone. I am 
 convinced that America is the land of the future, and in spite of 
 injustice, abuse, and corruption, there is health and strength 
 enough in this nation to lift the whole world ; I mean to raise it 
 to a higher view of itself, and of the destiny of mankind. There- 
 fore my last prayer to you is, that yon should, as soon as you 
 have finished your college course, embark for New York, and 
 spend one year here, travelling about the country, and malring
 
 26 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 yourself acquainted with its people and its institutions. If you 
 
 write to my friend Dr. C , in Boston, he will furnish you with 
 
 money. I have left five thousand dollars for you in his hands. 
 I feel as confident that you will fulfil this my last wish as if I had 
 your spoken promise. If at the end of a year you prefer to re- 
 turn to Norway, you will at least return a wiser man than you 
 left ; if you decide to remain, God will also find a work for you 
 to do here. I rely upon His guidance. Here on the broad 
 arena of life you are nearer to the world's great heart, and hear 
 with joy its mighty pulsations ; the horizon of your mind widens, 
 the grand possibilities of your nature develop faster, and you 
 become a larger and a stronger man. 
 
 I have a presentiment that my life is drawing to its close. But 
 if, as God grant, you grow up to be a noble and liberty-lov- 
 ing man, I shall live in you and in your children. Farewell ! 
 God bless you. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Olaf did not show this letter to his grand- 
 parents. It is needless to say that it made a 
 deep impression upon him ; he hid it in his bosom, 
 and carried it there ever afterward. A few 
 months later he entered college, and soon became 
 the leader of the democratic faction among the 
 students. His eloquence and his winning man- 
 ner, as well as the high standing of his family, 
 made him welcome everywhere, and he gained 
 access to the best society of the capital. But 
 amid all the noise and gayety of these years the 
 solemn voice of his dead father seemed to call
 
 Retrospect. 27 
 
 to him from afar, and to remind him of the great 
 responsibility which rested upon him. In the 
 summer vacations he returned home, and spent 
 the long bright days rowing about on the fjord, 
 dreaming of the past, and maturing his plans for 
 the future. Fate had placed him in a strange po- 
 sition, and he often violently accused himself 
 and felt as if he were a traitor ; for he could not 
 confide to his grandparents, whom he owed so 
 much, that which was stirring within him ; and 
 to abandon his resolution would be treason to 
 his father's memory. And when restlessness 
 and unhappiness oppressed him, he poured forth 
 his soul in song, and his songs touched the hearts 
 and gained him no small reputation among his 
 fellow students. 
 
 Then at last came the terrible day, when, 
 after having graduated with distinction, he 
 returned home, pulled from his bosom the fatal 
 letter, and unburdened his heart. His grand- 
 mother wept and sobbed ; then took medicine 
 and went to bed; called him cruel and ungrate- 
 ful in one moment, and in the next her own dear, 
 blessed child. But his resolution was formed, 
 and he remained firm. His grandfather's grief
 
 28 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 was not so noisy ; but it was deep and genuine, 
 and Olaf once came very near yielding ; for it 
 was painful to see the old man sitting there 
 so pale and distracted in his chair, and then, 
 as soon as any one entered the room, waking 
 up suddenly and make a desperate effort to 
 appear cheerful and unconcerned. One thing, 
 however, Olaf was induced to promise, and that 
 was to remain at home during the winter, and 
 to defer his journey until spring. The household 
 soon again lapsed into its usual routine, and 
 the subject which had lately agitated it seemed 
 to have dropped out of every one's memory. 
 But what is hidden is not forgotten, says a 
 Norwegian proverb ; and Olaf did not fail to 
 detect a secret uneasiness which manifested 
 itself in an over-anxious care for his comfort, 
 and in the somewhat strained efforts on the part 
 of the family to amuse and distract him ; and 
 one of these efforts, although indeed it had 
 for its object a more serious thing than amuse- 
 ment, is perhaps worthy of being recorded. 
 
 One of the most zealous participants in Mr. 
 Varberg's muscial soirees was the old Colonel 
 Haraldson. He was, next to Mr. Varberg, the
 
 Retrospect. 29 
 
 wealthiest man in the parish, and had an only 
 daughter, Thora, to whom Olaf had in his boy- 
 hood addressed numerous sonnets and serenades. 
 Miss Thora was a pretty, fair-haired Norse dam- 
 sel, and had on her part shown no disinclination 
 to become the object of the young man's admira- 
 tion. During his college years she had been 
 rather more shy and reserved in her manner to- 
 ward him, which his grandmother regarded as a 
 very favorable sign. And now, when it was 
 needful at any price to keep her boy from run- 
 ning away from her, she the old lady deter- 
 mined to take advantage of this early romance, 
 and with his sister's aid she planned a little cam- 
 paign against him. 
 
 Thora had always been Brynhild's bosom 
 friend, and there could consequently, to out- 
 siders, be nothing remarkable in her coming 
 almost daily to the parties and musicals at the 
 Varberg mansion. Olaf, who was wholly unsus- 
 picious, readily ran into the snare, and was easily 
 beguiled into sleigh-rides and excursions by land 
 and water, on which the two young ladies invari- 
 ably accompanied him. At the parties, which at 
 this season were very frequent among the officials
 
 30 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 and landed proprietors of the parish, he was 
 always chosen the director of the evening, and 
 at his sister's request he never refused to " open 
 the ball" with the Colonel's daughter. Thus 
 the winter passed, and if Olaf had not been too 
 absorbed in his plans for the journey, he could not 
 have failed to observe that Thora's eyes shone 
 with a softer and tenderer light whenever they 
 met his, and that a serene, maidenly joy beamed 
 from her countenance whenever his arm encir- 
 cled her in the dance. But indeed Olaf had too 
 much to think of, and he perceived nothing. 
 The great unknown world lay before him in the 
 shimmering light of a dream, in which the ob- 
 jects appeared larger and of grander proportions, 
 until even his own person began to assume the 
 dimensions of a hero, and the voyage he was 
 about to undertake became a daring cruise, like 
 those of the Norse Vikings in the romantic days 
 of old ; and in such a mood renunciation is easy. 
 One morning in March Olaf woke up late, 
 after having spent the greater part of the night 
 dancing at the Colonel's. He was not a little 
 astonished to find his grandfather seated at his 
 bedside, and looking at him with an expression
 
 Retrospect. 31 
 
 of almost motherly tenderness in his features. 
 He had evidently been sitting there for a long 
 while. " Well, my boy," said the old man, " you 
 have slept late this morning. Youth has need 
 of sleep." Olaf yawned, and murmured some- 
 thing in reply. 
 
 " I have come," continued the other, " to tell 
 you how gratified I am to know that you have 
 finally made up your mind in regard to the mat- 
 ter in which we are all so much interested." 
 
 Olaf opened his eyes wide and stared in 
 amazement at his grandfather. Could it be pos- 
 sible that the old man would give his consent to 
 the journey, and let him depart in peace ? 
 
 " Your grandmother has told me all about it, 
 and indeed it has made me feel at least ten years 
 younger. Thora is an excellent, sensible girl, 
 and she belongs to one of the best and oldest 
 families in the country. You know that I am 
 willing to give up the house to you at any time 
 you may wish ; or if you should prefer a house 
 of your own " 
 
 Olaf, with an utterly bewildered air, raised 
 himself on his elbows and tried to collect his 
 senses. A vague sensation as if a great misfor-
 
 32 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 tune had befallen him, shot through his brain- 
 Was it possible that he had proposed to Thora 
 without knowing it? He indeed remembered 
 that some such thought had haunted him yes- 
 terday during the waltz ; and had she now come 
 and presented herself to his grandparents as their 
 daughter-in-law ? 
 
 Old Mr. Varberg in the meanwhile became 
 impatient, and began to pace up and down the 
 floor. 
 
 " Well, my boy," he exclaimed, "you don't 
 seem to be quite awake yet, or can it be possible 
 that you are not pleased ? " 
 
 " Indeed, grandfather, I should think she 
 might have waited until I got up and could 
 have come for her," cried Olaf, answering his 
 own fear rather than his grandfather's question. 
 " And to tell the truth," he added in a voice of 
 comic despair, " I don't understand a word of 
 what you are saying. I haven't made up my 
 mind about anything, except that I am going 
 to America ; and if you will give your consent 
 to that, I shall be very much obliged to you." 
 
 " My dear child," retorted the old man rather 
 vehemently, " either you are dreaming or I am
 
 Retrospect. 33 
 
 or or your grandmother. I must utterly have 
 misunderstood her." 
 
 And so saying he rushed out of the room. 
 It would be tempting to rehearse the young 
 Viking's debate with himself while he dressed 
 that morning. The first vision that stole into 
 his fancy was that of Thora in her airy, sylph- 
 like ball-costume ; he saw the tender glance in 
 her eyes, saw the sweet temptation of her lips, 
 and the golden cross around her neck, which 
 glittered and rose and fell with the movement 
 of her bosom. In the next moment he half per- 
 suaded himself that he had actually whispered 
 some tender word in her ear, as she leaned on 
 his arm in the waltz ; that he had proposed 
 to her on the staircase and kissed her in a 
 corner, just as they carried away the ice cream ; 
 and finally that she had promised to call in the 
 morning, but would tell nobody what had hap- 
 pened except Brynhild. And now Brynhild 
 had evidently, after her manner, taken the 
 rest of the family into her confidence. 
 
 While diverting himself with these and 
 other possibilities, he finished his toilet and 
 went to the window to raise the curtains. It
 
 34 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 was about noon, and the sun shone brightly 
 into the room. The sea dashed against the 
 pier, and down on the strand the waves brawled 
 in loud-voiced chorus. The Viking longings 
 again awoke, and Thora's beauty and loveliness 
 looked pale as the foam upon the beach. It 
 was all a dream, and as he reviewed the events 
 of the last months he saw the whole plot, and 
 he owned that his grandmother had played her 
 cards skilfully. The old heroism asserted its 
 rights within him, and the pleasing fancies of 
 a moment ago were now but delusions and deceit. 
 And still (shall I confess it?) in some corner of 
 his heart there lurked a vague regret that it had 
 not all been true and real. 
 
 " Good God," he cried, as he slammed the 
 door after him and walked down to breakfast 
 " Good God, what a brute I am ! " 
 
 This consciousness, however, did not in the 
 least influence his actions ; that same day the 
 battle was fought, and the end of it was that his 
 grandmother had to quit the field, and his 
 grandfather, seeing that resistance was vain, like- 
 wise yielded. 
 
 In the beginning of April, Olaf bade farewell
 
 Retrospect. 35 
 
 to his native valley. Thora refused to see him 
 when he came to call upon her ; but the evening 
 before he sailed she probably relented, and she 
 met him " by accident," as he was taking his 
 walk ; and if rumor be true, she cried over him 
 and kissed him good-by. 
 
 How a man of Olaf s fantastic spirit, and 
 with his latent romantic tendencies, would fare in 
 a land like America, is not difficult to conjecture. 
 Most people at first did not know what to make 
 of him, but still were kind to him, because they 
 found him entertaining and liked to exhibit him 
 as a curiosity. The fault, however, was his no 
 less than theirs. He made no effort to throw off 
 or even to step out of his narrow national shell, 
 and they did not meet him half-way and thereby 
 make the approach easier. And in his dreary 
 solitude Olaf sought refuge from the world in 
 his old talent, that of song. He often wrote 
 night after night, until the dawn surprised him ; 
 the memories of the fjord and the valley of his 
 childhood returned to him in the silence of the 
 night ; the loors * echoed between the moun- 
 
 * A loor is a long wooden horn, wound with birch bark, 
 which the peasants use to call the cattle home in the evening.
 
 36 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 tains, the Neck played in the cataracts, and the 
 clear cattle-bells made the air alive with music. 
 The unambitious story which had been thus 
 commenced only to ease an overburdened mind, 
 gradually grew under his hands, until the thought 
 struck him that it might perhaps find a publisher. 
 And a publisher was found. 
 
 Varberg spent many a delightful hour in con- 
 jectures as to the probable fate of his work, and 
 in constructing ingenious theories regarding its 
 influence upon the future of American literature. 
 The possibility never occurred to him that it 
 might fall dead from the press, and leave no more 
 trace behind it than the bubble that bursts on 
 the sea. Still, whatever its fate may have been 
 in the great world, upon Varberg himself it did 
 produce a most marked effect. It taught him 
 to look upon himself as a man of letters ; it re- 
 vived all the early dreams of his childhood, con- 
 centrated his energies, and clearly defined the 
 aim and object of his life. 
 
 And strange to say, this book also changed 
 his relation to the land of his adoption ; the 
 praise of those whose opinion he valued was 
 grateful to him, and the readiness with which
 
 Retrospect. 37 
 
 they recognized the possibilities of his nature, 
 and accepted the promise of his youth and talent, 
 touched his heart. He became in a short time 
 an enthusiastic American ; his father had, a few 
 months before his death, assumed American 
 citizenship, and Olaf was agreeably surprised to 
 find that, according to the laws of this country, 
 he had himself for some time been enjoying the 
 same honor without being aware of it. There- 
 fore, when at the end of five years his grand- 
 father wrote and implored him to pay a visit to 
 his old home, if only for a few months, he was 
 inclined to look upon this journey as a kind of 
 literary pilgrimage, and consequently willingly 
 assented. At Christmas time he sailed for Ham- 
 burg, but as communication with Norway at 
 that tune of the year was difficult, and more- 
 over he preferred to see his native land in its 
 summer glory, he immediately proceeded to 
 Leipsic, where he intended to spend a few months 
 at the University ; and it is here where we have 
 the pleasure of making his acquaintance.
 
 38 A Norseman s Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A Day at Wartburg. 
 
 IT was in rather an elegiac mood that Mr. 
 Varberg left Leipsic for Weimar and Eise- 
 nach. As the so-called express train slowly 
 wound its way up through the lovely Thurin- 
 gian valley, he had abundant opportunities to 
 watch the soft, vague beauty of a German sum- 
 mer day. Between Leipsic and Weimar the 
 country can hardly be called beautiful, but a 
 June day is lovely everywhere ; and as the 
 generous sky lent its changeful tints of rose 
 and purple to the wide plains and the stiff, sol- 
 dier-like planted forests, which look like Prus- 
 sian regiments on parade, their picturesque bar- 
 renness assumed an air of tender regret, like a 
 plain Cinderella that mourns the lowliness of her 
 estate. And Varberg was just in a mood to 
 appreciate a tender suggestion ; for in some 
 hidden recess of his heart the half-confessed
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 39 
 
 yearnings were still breathing their faint melo- 
 dies in tones as vague and as sweet to his ear as 
 those of a wind-tuned ^Eolian harp. He dared' 
 not think it, but nevertheless he cherished the 
 suspicion against himself that he was fleeing 
 from Leipsic because its very air was filled with 
 the presence of the unknown Margaret. " Love 
 is a disease," says Tourgue"neff. " And a conta- 
 gious one," added Varberg in his thought. 
 " It is like the cholera ; it is in the air we breathe, 
 in the water we drink, and imparts itself with 
 equal ease through any and all of our senses." 
 
 Varberg spent three days in Weimar ; visited 
 the Museum, the Grand Ducal Library, the Pal- 
 ace, etc. Long he lingered in Schiller's rooms, 
 where, to his astonishment he found a large por- 
 trait of Abraham Lincoln ; and through a strata- 
 gem he even gained admission to that forbidden 
 sanctuary hallowed by the memory of " Faust's " 
 great author. It is needless to recount here 
 his exploration of the ruined castle of Rudolfs- 
 burg. Goseck, Schonburg, the Cathedral of 
 Erfurt and the Thuringian "valley are familiar 
 to every traveller. On the evening of the 
 fourth day he reached Eisenach. It was already
 
 4O A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 dark, and having eng? ^ed a couple of rooms in 
 " The Grand Duke of Weimar," he started for 
 the Old Town, and strolled aimlessly about for 
 an hour, lost in romantic speculations. 
 
 The following morning he mounted the cliff 
 on the brow of which the old castle of Wartburg 
 is situated ; spent a couple of hours in the grand 
 Siingersaal and in Luther's cell, and finally toward 
 evening started out in search of the famous 
 Venusberg. According to the legend, the old 
 Roman goddess, after having been banished 
 from the world by Christ, has sought refuge in 
 this mountain, and here her sweet voice may 
 still be heard through the forest silence when 
 she sings her pagan songs, and lures Christian 
 knights to destruction. 
 
 The red sun hung low over the western 
 mountain ridges ; a soft purple mist hovered 
 over the tops of the forest, and a slumberous 
 perfume, as of a host of invisible flowers, was 
 wafted upward on the breeze. Varberg stood 
 before a large, thickly wooded hill, at the base 
 of which a labyrinth of narrow pathways wound 
 in and out through gloomy coves and arbors. 
 A chorus of unseen waters filled his ears with
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 41 
 
 its faint, delicious rushing, and its subdued rip- 
 ple calmed his troubled soul like the croon- 
 ing of a distant lullaby. Something told him 
 that this must be the Venusberg; he threw him 
 self down on the ground, and began to gaze 
 up into the sky, which flowed on like a broad 
 blue sea between airy islands of cloud. The 
 great linden trees rustled with their leaves, and 
 a faint tremor ran through the air, like a vague, 
 expectant whisper. And the longer he listened 
 the more strongly his mind became possessed 
 of an irrational desire to see, if but for one mo- 
 ment, the phantom of the ancient legend embod- 
 ied in living flesh and blood. It was a desire 
 altogether independent of belief a mere regret- 
 ful wish that all these delightful mysteries might 
 once more be real as in times of old. Then 
 could he trust his senses ? there was a creaking 
 in the copse hard by, and he heard the sound 
 of light, hurried footsteps. 
 
 He quickly raised himself on his elbows, and 
 and discovered the outlines of a maidenly figure 
 shimmering through the leaves. The boughs 
 were bent aside, and a beautiful young face ap- 
 peared for a moment, and with an exclamation
 
 42 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 of fright, again vanished. Utterly bewildered, 
 Varberg sprang to his feet ; he ran his hand over 
 his eyes, and vainly tried to collect his thoughts. 
 That face was only too familiar to him ; it was 
 the very face which for months past had been 
 haunting his fancy ; it was the face of his Mar- 
 garet. Looking toward the copse where he had 
 seen her vanish, he discovered a red and white 
 shawl, which in her tright she had let fall. He 
 picked it up, and began to ascend the hill. The 
 blood throbbed in his temples, and he hardly 
 felt the touch of the earth he was treading. 
 Having gained a point where he had a free view 
 of the forest below, he sat down on a stone, and 
 with his eye followed the course of the inter- 
 twining footpaths. Presently he saw something 
 white which fluttered between the trunks of two 
 huge beeches, a few hundred feet away. He 
 arose and hastily made his way to the spot. It 
 was again the mysterious maiden. She had 
 either fallen, or from exhaustion let herself drop 
 on the ground. Her whole frame trembled, and 
 she panted violently. 
 
 " Pardon me," began he. 
 
 She started with a faint cry at the sound of
 
 A Day at WarOturg. 43 
 
 his voice, then quickly collected herself, and 
 made an effort to rise. 
 
 " I hope you will forgive me," continued he, 
 " if I have involuntarily been the cause of your 
 fright. A hundred times I beg your pardon. 
 You left your shawl down on the hillside. I 
 picked it up. Here it is." 
 
 He handed her the shawl, and half mechani- 
 cally she stretched out her hand to receive it. 
 
 " Thank you," she whispered. 
 
 " If I can be of any service to you," said he 
 after a pause, " I hope you wOl not hesitate to 
 let me know." 
 
 There was something so heart}' and honest 
 in the way he spoke, that her fear gradually 
 vanished, and as his eye met hers he saw in it a 
 rapid gleam of recognition, to which he uncon- 
 sciously responded. 
 
 " I know it was very foolish in me to be fright- 
 ened," she said, with a feeble attempt to smile. 
 " Bat I have lost my way, and this is the Venus- 
 berg, you know, and it is all so strange, so 
 strange.'" 
 
 " I suppose you wish to return to Eisenach ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I started for the castle this morning,
 
 44 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 with my cousin. She had no curiosity to see the 
 Venusberg, and so I went alone. I am to meet 
 her again in Eisenach this evening. You know," 
 she added apologetically, " that American ladies 
 have the privilege of doing things which Euro- 
 peans call strange ; and when they are abroad 
 they are somehow thrown off their responsibility, 
 and they often do things which would hardly 
 occur to them if they were at home." 
 
 Varberg had crossed his arms over his breast, 
 and stood leaning up against the trunk of a tree. 
 "Aha," he thought, "then my fair Margaret is 
 an American. An American Margaret ! What 
 an absurdity! " And he was not sure but that 
 in his heart of hearts he cherished a vague 
 resentment against her for her unwillingness to 
 identify herself with the romantic being his 
 fancy had made her. Her cheeks were still 
 flushed, and there was a glimmer of uneasiness 
 in her dark eyes ; her mouth and chin were 
 exquisitely sculptured, her nose slightly Roman, 
 and her hair of a dark brown hue, which lacked 
 but the fraction of a tinge of being black. The 
 magnificent turn of her shoulders, the fulness of 
 her bust, and the grand poise of her head gave
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 45 
 
 her an air of self-confidence and repose, and even 
 in the midst of her agitation, she preserved a 
 certain statuesqueness of manner and bearing. 
 Somehow, the suddenness and mystery of their 
 meeting put them more readily at ease with 
 each other than if they had met in the conven- 
 tional way in a crowded drawing-room ; and 
 having by her look been assured of her confi- 
 dence in him, Varberg sat down in the heather 
 at her feet and began to talk with her about the 
 history and the legends of the place. She 
 answered at first a little timidly ; then, uncon- 
 sciously yielding to the fascination of the place, 
 she grew more communicative, and before an 
 hour had passed they found themselves talking 
 together as if they had known each other for 
 years. Still, there was a vague look of solici- 
 tude, as if she were afraid of having done some- 
 thing wrong, when finally she rose to bid him 
 farewell. 
 
 " I shall have to continue my wanderings,' 
 said she, " if I am to reach the city before dark 
 Perhaps you would kindly start me on the right 
 road." 
 
 " I am myself going to Eisenach," answered
 
 46 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 he, " and if you would trust yourself to my guid- 
 ance, I should deem it a favor." 
 
 " When I think of it," said she hesitatingly, 
 " I fear I have no alternative. I have not the 
 faintest idea of where I am." 
 
 The sun had in the meanwhile sunk behind 
 the borders of the forest, and the golden crescent 
 of the moon sailed calmly through a limpid ocean 
 of blue sky. The air was so soft and warm, the 
 evening breeze so gently caressing, and the 
 whisper of the leaves so deliciously vague 
 and soothing, that mere existence seemed a 
 luxury. The air was rilled with the fragrance 
 of fresh sprouts and flowers ; the dim shadows 
 of the trees quivered mysteriously in the moon- 
 light, and the clear flute-notes of the nightin- 
 gale enlivened the gloom of the beech copse. 
 
 " It is on a night like this that the elf 
 maidens tread the dance,"' remarked Varberg, 
 as he helped his companion down the side of a 
 moss-grown rock. 
 
 " Elf maidens ? What are elf maidens ? " 
 " They are the ghosts of dead flowers." 
 "The ghost of a flower! I never heard of 
 such a thing."
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 47 
 
 " That is the consequencce of your American 
 education." 
 
 "That is very possible. But I am willing to 
 be instructed. You seem to be a perfect ency- 
 clopaedia of mythical lore. Tell me why the elf 
 maidens dance, and why they dance just on a 
 night like this." 
 
 The road was now becoming smoother, and 
 while they walked along under the moonlit dome 
 of the forest, he told her the legends of gnomes, 
 elves, and nixies that inhabited the mountains, 
 groves, and rivers of the old world. 
 
 " And don't you think they could be induced 
 to emigrate to America ? " she asked with a 
 merry laugh. "We need something of the 
 kind, especially about Boston and Cambridge, 
 where the transcendental tea meetings are in 
 danger of reducing us all into mere abstract 
 entities or nonentities, and I don't know what it 
 is all called." 
 
 " We get so many less desirable elements 
 from Europe," he replied gravely. " It would 
 be well if we could also import some of her noble 
 poetry and romance." 
 
 " Yes, indeed , I perfectly agree with you.
 
 48 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 Only think of it ! To have Mr. Sphinx of Con- 
 cord digging in his garden, and suddenly bring- 
 ing to light a century-old gnome, who sternly 
 calls him to account for disturbing the sanctity 
 of his subterranean home, and prophesies that, 
 as a penality, his race shall be extinct in the third 
 generation ; and Mr. Jockey, of the Lane Street 
 Church, bathing in the Charles River, to wash off 
 the dust of a horse-race, being clasped in the cold 
 embrace of a lovely mermaid. And to complete 
 the picture, I should like to see the Rev. Mr. 
 Buddha taking an evening walk (if he is addicted 
 to that sort of thing), and being abruptly con- 
 fronted by a group of airy elf maidens, who wind 
 their white arms about him and force him to 
 dance a moonlight jig with them to the music of 
 harebells and lilies o' the valley. Ah, I think I 
 see the surprise of the reverend gentleman," she 
 added, laughing heartily. " I would give a good 
 deal for the chance of looking on." 
 
 Varberg, although he was slightly shocked 
 at her lack of reverence for the old traditions, 
 could, not help joining in her gayety; and he 
 owned that he would himself enjoy seeing the 
 great transcendentalists in similar situations.
 
 A Day at Warlburg. 49 
 
 " I could very well imagine Lowell catching 
 glimpses of elves and fairies under his tall elms 
 in Cambridge," he remarked. "In fact, I have 
 no doubt that he often does." 
 
 " Yes ; there is something of the old world 
 about Lowell." she replied. " Since I read those 
 wonderful opening pages of his ' Cathedral,' and 
 that charming essay, ' My Garden Acquaintance,' I 
 do believe him capable of seeing things which 
 are hidden from the sight of us ordinary mortals. 
 And the experience of to-day, this moonlight 
 ramble under the shadow of ancient Wartburg, 
 and your mythical tales, have affected me so 
 strangely." 
 
 There was to him a glamour of unreality about 
 the incidents of this day, and he could hardly, 
 even at this moment, persuade himself that he 
 was treading on solid earth. It was a peculiarity 
 of his mind that it wandered off, on the slight- 
 est provocation, into all sorts of dreamy vagaries, 
 and now it was this very maiden, whom his fancy 
 had clothed with all the attributes of romance, 
 who sternly rent the veil, and by her realistic 
 talk forced him to accept her in her true charac- 
 ter. She was evidently not deficient in fancy, 
 3
 
 50 A Norseman s Pilgrimage. 
 
 but she was a true product of American soil, and 
 she represented those very qualities which he 
 especially disapproved of in Americans their re- 
 alistic humor and their utter irreverence for 
 tradition. 
 
 They had reached the place where the rail- 
 road bridge overarches the road, and Varberg 
 was just indulging in a mental denunciation of 
 railroads, when the girl again broke his reverie : 
 
 " How charmingly impersonal our talk has 
 been," she exclaimed. "This is the second time 
 we meet I mean we have spent several hours 
 in each other's company, and you have not yet 
 told me your name." 
 
 " My name is Olaf Varberg." 
 
 " Qlaf! What a delightfully barbarous name ! 
 I beg your pardon ; I only intended to say that 
 it was a very unusual name." 
 
 " It is a Norwegian name. I am by birth a 
 Norwegian and by adoption an American." 
 
 " My name is Ruth Copley ; and I need not 
 tell you that I was born in Boston, since you 
 must already have inferred that from my talk. 
 I have spent about a year in Leipsic, studying 
 music at the Conservatory."
 
 A Day at WarOmrg. 51 
 
 This called fora similar confidence on his 
 part; and before they had entered the streets 
 of Eisenach, they were both acquainted with a 
 good many incidents of each other's lives. The 
 sag-roofed, turf-thatched cottages in the out- 
 skirts of the town, with their queer little window 
 panes, gazed upon them with a ghastly stare 
 from out the moonlit stillness, like that of an eye 
 which remains open in sleep. The footsteps of 
 the two wanderers echoed sharply between the 
 walls of the stone-paved courts, and their black 
 shadows travelled silently and swiftly at their 
 sides. 
 
 "Oh, what a horrid place!" said Ruth, 
 unconsciously pressing herself more tightly up 
 to her companion. 
 
 " Do you know the legend of the Willies?" 
 asked he. 
 
 " Not N. P.," she replied with a forced smile. 
 " I don't know any other Willis." 
 
 u It is an Austrian legend. The Willies are 
 dead brides maidens who have died between 
 the betrothal and the wedding ; and on a sum- 
 mer night like this, when the city is silent " 
 
 " How terrible ! " and she shuddered violently.
 
 52 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 He paused and looked inquiringly into her 
 face. 
 
 " I thought you did not believe in ghosts and 
 legends," an evil demon whispered in his ear, 
 and he was ungenerous enough to utter the 
 words. 
 
 " Ah, that is cruel," she exclaimed. "I, ad- 
 mit I do prefer to see the new moon over my 
 right shoulder ; but ghosts no, I do not believe 
 in them. And now you shall finish your legend, 
 or I shall not stir from the spot. It was on a 
 summer night like this, you said " 
 
 " Miss Copley, pardon me. I had no idea " 
 
 " Yes ; when you have finished your legend," 
 she interrupted him. And she stood tall and 
 calm, with the light shawl flung toga-like about 
 her shoulders, while the pallid moonlight, as it 
 were, lifted and etherealized her divine form. 
 Varberg's first impulse was to throw himself 
 at her feet and madly declare his love for her. 
 Then suddenly it struck him that this would 
 make a capital scene in a story, and the heroic 
 spirit immediately departed. 
 
 " Well, since you demand it," retorted he, in 
 a somewhat injured tone (' and who would have
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 53 
 
 imagined that she could be so obstinate,' he 
 added in his own mind), " these ghostly brides 
 glide at midnight through the empty streets, and 
 if a young man comes in their way, they wind 
 their lily arms about him, and onward they float, 
 with wilder and ever wilder movements, and the 
 unhappy wanderer is forced to follow. Then 
 their phantom-like beauty lures his senses; he 
 begins to feel the spell of the dance ; he returns 
 their caresses, and embraces death." 
 
 " Girls always remain faithful to their charac- 
 ter," she observed, after a minute's silence. " A 
 phantom flirt ! What a curious idea ! " 
 
 They both lapsed into silence. The legend 
 of the dead brides evidently occupied Miss 
 Copley's fancy more than she would own ; for 
 as they stood under the vault of the wall which 
 separates the New Town from the old, she was 
 visibly startled at the sound of his voice, and 
 barely comprehended what he was saying. 
 
 "In what hotel are you stopping, Miss 
 Copley?" 
 
 "What hotel Ah, the Grand Duke of 
 Weimar." 
 
 " Then we are happily housemates."
 
 54 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 In the parlor of the hotel they found the 
 cousin, Miss Bailey, who embraced and kissed 
 Ruth, and declared that she had supposed she 
 had been dead a million times. Miss Bailey 
 was small of stature, and was as fair as her 
 cousin was dark ; her plump round face, her 
 pouting lips, and her frank blue eyes had some- 
 thing amusingly innocent about them, almost 
 babylike. There was a certain childlike vehe- 
 mence in her manner as in her speech, provoked, 
 as Varberg fancied, or rather exaggerated, by 
 the fact that she seemed herself to be conscious 
 of it. At the supper table her guileless eyes, 
 half unknowingly, appealed to him in a way 
 which implied no small degree of confidence, 
 and when his were rather slow to respond, she 
 shrank back with a puzzled frown, and held her 
 peace for the next ten minutes. Then, grad- 
 ually divining her character, he did her penance 
 in his heart, and again the innocent blue eyes 
 beamed forth their ready forgiveness. When 
 the supper was finished, he bade the ladies 
 good-night, and retired to his own room, pulled 
 off his coat and flung himself into an easy chair. 
 A strange torpor had come over him ; a hundred
 
 A Day at Wartburg. 55 
 
 thoughts whirled about in his brain, and floated 
 in a nebulous procession before his eyes. 
 
 " Do I really love her," he murmured to 
 himself, " or is it merely imagination ? I have 
 imagined myself in love with at least twenty 
 women, but it usually passed off in the course 
 of a fortnight." 
 
 He went to the window, thrust it open, and 
 leaned out over the sill. His eyes instinctively 
 wandered upward, and in the window right 
 above him he caught a glimpse of a maidenly 
 form in a light negligee ; her long, dark hair was 
 loosened, and hung in rich profusion down over 
 her shoulders, and her face was turned toward 
 the starlit sky. He must have made a noise with 
 the window, or in some way betrayed himself, 
 for she hastily withdrew, and did not reappear. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " thought Varberg to him- 
 self; " who would ever have suspected her of a 
 moonlight reverie ? " 
 
 This discovery, however, made him very 
 happy for the moment, and he concluded that 
 after such a day's experience it was in no way 
 humiliating to pay the flesh its due, and go 
 to bed.
 
 56 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 From Wartburg to Lcipsic. 
 
 ~\ 7ARBERG rose late the next morning, and as 
 * he went down to breakfast he heard Miss 
 Copley inquiring of the clerk about the depart- 
 ure of the next train. He had just time to 
 devour a couple of eggs, and to scald his mouth 
 with the coffee, but he had in return the satis- 
 faction of relieving the ladies of their bundles, 
 and of conducting them to the not very comfort- 
 able railroad car. In fact the best thing about 
 the German railroads is their safety and the mag- 
 nificent beards of the officials ; but in the point 
 of comfort they are but a slight improvement 
 on the old-fashioned stage-coaches. Miss Bailey 
 began to talk very fast to the conductor in Eng- 
 lish, at which the Teuton smiled complacently, 
 and turned the lock in her face. Miss Copley, 
 with a kind of humorous indulgence to the cus- 
 toms of the land, made herself comfortable as
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 57 
 
 best she could, and before long was engaged in 
 an airy little chat with her new friend. " How 
 did you enjoy Weimar ? " she asked as the train 
 moved on. " I was there a few months ago. 
 But it made me almost vow that I should never 
 go sight-seeing again." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " I don't wish to spoil your story. Give me 
 first your impressions, and I shall give you mine 
 afterwards." 
 
 He briefly recounted to her his experience in 
 Weimar, and especially dwelt on the forlorn 
 appearance of Schiller's rooms. 
 
 " To think that the great poet should die in 
 that poor unpainted bed," he said. " And the 
 mask of his face, taken after his death, lies there 
 on the pillow with the calm lines of suffering 
 still legible in its features. I almost shivered to 
 see it.' 7 
 
 "You didn't experience a holy shudder, did 
 you ? " 
 
 " I don't know if I should give it just that 
 name." 
 
 "Well, I am glad you didn't. I went to 
 Weimar with a' cousin who has now returned
 
 58 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 to America. He suffered with a holy shudder 
 in Schiller's house, although I am confident that 
 he had never read a word of what Schiller has 
 written." 
 
 " How do you know? You appear to be a 
 confirmed skeptic." 
 
 " I will give you my reasons. If any one is 
 grandiloquent it is in my nature to question the 
 genuineness of his emotions. As for my cousin, 
 I soon found an occasion to put him to the test. 
 He was in rapture at the idea of sitting at the 
 desk on which 'Wallenstein ' had been written. 
 I began to talk about ' Wallenstein/ and called 
 his daughter Catharina, although I was well aware 
 that her name was Thekla. Fred immediately 
 swallowed the bait, and commenced to declaim 
 about this Catharina. ' What a superb creature 
 she is! What wonderful strength of passion,' 
 etc. all generalities which might in fact apply 
 to any heroine of a drama." 
 
 He couldn't help laughing at the novelty of 
 the experiment, and still he was not altogether 
 pleased. She evidently observed this, and has- 
 tened to add an explanation. 
 
 " I am always disappointed with myself when-
 
 Front Wartburg to Leipsic. 59 
 
 ever I visit the scene of a great historical event 
 or the place where a great m an has lived and 
 died. I never succeed in associating the event 
 or the man with the place. Somehow or other 
 my sentiments are always off duty, and I remain 
 provokingly cold. I believe that I could have 
 cried with Mark Twain at the grave of Adam ; 
 but as for Schiller and the more modern bene- 
 factors of the race, I have no tears to waste 
 on them." 
 
 Varberg sat regarding her face attentively 
 while she spoke. He secretly admitted the truth 
 of what she said, and honored her sincerity, al- 
 though her remarks did seem to imply a doubt 
 as to his own candor. He would probably have 
 undertaken to defend himself, if it had not just 
 then occurred to him that he had been unpardon- 
 ably rude fn excluding the less attractive cousin 
 from the conversation. He hastened to repair 
 the wrong. " And what do you think, Miss 
 Bailey ? " he said, turning to the latter. 
 
 " I think that this landscape is perfectly beau- 
 tiful," answered Miss Bailey, in her peculiarly 
 emphatic manner. And soon they were all en- 
 gaged in a lively discussion of the comparative
 
 60 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 merits of a German and an American summer. 
 Miss Copley grew very animated in the defence 
 of her native land, while Varberg and Miss Bailey, 
 whose home recollections could not have been 
 of a very cheerful character, upheld the superi- 
 ority of Europe. 
 
 The landscape through which they were just 
 travelling did seem to add an argument in favor 
 of the Teutons. On both sides of the road the 
 vine-clad hills shone with the fresh tints of sum- 
 mer ; the sunlight fell in brilliant profusion upon 
 the glimmering rocks, and soft patches of shadow 
 rested with the lightness of a noonday reverie 
 upon the green banks of the Saale. About mid- 
 way between the cities Naumburg and Weissen- 
 fels they observed the picturesque ruins of the 
 old castles Rudolfsburg and Saaleck, whose 
 shattered watch-towers stand like hoary Titans 
 guarding the entrance to the valley. 
 
 " What untcld tragedies, what idyls and ro- 
 mances have been enacted within those walls," 
 said Varberg, pointing to the ruin. 
 
 " I wonder what house in New England that 
 is twenty years old has not been the stage of
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 61 
 
 similar tragdies and romances," answered Miss 
 Ruth. 
 
 "Yes; if you would call a drunken shoe- 
 maker, who ruins his family, a romantic charac- 
 ter, or a Wall Street speculator, who kills him- 
 self when he has lost his last stake." 
 
 " I can hardly comprehend," retorted she, 
 with some little show of patriotic zeal, " why a 
 drunken baron should be any more romantic 
 than a drunken shoemaker; and you will no 
 doubt admit that drunkenness was even more 
 prevalent among your feudal heroes than among 
 the Massachusetts shoemakers." 
 
 " I once knew a man out in Indiana," re- 
 marked Miss Bailey, " who killed himself drink- 
 ing, and then killed all his family too." 
 
 " I am glad he was sensible enough to kill 
 himself first," said her cousin dryly. 
 
 11 Well, Ruth, 1 know you understand what I 
 mean," cried Miss Bailey in a high-pitched stac- 
 cato. " I somehow always get hold of the story 
 by the wrong end, but if you only wouldn't be 
 so particular " 
 
 " Never mind, Dearie," interrupted the other. 
 " You know you are the most charming person
 
 62 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 to tease; and," added she. in a humorously 
 tender tone, " you wouldn't begrudge me that 
 pleasure, Dearie, would you ? " 
 
 The train stopped at Weissenfels, and the 
 melodious clocks of the station announced with 
 six measured strokes the arrival. Half a dozen 
 gorgeously uniformed officials began to run 
 back and forth between the cars and the tele- 
 graph offices, stopping every minute or two to 
 exchange a military salute. A young man with 
 a fine sword at his side, a broad scarlet collar on 
 his coat, and spectacles on his nose, strutted up 
 and down t on the pavement in front of the 
 window of our travellers. 
 
 " Of what rank would you take that man to 
 be ? " said Varberg to Miss Bailey. 
 
 " I should suppose he was a colonel, or some- 
 thing of the sort," answered the lady. 
 
 " He is a clerk in the railroad office." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I know it by the uniform. I travelled with 
 a German professor from Kiel to Hanover, and 
 had him instruct me in regard to many features 
 of Prussian rule."" 
 
 " I don't think the young man would do for
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 63 
 
 a ticket agent on the Boston and Albany road," 
 observed Miss Ruth. " He has evidently suffi- 
 cient conceit, but I doubt if he has the faculty 
 of snubbing the public with that grand air which 
 is so peculiar to our railroad men." 
 
 At Corbetha they changed cars, and the train 
 now hastened on through a fertile, rather monot- 
 onous plain, where the stiff, tall poplars and the 
 wide-spreading blades of the windmills keep up 
 a silent contest for the sole proprietorship of the 
 horizon. Friendly little villages cluster with 
 their turf-thatched roofs about the oak-sheltered 
 Gothic spire, and then disperse with a kind of 
 youthful waywardness, strangely out of keeping 
 with their general sombreness of aspect. In 
 some instances the churches, with their square 
 towers and their huge black roofs, seem to blend 
 into a friendly harmony with their lowly sur- 
 roundings ; but at times they lord it over them, 
 and the humble whitewashed cottages look as 
 if they were crouching in the dust at the feet 
 of their magnificent neighbors. As Ruth re- 
 marked, it reminded her of a poor family that 
 had inherited a silver table service, but couldn't 
 with their best will keep up the style which such
 
 64 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 an article required, nor could they make up their 
 minds to part with it ; and consequently every- 
 thing else in the house looked poorer than it 
 really was, only because the silver overshadowed 
 it .with its splendor. 
 
 " What would you do yourself in such a case, 
 Miss Copley?" asked Varberg " I mean if you 
 were a member of such a family." 
 
 " I would go and sell the table service, and 
 make myself comfortable with the money," 
 answered she. 
 
 " And what would you do, Miss Bailey ?" 
 
 " I would give it to some poor person.'' 
 
 " Who would be worse off with it than 
 you had been yourself," cried Ruth, laughing. 
 " Yes, I am sure that would be wise. But what 
 would you do with it, Mr. Varberg?" 
 
 " I should keep it," said Olaf gravely. 
 
 Early in the afternoon the train reached 
 Leipsic, and Olaf Varberg parted from his friends, 
 after having helped them into a carriage, and 
 having received a cordial invitation to call. As 
 he rode home to his lodgings in the new part of 
 the city, he reviewed in his mind the strange 
 events of these two days. Mingled feelings of
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 65 
 
 enchantment and displeasure were struggling 
 in his bosom. No sooner was Ruth out of sight 
 than he tried mercilessly to analyze her, in 
 the hope of accounting for the fascination which 
 her mere presence had exercised over him, or 
 perhaps rather to prove to himself that his ad- 
 miration was altogether foolish and irrationaL 
 
 " She would make an admirable character for 
 a story," he thought to himself; "some truly 
 capital traits. But she has no two things in 
 common with me ; she ridicules the things which 
 I love, and has no more appreciation of the ro- 
 mantic than a bat. The idea of my falling in 
 love with such a woman " ; and he laughed to 
 himself at the absurdity of the thing. " No, it 
 is a mere literary interest I take in her a mere 
 aesthetic regard." 
 
 ** A mere aesthetic regard," he repeated as he 
 entered his neatly furnished parlor. The phrase 
 appeared striking to him, and he kept murmur- 
 ing it, half absently, while he promenaded up and 
 down the floor. And the longer he walked the 
 more satisfied he grew that it was merely in 
 his capacity of author that he loved Ruth, and
 
 66 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 that Olaf Varberg the man felt no particular 
 interest in her. 
 
 "And then, had I better commence the 
 story at once?'' he asked himself; which ques- 
 tion led to a brief dispute between Varberg the 
 author and Varberg the man in regard to what 
 course the latter ought to pursue toward the 
 object of the former's love. It was finally agreed 
 that Varberg the man should humor the wishes 
 of his literary brother, and accept Miss Copley's 
 invitation to continue the acquaintance. 
 
 Having settled this important business, our 
 Norseman made a rather elaborate toilet, and 
 repaired to the hotel where he was in the habit 
 of taking his dinner. On the way he met his 
 friend, Baron von Weisskopf, who embraced 
 him in German fashion and kissed his cheeks, 
 much to the disgust of the American part of 
 his nature. 
 
 " Mein lieber Doctor," cried the Baron (all 
 his German friends called him doctor), " I 
 have sought you in all imaginable places for 
 the last week, but have been unable to find you. 
 I thought you might possibly be both dead and 
 buried."
 
 Front Wartburg to Leipsic. 67 
 
 " Weeds do not perish so easily," replied 
 Varberg. 
 
 "Ah, you are too modest, my excellent 
 friend," cried Weisskopf gaily. " But by the 
 way, where are you going ? " 
 
 " I am going to my hotel, and should be 
 happy to have you come and dine with me." 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure." 
 
 Arm in arm they wandered down the 
 promenade, while the Baron related the last 
 week's news from the student world, consisting 
 chiefly of duels that had just taken place, and 
 duels that were yet in prospect. 
 
 Baron Max von Weisskopf was a man of 
 about six feet, stoutly built, and of a magnificient 
 physique. His features were rather large and 
 handsome, but they were marred by half a dozen 
 scars which his full blonde beard but partly con- 
 cealed. His brown hair was cut close to his 
 head, and his eyes were protruding and had a 
 glassy look. He had the neck of a bull, and 
 the voice of a lion ; his laugh was loud, and 
 sounded like the clashing of two brazen pans. 
 He was Varberg's senior by several years, but 
 had taken a great fancy to him on their first
 
 68 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 meeting at a students' festival. As for the 
 Norseman, he had never entertained any cordial 
 regard for his noisy friend, but his literary zeal 
 had induced him to continue the friendly rela- 
 tion. Weisskopf was an original character, he 
 thought, and was especially useful in initiating 
 him into the mysteries of German student life. 
 
 As consenior of one of the largest chores* 
 and a renowned swordsman, the Baron had, of 
 course, free access everywhere, and it cost him 
 but a word to gain for his friend the same privi- 
 leges. His twenty-eight duels had covered him 
 with honor and with " noble scars," which latter 
 he took a special pride in displaying, whenever 
 the Rhine wine had made him more than usually 
 animated. 
 
 In the hotel a very abundant dinner was 
 ordered, and Weisskopf ate and drank like a 
 Hercules. Varberg was not in a mood to talk, 
 and so he contented himself with keeping the 
 Baron's glass constantly filled, and the Baron did 
 his best to keep him steadily busy. When the 
 
 * Chores and Biirschenschaften are the names of two kinds 
 of students' societies, or rather organizations, at the German 
 universities.
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 69 
 
 meal was at an end it was already late in the 
 afternoon, and as they had nothing else to do 
 they decided to pay a visit to Auerbach's " Kel- 
 ler." Through the entrance on Grimmaische 
 Strasse they descended into the famous old 
 vault, and Weisskopf ordered a couple of Johan- 
 nisbergers, stole a kiss from a pretty waiting- 
 maid who appeared in the door for a moment, 
 and then conducted his friend into those queer 
 old apartments, hallowed by a thousand memo- 
 ries dear to the German heart. They took their 
 seats at one of the small tables, and glanced 
 over the journals, until the waiter brought the 
 long-necked bottles in a cooler. A kind of 
 musty, mediaeval smell filled the atmosphere of 
 the vault, and the light fell in, like a dim, dusty 
 current, through that narrow slit of window 
 which was not covered by the pavement of the 
 street. Varberg lighted a cigar, and handed his 
 case to his companion. 
 
 " Well, lieber Doctor," said the latter, filling 
 the glasses, " what do you think of our German 
 ladies ? " 
 
 '* I like our American ones better," replied 
 Varbeig, to whose mind Ruth was for the
 
 70 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 time being the representative of American 
 young ladyhood. Moreover he had quite for- 
 gotten his late enthusiasm for the Teuton 
 maidens as long as he had imagined her a roman- 
 tic Margaret. 
 
 " But you have hardly had an opportunity 
 to judge yet," remarked the Baron. " Allow me 
 some time or other to introduce you to my friend 
 
 the actress, Fraulein B , and I will wager six 
 
 Johannisbergers that within a week you will be 
 converted." 
 
 Weisskopf stretched out his hand across the 
 table, and Varberg shook it silently. 
 
 "When I was in Italy a couple of years ago," 
 continued the Teuton, whose flushed face was 
 beginning to show the effect of the wine, "I was 
 as full of prejudices as you are. But one day I 
 took it into my head to learn the language of 
 the country, and for that purpose I picked up 
 an acquaintance with a young native woman, a 
 truly magnificent creature, who had big black 
 eyes as big as that " (and the speaker put his 
 thumbs and his first fingers together, and 
 showed an opening about the size of a tea-cup). 
 " Truly, I don't exaggerate. She had a voice
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 71 
 
 like a nightingale, and a mouth well, you can 
 imagine the mouth truly superb. One evening 
 we met on the strand in the bay of Naples ; I 
 laid my hand about her waist, I kissed her lips, 
 etc., and before we knew it, we were engaged." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," exclaimed Varberg, 
 " that you proposed to her for the purpose of 
 learning Italian? " 
 
 " Well, call it what you please," said the 
 Baron, laughing heartily. " I certainly did learn 
 the most exquisitely tender phrases which the 
 Italian or any other language is capable of. 
 And the amusing part of it was that I shocked 
 two ladies whom I had never seen before by 
 unconsciously addressing them with the most 
 endearing names. In fact I discovered that I 
 had, so to speak, skimmed the cream of the lan- 
 guage, and that my vocabulary consisted merely 
 of those delicately flushed words and phrases 
 which sounded so ravishingly on Marietta's lips, 
 and which, when I addressed them to her in 
 return, she listened to with a delight as if she 
 heard them for the first time in her life." 
 
 " I suppose you would advise me on the 
 same principle to make love to some German
 
 72 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 maiden, as the most profitable mode of pursu- 
 ing my philological studies." 
 
 " By all means, dear friend," and again the 
 Baron laughed immoderately. " I shall be most 
 happy to further your noble aim ; and in return 
 I shall expect of you that you introduce me to 
 some of your American beauties here in the 
 city, that I may have an opportunity of perfect- 
 ing myself in English." 
 
 Varberg took it all for a pleasant joke, and 
 laughed in a way which might have been inter- 
 preted as assent or as refusal. He pledged his 
 friend in a sparkling glass, and tried to change 
 the subject. But Weisskopf was not to be 
 prevailed upon. 
 
 "At the next Seminar* I shall know 
 whether you have followed my advice," roared 
 he. " Ah, what a delicious situation ! To have 
 you grave and proper American suddenly sur- 
 prise our worthy Professor with some perfumed 
 phrase of tenderest endearment." 
 
 Love stories, says Goethe, have this in 
 
 * Seminal is a half-private meeting of students and profes- 
 sors, and is usually devoted to the discussion of some particular 
 linguistic or scientific topic.
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 73 
 
 common with ghost-stories : when one has told 
 his experience the listeners are invariably in- 
 fected with a similar desire to relate theirs. 
 Weisskopf had roamed about considerably, and 
 wherever he came it was as natural for him to 
 engage himself as to hire his board and lodgings. 
 With an amiable nonchalance he flitted from 
 adventure to adventure, and touched upon 
 numerous incidents, not always of a strictly 
 moral character, with an airy cheerfulness which 
 went far to remove Varberg's scruples, and at 
 last made him look upon himself as an unpar- 
 donable prude for ever having disapproved of 
 him. Thus the end of it was that Olaf, from a 
 half-confessed desire to establish himself in his 
 friend's respect, began to relate his early ro- 
 mance with the Colonel's daughter in Norway, 
 but as he progressed he became more disagreea- 
 bly aware of its poverty in comparison with the 
 Baron's glowing descriptions, and in order to 
 make up for its lack of incident he uncon- 
 sciously raised Thora to the dignity of a sort 
 of Northern sea-princess, while he himself as- 
 sumed the character of an heroic, self-sacrific- 
 ing lover. Indeed, that part of his life seemed so 
 4
 
 74 -A Norsemen? s Pilgrimage. 
 
 infinitely remote, as if he had read of it a long 
 time ago in some Oriental fairy tale ; he treated 
 himself altogether impersonally, -and vaguely 
 believed that Thora was all that his fancy made 
 her. About Wartburg and Ruth he said not 
 a word. 
 
 " But my dearest Doctor," cried Weisskopf, 
 as the other had finished, " what an egregious 
 ass you must have been I mean, of course, in 
 your younger years to let such a chance slip 
 through your fingers ! " 
 
 Varberg felt the force of the remark, and 
 could think of nothing to offer as an excuse. He 
 did seem to have acted stupidly, and he felt as 
 guilty as if he had committed a dishonorable act. 
 Strange to say, it is often more humiliating to 
 be outdone by our friends in folly than to be 
 excelled by them in wisdom. The evening was 
 already far advanced, and at Olafs suggestion 
 they rose to go. The waiter came to collect the 
 money ; Weisskopf pulled out his purse, and 
 with a half-provoked air began to hunt for some 
 thaler bills which he didn't find. 
 
 " Ah, lieber Doctor," he exclaimed, " I forgot 
 to supply my purse as I passed my banker to-
 
 From Wartburg to Leipsic. 75 
 
 day. You will no doubt help me out of my 
 embarrassment." 
 
 Varberg immediately handed him a ten- 
 thaler note, and Weisskopf paid the waiter, and 
 as a matter of course put the remaining amount 
 into his own pocket-book. But he did it with 
 an air which made Varberg dimly feel as if he 
 ought to be grateful to him for condescending to 
 accept the favor. 
 
 They separated on the Augustus-Platz, and 
 Varberg took a carriage and drove home. 
 Without lighting the gas, he flung himself into 
 the corner of the sofa, and a train of confused 
 thoughts whirled through his head. He thought 
 of Ruth, and he thought of Weisskopf, and the 
 one appeared to him like the good angel, and 
 the other as the evil demon of his life. A blush 
 of shame stole to his face, as he compared the 
 noble aspirations of the morning with the imbe- 
 cile boasts of the night. 
 
 " / introduce him to Ruth ! " he cried. 
 " Nay, rather shall our swords clash and my 
 bloody corpse shall bar him the entrance." 
 
 Olaf Varberg was fond of tall phrases, espe- 
 cially when talking with himself.
 
 76 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 In Rosenthal. 
 
 T N one of the most fashionable streets of 
 Leipsic there is a tall and gloomily comfort- 
 able mansion which has become a kind of tradi- 
 tional resort for Americans. Our people do not 
 take kindly to tradition when at home, but for 
 this very reason they like to flirt with it abroad, 
 and are even willing to put up with a good deal 
 of personal discomfort for the mere pleasure of 
 being able to write to their friends beyond the 
 sea, " From my windows I look out upon the 
 mouldering arches of a ruined Capuchin con- 
 vent" ; or, " I write this sitting on a spot which 
 is said to be haunted by the august shade of the 
 Emperor Barbarossa." And the honest people 
 of Germany, who have discovered this weakness 
 in their visitors, are not unlikely to manufacture 
 legends for the occasion in order thereby to 
 invest their humble abodes with that romantic
 
 In RosenihaL 77 
 
 charm which seldom fails to act as a bait to 
 travellers: and it is needless to add that they 
 enhance their prices accordingly. Between 
 Gottingen and the Harz there is hardly a forest 
 or a mountain which does not lay claim to some 
 association with Barbarossa's ghost, and in 
 Eisenach every other house has been the scene 
 of some remarkable incident in the lives of Lu- 
 ther, the Minnesingers, or Sebastian Bach. In 
 Leipsic, square marble tablets with the inscrip- 
 tion, "Hier ward geboren," etc.. or, "Hier 
 starb," adorn the houses where great men have 
 lived, or died, and Varberg had, naturally 
 enough, made the round of these houses before 
 he condescended to resort to the new and unhis- 
 torical part of the city. Unfortunately they 
 were all occupied, and for want of anything 
 better he had selected a mansion which had 
 been hit by a cannon ball in the last battle of 
 Leipsic, and which from that day bore the 
 inscription, " Behute Gott dieses Haus." (God 
 protect this house.) 
 
 Ruth had been more fortunate in the choice 
 of her dwelling. As already observed, it was 
 situated in one of the most fashionable streets,
 
 78 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 and was a kind of cross between the old and 
 the new city. On one side it bordered on 
 the lazily-flowing Pleisse, which had once, if the 
 story be true, flowed red with the mingled blood 
 of brave French and German hearts ; a round- 
 arched vault, pleasantly suggestive of cloisters 
 and mediaeval life, led from the street into a 
 paved court, three sides of which were enclosed 
 by high walls, while the fourth left the view free 
 toward a half rural oasis, with low-roofed cot- 
 tages and little green garden patches. 
 
 Ruth had been living here for about a year, 
 with her aunt and cousin, at the time when 
 Varberg made* her acquaintance. She was the 
 only daughter of a "retired Boston merchant, and 
 had never been out of Massachusetts until she 
 went abroad. At the age of five she had lost 
 her mother, and her father, who was a hard- 
 working man and had but little time to de- 
 vote to his child, had given her in charge of a 
 widowed aunt, Mrs.- Elder, the mother of the 
 cousin Fred whose enthusiasm for Schiller Ruth 
 had so pitilessly ridiculed. Old Mr. Copley had 
 since the death of his wife almost shunned the 
 society of ladies, and consequently his daughter
 
 In Rosenthal. 79 
 
 had, from her earliest childhood, been thrown 
 largely into the company of men who had always 
 flattered her and humored her wishes. Her 
 aunt, who was a weak and gentle woman, soon be- 
 came aware of the intellectual superiority of her 
 ward, and her conduct toward her showed the 
 latter that she tacitly recognized this superiority. 
 Thus Ruth early acquired a certain independ- 
 ence of manner and a fearlessness in expressing 
 her opinions which by the less charitable of 
 her own sex were interpreted as wilfulness and 
 hauteur. Nevertheless, as she grew up to young 
 ladyhood, she was eagerly sought in society, and 
 those whom she deigned to admk into her con- 
 fidence felt honored by her^friendship, and be- 
 came ardently attached to her. There was 
 something in her manner which put an end to 
 all criticism ; whatever she did, the fact that it 
 was she who did it, sanctioned it and made it 
 proper. 
 
 It was about a week since the young ladies 
 had returned from Wartburg. Ruth was sitting 
 at the piano playing snatches of various airs, and 
 now and then giving an impatient toss of her
 
 8o A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 head, as she opened and again threw away one 
 piece of music after the other. 
 
 " Schumann was a nursery hero," she said, 
 turning about on the stool. " I can't imagine 
 how Clara Shumann could take it into her head 
 to marry him. If I had been she, I would rather 
 have married old W ." 
 
 W was an old Leipsic music teacher, of 
 
 whom it is said that he forswore composing be- 
 cause Clara Schumann refused his love. 
 
 " And why do you play him then, my dear ? " 
 said Mrs. Elder, who was seated on the sofa 
 doing some sort of worsted work. 
 
 " I have to do a great many things which 
 I disapprove of, aunt," replied Ruth, wheeling 
 again round to the piano. " There is a strange 
 sort of fascination about him which I can't resist, 
 although his capriciousness provokes me the 
 more for every measure I play." 
 
 " Ah, there he is coming," ejaculated Miss 
 Bailey, who had in the meanwhile been looking 
 out of the window. 
 
 " Who is coming, Dearie?" asked the aunt 
 
 " Oir Wartburg friend." 
 
 Miss Bailey's real name was Sarah ; but once
 
 In Rosenthal. Si 
 
 when she had been veiy sick, and had not been 
 expected to live, the family had got into the 
 habit of calling her Dearie, and this name she 
 had ever since retained. When Ruth wanted to 
 tease her she called her Sallie, which name, for 
 some reason or other, was exceedingly repugnant 
 to its owner; in fact Ruth, who was not loth to 
 employ stratagem for the accomplishment of her 
 wishes, could induce her cousin to do anything 
 in the world for her by the promise that she 
 would never more call her Sallie. 
 
 No sooner had Miss Bailey announced that 
 the Wartburg friend was coming than Ruth rose 
 from the piano, and began to busy herself about 
 the room, clearing away books and work-baskets 
 from the table, and putting things into order. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Elder 
 responded with a gentle " Come in," and Var- 
 beig entered. He greeted the ladies, and was 
 introduced to Mrs. Elder. 
 
 " Why, you speak English ! " exclaimed she. 
 " I understood that you were a German, or 
 something of that sort." 
 
 Ruth sent her aunt a quick, disapproving 
 4*
 
 82 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 glance, and Mrs. Elder determined that she 
 would say nothing more. 
 
 " No, I am not a German," replied Varberg, 
 as he suffered himself to be led to a seat. " I 
 have no wish to change my nationality." 
 
 " We feared that you had quite forgotten us, 
 Mr. Varberg," said Ruth. "You have not been 
 in haste to find out where we lived." 
 
 Olaf murmured some kind of commonplace 
 excuse, and the conversation was turned on some 
 fresh topic. 
 
 " I am glad you are not a German," remarked 
 Mrs. Elder, who had in the meanwhile forgot- 
 ten her resolution. " The Germans are very un- 
 intelligent people. They eat with their knives, 
 and the gentlemen always supply themselves first 
 at the table, and leave the ladies to take care of 
 themselves." 
 
 " I should hardly ascribe that to lack of .in- 
 telligence," replied Varberg. " I think I should 
 rather call it rudeness, or lack of good breeding." 
 
 " I should call it simply immoral," said Ruth, 
 with a humorous sparkle in her eye, which left 
 the listener in doubt whether she was jesting or 
 really in earnest.
 
 In Rosenthal. 83 
 
 " The term is a matter of indifference to me," 
 answered he, " if the fact still remains. But I 
 must say that I have not invariably found the 
 Germans impolite." 
 
 " My chief objection to the Teuton males," 
 observed Ruth laughing, " is that they eat sour- 
 krout and strong cheese and smoke bad tobacco. 
 And the ladies I disapprove of because they 
 look dowdyish." 
 
 Varberg was once more about to undertake 
 the defence of the Teutons, when it occurred to 
 him that the weather was beautiful, and that the 
 time would be most favorable for a walk through 
 Rosenthal. He ventured to make a proposition 
 to that effect, and the ladies willingly assented. 
 While they withdrew to the next room to put on 
 their things he again addressed himself to Mrs. 
 Elder, and had an opportunity of becoming bet- 
 ter acquainted with that estimable matron. Mrs. 
 Elder was a plump old lady, with a kind, be- 
 nevolent face of an enviably clear complexion ; 
 her white hair fell smoothly over her low fore- 
 head, and her mild blue eyes and her soft voice 
 gave one the impression of a patient, forbearing 
 indolence. There was not the remotest sugges-
 
 84 -A Norsematis Pilgrimage. 
 
 tion of anything aggressive about Mrs. Elder's 
 whole person ; she reemed to be gentleness and 
 forbearance personified. As soon as she had 
 learned a few facts relating to the visitor's early 
 life, she began to tell him what a prodigy Ruth 
 had been from the time she was old enough to 
 talk; and Varberg listened eagerly, and was 
 quite ready to believe that his heroine possessed 
 even far greater excellences than the old lady 
 would have thought of claiming for her. 
 
 " I remember once when she was four years 
 old," said Mrs. Elder, " her mother and I were 
 sitting in the parlor, and we were talking about 
 some person who was in the habit of coming to 
 the house quite frequently. I was about to say 
 something not exactly favorable about this per- 
 son, but my sister-in-law pointed to Ruth, who 
 was sitting in a corner playing with her dolls, 
 and said, ' Little pitchers have ears.' ' Yes, and 
 legs too,' replied Ruth, picked up her dolls, and 
 marched out of the room. Now, don't you think 
 that was a remarkable answer for a child four 
 years old ? " 
 
 Varberg did own that the repartee was excel- 
 lent, and the aunt proceeded to give fresh in-
 
 In RosenthaL 85 
 
 stances of her niece's precocity, and the young 
 man continued to listen with the same unflagging 
 interest and devotion. At length the ladies re- 
 turned, but Miss Bailey suddenly declared that 
 she had a headache, and that she could not go. 
 Ruth said it was only imagination, and sprinkled 
 her with eau-de-cologne, but Miss Bailey was 
 not to be prevailed upon. So Ruth and Var- 
 berg started alone. 
 
 It had rained early in the day ; the air was 
 pure and summer-like, and the soil still exhaled 
 that damp earthy smell which after a shower 
 always affects one's senses so agreeably. Ruth 
 was in excellent humor, and made her half sar- 
 castic little remarks upon everybody that passed. 
 But as they entered Rosenthal, the park of 
 Leipsic, the promenaders became too numerous, 
 and she was not a little puzzled to make a judi- 
 cious choice among so many tempting subjects 
 for her satire. 
 
 Rosenthal must have been named on the 
 lucus a nan luccndo principle, for it is neither a 
 valley (Thai) nor are there roses in it. It is on 
 the contrary a large and perfectly level plain, the 
 outskirts of which' are overgrown with maple
 
 86 A. Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 and beech forest, while the middle part seems 
 hardly yet to have been reclaimed from its 
 natural state of moor and pasture land. But the 
 principal feature of the park, speaking from a 
 German point of view, is the large and excellent 
 restaurant, with its rudely frescoed pavilions, its 
 fragrant coffee, and its old-world look of cheer 
 and comfort. Our wanderers, however, did not 
 on this occasion yield to the temptation of 
 the restaurant, but wended their way onward 
 beneath the shady crowns of the full-leafed 
 beeches. Ruth assumed to-day, as ever, a patron- 
 izing attitude toward the natives ; and Varberg, 
 who seldom of his own accord discovered the 
 humorous side of anything abstract or concrete 
 was soon allured into a heartier participation 
 in her merriment, and even astonished himself 
 by little speeches which a month ago he would 
 have condemned as flippant and irreverent, had 
 they been uttered by anybody but himself. As 
 they entered a little side path, at the end of 
 which a green arbor invited to rest, Ruth discov- 
 ered a voluminous Leipsicker who, with half-open 
 eyes and a fat, lazy expression in his counte- 
 nance, lay outstretched on a bench at the road-
 
 In Rosenthal. 87 
 
 side; half a dozen ruddy-cheeked and sleepy- 
 looking children, who appeared to be all of about 
 the same age, played in a sort of meek fashion 
 about him on the grass, while occasional grunts 
 broke from the worthy parent's throat, indicating 
 his parental watchfulness and supervision. 
 
 " Behold a typical Saxon," said Varberg. 
 
 " I should rather say a typical Leipsicker," 
 remarked Ruth. 
 
 " How would you define, or what place in the 
 animal kingdom would you assign to the native 
 Leipsicker? " 
 
 " If I had to write an essay about him, I 
 think I should have to commence in this way : 
 The native Leipsicker is an amphibium. His 
 blood is lukewarm, and he breathes by means 
 of lungs, but a close observer will detect an 
 indication of gills on the nether side of the 
 jaws. His favorite element is lager beer ; but 
 but on a warm day the male may be seen sun- 
 ning himself on the banks of Rosenthal, etc." 
 
 There is always mystery enough about a 
 forest arbor to gently attune two hearts into 
 mutual sympathy. Varberg had enjoyed her 
 merry sarcasms ; he had laughed at the drollness
 
 88 A Norseman s Pilgrimage. 
 
 of her criticisms, and he had even succeeded 
 beyond his expectation in entering into her 
 mood. Nevertheless this was not his way of 
 looking upon life ; she saw only the grotesque 
 and ludicrous, while his chief pleasure was to 
 note the quaint and the picturesque, to detect 
 the fleeting shades and miances of color, and to 
 catch characteristic glimpses of the land and the 
 people r.mong whom he was living. Unhappily 
 they were both a little exclusive, and their point 
 of view one-sided. Had Olaf possessed her 
 quick sense of humor, or had she been gifted 
 with his keen sight for the picturesque, they 
 would both have been more ideal companions, 
 and would perhaps have reaped greater profit 
 from their German sojourn than they did. As 
 it was, their views and purposes came into 
 constant collision, and there was a Wartburg or 
 a forest arbor, or some equally romantic neigh- 
 borhood needed to breathe upon some hidden 
 chord in her bosom so as to make it "vibrate in 
 conscious sympathy with him. There was to 
 him a delicious sense of security in being thus 
 shut out from all the obtrusive world, and being, 
 if but for moment, alone in this secluded forest
 
 In Rosenthal. 89 
 
 haunt with one so young and so wondrously fair. 
 A stray glint of sunshine fell through the leaves 
 and hung trembling above her head, and he now 
 noticed for the first time that she had on her hat 
 a small bird of paradise which, with open bill, 
 seemed to pursue a glittering little bug, attached 
 to a straw at half an inch's distance. 
 
 " She certainly has fancy," he thought, " and 
 what is more, she has the courage to trust in the 
 verdict of her own taste. 3 ' 
 
 "Tell me, Mr. Varberg," said Ruth abruptly, 
 piercing a maple leaf and balancing it on the end 
 of he r parasol ; " how did you ever conceive the 
 idea of writing a book? " 
 
 " I was not aware that I had ever claimed in 
 your presence the character of an author." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you have," and she looked up 
 archly. " It is of no use to try to disguise 
 yourself before me. I had read your book some 
 time before I saw you, and I discovered at Wart- 
 burg who you were, even before you gave me 
 your name." 
 
 " You astonish me, Miss Copley. However, 
 in regard to your question, it is very difficult to 
 say when or how 'any one conceives the idea of
 
 9<D A Norseman s Pilgrimage. 
 
 writing a book. I wrote my first book when I 
 was ten years old ; only it was never printed. 
 Since then I have assumed to myself the charac- 
 ter of an author, and even if my tales and poems 
 were never printed, and no one else was willing 
 to recognize me in my assumed capacity, it would 
 still be as natural to me to write as it would be 
 to eat and to sleep, and I should until the day 
 of my death look upon myself as an author." 
 
 " How strange," she murmured absently, and 
 then suddenly straightening herself up, she added 
 in a livelier tone, " Have you the patience to 
 listen to a little secret of mine which I feel in- 
 clined to confide to you ? " 
 
 " I am all attention." 
 
 " Very well then. You would hardly believe 
 it, but I too once wrote a story. I wrote it, not 
 because I felt it an inward necessity to write, but 
 because I thought it would be nice to see some- 
 thing of my own in print. And then, you know, 
 most people think, when they have read a novel, 
 that they might just as well have written it them- 
 selves ; and with young girls at least I know it 
 is a very natural impulse to test their capacity
 
 /;/ Rosenthal. 91 
 
 at once, and to try in some way or other to im- 
 itate what they read." 
 
 " And may I ask what was the fate of your 
 book?" 
 
 " Wait a little. I have not got to that point 
 yet. I plotted the story, and I thought at the 
 time that it was quite as good as a hundred I 
 had read. But when I commenced to write it, 
 innumerable difficulties presented themselves; 
 and what especially puzzled me was that my 
 characters would invariably get talking on some 
 profound topic which I myself knew nothing 
 about. And then, you see, I would always come 
 to a sudden stop. At last I gave it up in de- 
 spair, and owned that I was not born an author- 
 ess. But since that time I have had a sincere 
 respect for those who possessed the gift which 
 was denied me." 
 
 " I can hardly take the compliment to myself, 
 Miss Copley," replied Varberg, " since my incipi- 
 ent authorship has as yet proved nothing. It 
 may be all assumption on my part, but," he 
 added after a pause, " it will at least take a life- 
 time to convince me of it." 
 
 " I shall not'flatter you," she said laughing;
 
 92 A N orsemari s Pilgrimage. 
 
 " although I have a tempting opportunity to do 
 so." And both arose and turned into a narrow 
 path leading to an oak which has lately been 
 planted in commemoration of the German vic- 
 tories over France. Ruth began to talk about 
 America, and mentioned some friends of hers in 
 Boston whose acquaintance she hoped Varberg 
 would make when he should return to the city 
 of the Puritans. Varberg also mentioned some 
 friend of his, and wondered that she had never 
 heard of him. 
 
 " He is a very good in fact, an excellent 
 young man," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I should dislike him," 
 answered she emphatically. " I always dislike 
 excellent young men." 
 
 " I am afraid I don't understand you." 
 " No ; I am afraid you do not. When any- 
 body tells me that a young man is good or ex- 
 cellent, I always infer that he is stupid. For if 
 he wasn't, people would think of something else 
 to say about him. And stupid men I have no 
 patience with." 
 
 "And do you apply the same test to ladies ?" 
 " Well, it isn't so unpardonable in ladies to
 
 In Rosen thai. 93 
 
 be stupid. In fact, they are in a way shut out 
 from the great interests of mankind. They 
 move in an old, steady-going routine, and if 
 they have no great aims or aspirations to spur 
 them on, they can hardly escape being dull and 
 commonplace. And you have, no doubt, your- 
 self noticed how uncharitable men are toward 
 those very women who have the courage to rise 
 a little above what is called their proper sphere 
 of life. What a man demands of a woman is 
 innocence and stupidity." 
 
 Varberg tacitly admitted the justice of her 
 accusation, and she suspected from his silence 
 that he agreed with her. 
 
 " To authors," he said after a pause, " these 
 women whom you call dull and commonplace 
 are often as interesting as those who rise above 
 their sphere." 
 
 " How so, pray ? You speak in riddles." 
 
 "I am afraid I shall give you a wrong im- 
 pression if I attempt to explain what I mean. 
 However, since I have said A. I must say B also.* 
 As a reporter or a newspaper correspondent is 
 apt to look upon the v/orld as a conglomerate of 
 
 * A Norwegian proverb.
 
 94 -d. Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 items, so an author is in danger of regarding it 
 as a confused heap of plots, which it is for him 
 to discover, to disentangle, and to arrange into 
 a symmetrical work of art. If he sees joy or 
 suffering, happy or unhappy events, he may 
 merely estimate their literary value, and wonder 
 how they would look in print ; and the most 
 dangerous part of it is that, like a dissecting 
 surgeon, he may soon lose his sympathy and 
 fellow-feeling for his brethren. He rejoices in a 
 fine burst of despair, keenly relishes a deep and 
 exalted grief, and derives an intense enjoyment 
 from every pure and vigorous expression of emo- 
 tion which may come in his way." 
 
 He would have continued his harangue, but 
 here his fair companion stopped, as if in surprise, 
 and looked him wistfully in the eye. 
 
 " What horrid people authors must be ! " she 
 exclaimed. " I take back every word I have 
 said about my loyalty and respect for them." 
 
 " Wait until I have finished. Mind, I don't 
 say that authors are as I have described them. 
 I have merely said that they are in danger of 
 becoming so. Thus, as long as your common- 
 place ladies are capable of a pure, human emo-
 
 In Rosenthal. 95 
 
 tion, they are objects of interest to an author. 
 He often imagines himself standing upon a high 
 pedestal, like a Simon Stylites, and he sees the 
 noisy whirl of life eddying about his pillar, but 
 he is not moved. Life becomes a pageantry 
 to him in a more specific sense. Pure, typical 
 features delight him, and men and women 
 assume in their relation to him merely the char- 
 acter of good or bad figures for a story. But 
 remember, this is merely an imaginary picture. 
 If authors were not human enough to fall in 
 love, it would be a real one. But unhappily, 
 from their exalted station, they are very likely 
 to discover some maidenly face, typical or not ; 
 a wild longing seizes them ; they madly plunge 
 down into the whirlpool in pursuit of this 
 maiden, and if they find her, are henceforth 
 content to read nothing but the tender mystery 
 of her heart, and to see nothing but that little 
 domestic idyl which soon nestles about them." 
 
 " Your picture is certainly a striking one. I 
 never looked upon it in that way before. But 
 vou say ' unhappily ' ; do you then think that it 
 is a misfortune to be capable of love ? " 
 
 " I do not know," he murmured sadly. Their
 
 g6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 eyes met in a quick glance. " I only wish that 
 I was myself less capable of it." 
 
 A deep blush stole over her cheeks, and she 
 unconsciously hastened her steps. In a few min- 
 utes they reached the memorial oak, which was 
 hedged in by an open iron fence. The small en- 
 closure within was laid out into flower beds, in 
 which grew pansies, lilies, and tulips in many- 
 colored profusion. 
 
 " What a beautiful pansy ! " Ruth exclaimed, 
 pointing with her hand through the iron bars. 
 " I never saw a larger one." 
 
 No sooner had she uttered the words than he 
 bounded over the fence, picked the flower, and 
 handed it to her. 
 
 " But, Mr. Varberg, what are you doing ? " 
 she cried in a frightened voice. " Don't you 
 know that it is forbidden to pick those flowers? 
 If the police saw you, they would arrest you." 
 
 "What do I care for the police?" said he, 
 as he stood again at her side. " Not all the 
 police in the German empire could prevent me 
 from taking a flower if if you wanted it," he 
 added in a precipitous flutter. She took the 
 pansy, and they moved on. A strange reckless-
 
 In Rosenthal. 97 
 
 ness had come over him ; in one moment he felt 
 hot and flushed, and in the next he shivered. 
 He was afraid of speaking lest he should betray 
 his agitation. 
 
 " Do not hold the flower in your left hand, 
 Miss Copley," he said at last, when the silence 
 became too oppressive. " It will wither. You 
 are aware that there is an old superstition 
 about it, and you know I claim to be super- 
 stitious." 
 
 " It will die and become a ghost," answered 
 Ruth musingly, and looking at the flower. " You 
 remember what you told me about the elf maid- 
 ens. And the flower-ghost will haunt you and 
 tread an airy dance about you in the moonlight. 
 All, you see I have profited by your instruction. 
 It is strange," she added after a pause, <l all 
 your legendary beings show a predilection for 
 men. One seldom hears of their molesting 
 women." 
 
 He was not in the mood for legends to-day, 
 and the topic was soon dropped. On their 
 way back to the city they met the Baron von 
 Weisskopf, and as he had the rudeness to stop 
 and talk to Varberg, the latter had hardly any
 
 98 A Norse-mail's Pilgrimage. 
 
 choice but to introduce him ; but he did it with a 
 fierce scowl on his brow and in an indifferent voice, 
 which must have puzzled his friend exceedingly. 
 
 " Aha," said the Baron to himself, as he 
 turned to the restaurant's pavilion to order his 
 coffee with Curasao, " he is studying the American 
 tongue for the present. That accounts for it." 
 
 " What a magnificent neck he had ! " observed 
 Ruth to her companion. 
 
 " Yes, his neck is his most prominent feature," 
 answered Varberg. 
 
 Under the old archway of the house where 
 she lived they parted. 
 
 " You will come and see us very often now, 
 won't you ?" said she, as she reached him her 
 hand and vanished through the door. 
 
 With an airily uncertain tread, and the ab- 
 surdest fancies hovering through his brain, Var- 
 berg reached his own dwelling. Now he hummed 
 a snatch of a song, now he thrust his hands into 
 his pocket, and began to march distractedly up 
 and down the floor ; now again he wondered 
 what he had thought about the minute before, 
 paused suddenly in his walk, and placed his finger 
 meditatively on his nose.
 
 In Rosenthal. 99 
 
 Good heavens ! " cried he aloud. " What 
 can be the matter with me ? I never felt so in 
 my life before." 
 
 In order to find something to occupy his 
 thought, he opened his writing desk and began 
 to glance over some old letters and poems. And 
 from out of the old verses his former self seemed 
 to stare upon him like an indignant ghost, up- 
 braiding him for having disturbed its peace. It 
 appeared a perfect mystery to Varberg that he 
 had ever been as those poems showed him to 
 have been, and still he distinctly remembered the 
 occasion ; it was only a few months since they 
 had been written. 
 
 " What wretched stuff! " he exclaimed at last. 
 And he went to the window, tore the poems to 
 small pieces, and scattered the fragments on the 
 wind. Like a swarm of frightened butterflies they 
 rose and fell in the air, whirled giddily around 
 and flew out over the roofs of the city. Olaf even 
 wondered if one of them might not reach Ruth's 
 window, and he was about to construct a little 
 romance out of it, when it struck him that it was 
 a very trite and threadbare sentiment.
 
 loo A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Brother Jonathan s Ball. 
 
 "F^v URING the following four weeks there was 
 *-^ hardly a day in which Ruth and Varberg 
 did not meet. If he stayed away for a couple of 
 days, she accused him of being unneighborly, and 
 he was too conscientious to plead business or ac- 
 cidental obstacles, when all the time he felt that 
 no business in the world would have had the 
 power to call him away from her side. But the 
 truth was, he was living in a state of perpetual 
 struggle with himself; his life seemed but one 
 long-continued contradiction. And at certain 
 periods, fresh scruples would beset him, and 
 strange misgivings would fill his heart. Was it 
 merely an aesthetic regard he felt for Ruth ? Was 
 it merely the artist in him who admired and loved 
 her? and was it only as the possible heroine of 
 a future story that he felt his heart warming to- 
 ward her and his thoughts circling about her in
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 101 
 
 unending and ever-narrowing spheres ? And sup- 
 pose that his attitude toward her was merely 
 that of a disinterested observer: was it then the 
 part of an upright and honorable man to steal thus 
 occultly, under the cover of friendship, into a 
 young girl's heart, only to explore its hidden 
 workings, and then expose it ruthlessly to the 
 stare of an unsympathetic multitude ? He might 
 try to persuade himself as much as he pleased, 
 that he did it for the benefit of art, which stands 
 high above all the petty interests of the individ- 
 ual ; the better part of his nature would still re- 
 bel against this kind of proceeding; and the 
 result was that Varberg the man and Varberg 
 the artist declared each other war, and never 
 wearied of heaping upon each other the fiercest 
 accusations. Varberg the artist however, gained 
 an advantage which he persistently clung to ; 
 it was absurd, he said, to think that Ruth 
 should return the tender regard which he pro- 
 fessed to cherish for her. It was on her part 
 simply a friendship a mere Platonic relation. 
 Probably the thought of love had never entered 
 her head. Thus persuaded, our Norseman would 
 again, in a tenderly melancholy mood, wend his
 
 IO2 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 way toward the house with the archway, and as 
 he entered the bright and cosy little parlor, and 
 his eyes again eagerly drank the ever-fresh delight 
 of her presence, he seemed to himself a famished 
 wanderer who falls down exhausted at the border 
 of the oasis, content to feel, if not to taste, the 
 gifts of its bounty. He would often sit for 
 hours wondering at the perfection of outline in 
 her bust and countenance, and admiring the grace 
 and elastic harmony of their curves ; there was 
 something Juno-like in them, he thought. She 
 was evidently not of Germanic origin ; there was 
 a classic repose in the poise of her head, and 
 there was merely a more single and primitive 
 costume needed to reveal in her the plastic grace 
 of the Periclean age. But with all this you would 
 detect in her glance, in the ensemble of her face, 
 and perhaps in the very features which Varberg 
 liked to call Greek, something which instantly 
 excluded the possibility of an old-world birth ; 
 perhaps it was a certain unconsciousness of re- 
 straint, a wholesome (or as Varberg styled it, 
 shocking) disrespect for tradition. At all events, 
 her whole being breathed the ethereal loveliness 
 of American womanhood.
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 103 
 
 There was something ineffably delicious in 
 these silent reveries a luxury of being, a dolce 
 far nienfe, which was rendered the sweeter by 
 the consciousness that it was shared by her. In 
 such moments these lines of Keats would float 
 dimly through his mind : 
 
 Dark nor light 
 
 The region ; nor bright nor sombre wholly, 
 But mingled up ; a gleaming melancholy ; 
 A dusky empire and its diadems ; 
 One faint eternal eventide of gems. 
 
 Keats had been his first love among poets ; it 
 was while turning over the leaves of his solitary 
 volume that he had caught the first glimpse of 
 the golden ore of the English tongue, and delv- 
 ing deeper, he had been startled at the revela- 
 tion of all its unceasing wonder and delight. In 
 Keats he had also found a line which for its 
 association with Ruth had become infinitely dear 
 to him: 
 
 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 
 Through the sad heart of Ruth when, sick for home, 
 She stood in tears amid the alien corn. 
 
 To be sure he had never seen Ruth in tears, 
 nor did he imagine that she was " sick for home," 
 but nevertheless the chasteness, the sculptur-
 
 IO4 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 esque purity of the verse could not but suggest 
 her. Ruth's cheeks were like the fresh-fallen 
 snow, not in tint, but because they looked as if 
 they had never been touched, and her lips were 
 as if they had never been kissed. 
 
 Ruth had soon discovered that her friend was 
 a dilettante in music, and after some hesitation 
 he had consented to come and play duets with 
 her once a week. For a time he was quite en- 
 thusiastic in his devotion to the noble art, and 
 even practised faithfully, but his fingers had lost 
 their suppleness, and he could no longer perform 
 those feats of manual dexterity which Liszt's 
 and Van Billow's arrangements require. By vir- 
 tue of patient labor, however, and a good deal 
 of forbearance on her part, he brought it so far 
 that he could play the bass with tolerable ac- 
 curacy (and he was artist enough to do it un- 
 obtrusively) while she managed the treble part 
 with consummate skill. If he lost his place, she 
 swiftly pointed to it with her finger ; if he was 
 a measure behind, she at once noticed it, and 
 adapted herself to him ; and if he missed a flat 
 or a sharp, her finger was in an instant on the 
 right key, and all the time her own part was
 
 Brother Jonathan's Ball. 105 
 
 rendered to perfection. Varberg enjoyed these 
 musical evenings well enough, but he confessed 
 to himself that he felt just a trifle humiliated at 
 being corrected even by her, and that it was a 
 relief to him when she gave him furlough and 
 allowed him lazily to listen to her own improvi- 
 sations. 
 
 Varberg had, without any special effort of 
 his own, soon established himself in Mrs. Elder's 
 favor. The old lady, although she would per- 
 sist in Anglicizing his name into Warbeck and 
 even Warble, seemed to entertain a very cordial 
 regard for him. In her opinion it was a sad 
 mistake that all the world had not been made to 
 speak English ; and it always remained a mys- 
 tery to her how people could communicate with 
 each other in any other tongue. Against the 
 German she moreover cherished a kind of per- 
 sonal resentment ; she did not dare say so, but 
 nevertheless it remained a source of fresh wonder 
 to her how even children could express them- 
 selves with fluency in such a harsh and bar- 
 barous language. It was amusing to see the 
 puzzled frown on her face when the servant 
 maid came ia and addressed some greeting or 
 5*
 
 IO6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 question to her ; and Ruth asserted that when 
 she had nothing else to do she usually went 
 shopping with her aunt, for the mere sport of 
 seeing the latter's indignant stare at being con- 
 fronted with the Teuton clerks, and her un- 
 abated surprise at finding the German the 
 language of every store they entered. And on 
 such occasions Mrs. Elder, when she had recov- 
 ered from her first shock, would never cease to 
 marvel at the vastness of her niece's attainments, 
 although her indiscriminate linguistic taste 
 awarded a similar verdict of intellectual superi- 
 ority to Miss Bailey, whose German was only 
 remarkable for its reckless defiance of gender 
 and syntax. 
 
 It was in the last days of June that a 
 wealthy American residing in Leipsic gathered 
 the tlite of the English-speaking population at 
 his house, for what was informally called "a 
 social hop." The secret was let out some days 
 before the invitations came, and the pupils of 
 the Conservatory were all in a flutter, and 
 puzzled themselves with endless conjectures as 
 to who were to be among the favored few. It 
 was also rumored that some aristocratic German
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 107 
 
 friends were to be there. Ruth, Varberg, and 
 Miss Bailey each received a dainty little note 
 requesting the honor of their presence, and 
 they very naturally agreed to go together ; Var- 
 berg of course reserved for himself the pleasure 
 of procuring a carriage, and the ladies were in 
 return to consider themselves as being under his 
 special charge. At the appointed time he made 
 his appearance in the usual unpicturesque attire 
 of this century's cavaliers, and Mrs. Elder re- 
 ported that the ladies would soon be ready ; but 
 as Varberg had sufficient experience in such 
 matters to know that " soon " meant at least an 
 hour, he made himself comfortable in the sofa 
 corner, and resolved to be patient. Mrs. Elder 
 first asked him whether people ate meat in his 
 country (she had a dim impression that they 
 fed on tallow candles), and having been satis- 
 fied on this point, gave an account of Dearie's 
 experience as a pupil in a Leipsic school. 
 
 " It was a most excellent school," said the 
 old lady. "They had Brussels carpets on the 
 floors in the school-rooms and you know 
 carpets are not a common luxury in this country 
 and they had servants who waited upon the
 
 io8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 scholars and reached them their books and 
 everything they wanted. But then the teacher 
 asked Dearie what the capital of the United 
 States was called, and Dearie said that it was 
 Washington. 'Why, don't you know better?' 
 said the teacher. ' It is New York.' Dearie of 
 course couldn't stand that, and she came home 
 crying, and since then she hasn't been there." 
 
 Varberg expressed his approval of Dearie's 
 action, and Mrs. Elder again gave vent to her 
 curiosity about the mode of life among the Nor- 
 wegians, whom, in spite of his assertion to the 
 contrary, she would persist in confounding with 
 the Laplanders. Did they have railroads in 
 Norway ? didn't the ladies there wear sheepskin 
 dresses for evening parties ? and didn't the gen- 
 tlemen in polite society kick the rafter in the 
 ceiling when entering a room ? If she had 
 intended to banter him, Varberg would have 
 received her questions as pleasantry, and an- 
 swered accordingly ; but the distressing part of 
 it was that she evidently spoke in good faith, 
 and even cited authorities for her opinions when- 
 ever he ventured to contradict her. She knew 
 she had read it somewhere, she said.
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 109 
 
 In the meanwhile a richly perfumed breeze 
 (which made the lamp flutter) and an ethereal 
 silken rustle announced Ruth's arrival, and Var- 
 berg suddenly grew very unpatriotic, and re- 
 fused to listen to Mrs. Elder's discourse about 
 Norway. But Dearie was not yet ready, and 
 Mrs. Elder was too much warmed up to drop the 
 subject at so critical a moment. The young man 
 grew more and more uneasy, then vexed, and 
 at last came very near being impolite ; but Ruth 
 came to his rescue. 
 
 " I am very sorry to have kept you waiting 
 so long, Mr. Varberg," said she. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," interposed Mrs. Elder. 
 "We have had a very pleasant time indeed. 
 Mr. Warbeck has been telling me about his 
 country." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Ruth with animation. 
 " Do not let me interrupt you. I shall sit here 
 quietly and listen. I am as much interested 
 as aunt." 
 
 There was once more a great rustle of silk 
 and freshly-ironed skirts while she gathered up 
 her dress and let herself drop down on the 
 piano stooL She crossed her hands in her lap,
 
 no A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 threw her head back, " Well, now you may 
 begin. I am all attention." 
 
 Now Olaf had ever been proud of his coun- 
 try ; but at this moment he hated it, because it 
 seemed to remove him from her ; he hated Mrs. 
 Elder for reminding him of their dissimilarity, 
 and he even hated that part of his own life 
 which he had not shared with Ruth. 
 
 Never had Miss Bailey appeared lovelier in 
 his eyes ; and never had she been more wel- 
 come. He instinctively made the reflection that 
 a ball attire does make even the plainest look 
 attractive. Little did he heed the numerous 
 injunctions from Mrs. Elder, about coming home 
 in time, taking care that the ladies didn't drink 
 ice-water when they were warm, etc. In an 
 agreeably festive mood they descended the 
 stairs, and in another minute the carriage door 
 was slammed to, and they rolled away. 
 
 On the way Olaf engaged Ruth for the first 
 waltz and the German and Miss Bailey for two 
 quadrilles. As the former stepped from the 
 carriage she had to put her hands on his shoul- 
 ders and to make a little leap on to the sidewalk ; 
 and Miss Bailey did the same. In the hall on
 
 BrotJier Jonathans Ball. in 
 
 the second floor they parted, and the ladies went 
 to the dressing-room ; and it was nearly half an 
 hour before they returned. He in the mean- 
 while split his gloves from sheer distraction, and 
 had to send a servant out to buy a fresh pair. 
 Fortunately he reappeared within a few minutes. 
 At length, when Varberg's patience was nearly 
 gone, he felt a light pressure on his arm it 
 was Ruth. 
 
 We would fain gratify the reader with a de- 
 scription of what Ruth had on, but Varberg's 
 journal, to which we are indebted for the plot of 
 the present story, contains only the following 
 passage which we prefer to quote in the original : 
 " She was dressed in some sort of corn-colored 
 stuff trimmed with black. She looked lovely as 
 a fresh-opened rosebud. I don't think it was 
 moire antique, nor was it calico." 
 
 The host and his daughter received the guests 
 at the door. The former was a tall and thin man, 
 with a Brother-Jonathan face and beard, and a 
 huge diamond pin in his shirt-bosom : the daugh- 
 ter was a pretty, fair-haired damsel, with an in- 
 significant little face, and as Varberg maliciously 
 remarked, she had, somehow or other, the air of
 
 112 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 having been bred in the oil regions. She evidently 
 had taken this position at her father's side as a 
 souffleur, for whenever a guest appeared she whis- 
 pered his or her name, and the father made a 
 feeble attempt at imitating it, but usually with 
 indifferent success. 
 
 As Varberg, with Ruth on his arm, prom- 
 enaded down the length of the large, well-lighted 
 room, he heard some one exclaiming, as if quite 
 involuntarily, " Donnerwetter? Wie wunder- 
 schon ! " He turned his head indignantly, and 
 to his astonishment saw his friend the Baron. 
 Ruth dropped her eyes and blushed slightly. 
 
 " I wonder how he happened to come here," 
 whispered she. 
 
 " He wishes for an opportunity to study Eng- 
 lish," replied Varberg with a dry laugh. 
 
 The musicians began to tune their instru- 
 ments. The violins scraped and twanged with 
 raising and falling inflection ; the clarionets ran 
 through some introductory trills ; and the bass 
 made' a few asthmatic efforts of uncertain descrip- 
 tion ; but suddenly, as by one common impulse, 
 the tones rushed together into a warm embrace, 
 wound their soft spirit arms around each other,
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 113 
 
 and waved and rocked and floated onward on 
 the delicious billowing rhythm of a Strauss waltz. 
 One couple after another danced out on the floor. 
 Varberg laid his arm about Ruth's waist ; the ex- 
 hilarating music seemed to have entered into his 
 feet, and with the same softly rhythmical tread 
 they whirled away now up, now down the room, 
 now swiftly spinning around, now with a slow, 
 deliberate step in short, with all the delightful 
 caprices of well-practised dancers. 
 
 "Are you tired?" he whispered. "Then 
 only let me know." 
 
 "Never," answered she eagerly. "I never 
 tire of a good waltz." 
 
 At length, as the music ceased, he led her, all 
 aglow with pleasure, to the corner where Dearie 
 was sitting. Dearie had been dancing with a 
 Conservatory friend of hers, but he was from New 
 York, and she from Indiana, and consequently 
 they couldn't agree on any one kind of step. She 
 was all out of patience with him, and had at last 
 proposed to abandon the attempt. All this she 
 told her cousin and her partner in a provoked 
 voice and in her own emphatic way, until Varberg, 
 who on account of her relation to Ruth had a kind
 
 H4 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 of an elder-brotherly feeling toward her, claimed 
 her partnership for the appointed quadrille. In 
 an instant the Baron von Weisskopf skipped 
 across the floor like a goat, and made a deep 
 bow to Ruth ; she arose, took his arm, and 
 walked into a smaller room, where it appeared 
 that a select set were dancing. Dearie was less 
 interesting than usual this evening, and she re- 
 fused to listen to Olafs conversation. She 
 merely asked incessantly, "Who is this?" and 
 "Who is that?" and when he was unable to 
 satisfy her curiosity she pouted and shook her 
 ringlets impatiently. Later in the evening a still 
 greater misfortune befell him. As the company 
 was called out to supper he happened to be danc- 
 ing a galop with the host's daughter, whose re- 
 sources of conversation were deplorably scanty. 
 
 "Are you fond of dancing?" she said, as 
 they sat down to the table. He gave some 
 commonplace answer, and tried to introduce 
 some fresh topic ; and as he was in the midst of 
 some glowing description, he heard his partner 
 whispering to the servant 
 
 | " Pass the sauce for the turkey to the next 
 table." And a minute later, in an undertone
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 115 
 
 " Be sure that there is enough of the chicken 
 salad. Don't bring in the large cake before I 
 tell you." 
 
 This was truly discouraging; she had not 
 heard a word of what he had been saying ; and 
 as she observed his dismay, she hastened to 
 repair the wrong, turned a smiling face on him, 
 and asked cheerily: 
 
 " You are very fond of music, aren't you ? " 
 
 He stammered a faint " Yes," and from sheer 
 vexation ate more than his fill of the chicken 
 salad, and by the time the cake came was unable 
 to swallow another bit. Ruth and the Baron, 
 who were sitting up at the other end of the table, 
 laughed and joked and seemed with every min- 
 ute to advance in each other's favor. 
 
 It was a great relief to Varberg when the 
 supper at length came to a close. He rose with 
 such vehemence from the table that he came 
 near upsetting his chair; then stepped on the 
 dress of his little fair-haired damsel, begged 
 her pardon, and hastily withdrew to a remote 
 corner of the room. The music again scraped 
 and twanged, and presently struck up a deli- 
 ciously tuneful "waltz, with that soft drowsi-
 
 n6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 ness in it which is so appropriate for an after- 
 supper dance. Varberg stood mutely listening 
 to its alluring murmur, and made sarcastic reflec- 
 tions upon every one who came within the reach 
 of his eye. At last he came to the conclusion 
 that he really disapproved of the whole company. 
 There Weisskopf and Ruth whirled past him ; 
 and he noticed with a certain satisfaction that 
 the Baron kicked out too much in the waltz, 
 and that in fact his whole figure looked very un- 
 graceful. However, Ruth smiled on him, and 
 that was enough to make Varberg hate him. 
 The music stopped rather abruptly, the dancers 
 dispersed by couples through the adjoining 
 rooms, and our Norseman looked at his watch 
 and tried to steel his heart against all future vexa- 
 tions. Then, as he again raised his head, he saw 
 Ruth hastening toward him all panting and 
 aglow with heat and pleasure, and he keenly 
 noted a certain vehemence in her motions and 
 the superb singleness and purity in the combined 
 lines of her neck and hair. He was secretly in- 
 dignant at her for what he called " her flirtation 
 with that German prize-fighter," but his wrath 
 evaporated like the dew-drops in the sun, and
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 117 
 
 he could only smile stupidly and distractedly 
 pull at his watch-chain. With an almost sisterly 
 frankness she addressed him, folded her hands 
 confidingly over his arm, and looked up into his 
 face with an air of mingled curiosity and tender- 
 ness. And all the lime her silk gown kept up 
 its vague rustle in his ear. 
 
 ** Why do you stand here with that grand 
 philosophical air, as if you felt above all these 
 petty enjoyments which the rest of us are indulg- 
 ing in ? " 
 
 "Ah, Miss Ruth, to tell the truth, everybody 
 is stupid here to-night except you." 
 
 "Ah!" she exclaimed with a merry laugh. 
 " Don't you believe that you can impose upon 
 
 me in that way. No doubt you told Miss H , 
 
 whom you took to the table, the same story." 
 
 u It was just Miss H 1 was complaining 
 
 of." And he gave her a grimly humorous de- 
 scription of his experience at the table. Ruth 
 laughed again, but tried to excuse Miss H . 
 
 "You can't expect everybody to be at home 
 on the subject which happens to interest you. 
 You ought to talk nonsense, and I can assure 
 you, you will spend a charming evening. Now
 
 n8 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 do just try it for once," she added coaxingly. 
 " Just to please me. Come here ; I will intro- 
 duce you to a friend of mine in the Con- 
 versatory." 
 
 Before Varberg knew it, he found himself bow- 
 ing before a yellow-haired little body with merry 
 eyes, dressed in a low-necked blue silk gown, 
 and with a large gold locket which rose and fell 
 with the motion of her bosom. Ruth made 
 some droll remark about the vast accomplish- 
 ments of her friend, and said that she was con- 
 vinced that she and Varberg would take kindly 
 to each other. And away she went ; decided in 
 the twinkle of an eye a contest between two gen- 
 tlemen each of whom insisted that she had prom- 
 ised the dance to him ; and in the next moment 
 Varberg saw her managing her trail in the lan- 
 cers with the dignity of a queen. 
 
 The little yellow-haired lady proved more 
 intelligent than Varberg had anticipated ; her 
 airy little remarks were like detached rose- 
 leaves, so gently flushed and so delicate. He 
 could not remember a word of their conversation 
 the next morning : all he knew was that they 
 had been mutually pleased with each other.
 
 Brother Jonathans Ball. 119 
 
 It was an hour after midnight, and the 
 German was about to begin. Varberg bowed to 
 his fair partner, and hastily betook himself to the 
 next room, where he supposed RutL .vouFd be 
 waiting for him ; when he had reached the door, 
 however, he was met by Weisskopf, who took 
 him aside into a corner, laid his arm half pat- 
 ronizingly about his neck, and whispered in his 
 ear, " Miss Copley says she has promised the 
 German to you, but I am persuaded that she 
 would willingly dance it with me if you would 
 release her." 
 
 Varberg colored to the edge to his hair, and 
 involuntarily clenched his fists. " Is Miss Copley 
 aware that you make me this proposition ? *' 
 he asked with feigned coolness. Weisskopf 
 shrugged his shoulders and assumed a mysteri- 
 ous air. 
 
 " Explain yourself," demanded Olaf aloud. 
 " If Miss Copley knows anything about what you 
 have said to me, you may tell her that she is 
 bound by no obligation to me. If she is ignorant 
 of it, then I can only say that I am astonished at 
 your boldness, not to say impudence." 
 
 " We shall have a word with each other before
 
 I2O A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 leaving this house," replied the Baron, shrugged 
 his shoulders again, and went. Varberg well 
 knew that this was about equal to a challenge ; 
 but as he had the near pleasure of a dance with 
 Ruth before him, he forcibly banished the gloomy 
 thought and troubled himself, no more about it. 
 He found his dark-haired queen sitting on a chair 
 near the wall, her hands crossed in her lap and a 
 pensive expression in her eyes ; the moment she 
 saw him her face brightened, and she arose and 
 took his arm. 
 
 " I am glad you came," said she. " I don't 
 like to be alone." 
 
 He was strangely oppressed at first, but no 
 sooner had he wound his arm about her silken 
 waist, and felt the tender luxury of her touch, 
 her breath, and her voice as it were airily encir- 
 cling him, than his senses were roused as from a 
 trance ; new and hitherto unknown sensations 
 thrilled through his nerves like a tremulous rap- 
 ture, and his heart beat to the ever-hastening 
 measure of present and conscious bliss. Ruth 
 chatted gaily and with a delightful abandon which 
 was the more charming for the confidence it im- 
 plied. She seemed not to have the remotest sus-
 
 BrotJur Jonathan's Ball. 121 
 
 picion that she had herself been the cause of his 
 displeasure. The fourth figure of the dance had 
 just been finished and the fifth was about to be- 
 gin. A gentleman, who held in his hand a wand 
 with half a dozen variously colored streamers 
 attached to it. bowed to Ruth, and a young lady 
 held out a similar wand to Varberg. He chose 
 an orange ribbon, and followed the train of 
 gentlemen who had already made their choice. 
 As they reached the middle of the floor, where 
 the ladies were waiting, he noticed with pleasure 
 that he had selected Ruth's color, but in the 
 same moment some one quickly pulled the rib- 
 bon from his grasp, and presently he saw it in 
 Weisskopf s hand. The ire rose within him ; he 
 stepped up to Ruth, whispered a word in her ear, 
 and danced away with her. 
 
 "Blitz Donnerwetter," he heard some one 
 exclaiming, and Ruth blushed slightly; but he 
 heeded nothing. 
 
 Toward morning the party broke up, and as 
 
 he was helping the ladies into the carriage, a 
 
 German servant lifted his hat to him and delivered 
 
 him a letter, the seal of which he instantly re- 
 
 6
 
 122 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 cognized. He quietly put it into his pocket, and 
 ordered the coachman to drive. 
 
 " I may seem very inquisitive," said Ruth in 
 an anxious voice, as he took his seat in the car- 
 riage ; " but you will pardon me. What was that 
 letter about ? " 
 
 " I have not opened it yet," answered Var- 
 berg coolly. 
 
 Dearie was so exhausted that she could hardly 
 keep her eyes open, and as soon as they came 
 home she retired to her room. Ruth lit the 
 lamp, and insisted upon his staying until he had 
 got something to eat. And as they were seated 
 together on the sofa, with a bottle of ale and a 
 box of crackers before them, she anxiously re- 
 peated her question. 
 
 " Even at the risk of appearing rude," she said 
 " I must beg of you to let me know what there 
 is in that letter. I have my reasons for asking, 
 and I shall never forgive you if you leave me in 
 ignorance." 
 
 After some further coaxing, he pulled the 
 fatal note from his pocket and gave it to her. 
 Her hand trembled as she broke the seal, and in 
 a low, excited voice she read as follows :
 
 BrotJier Jonathan's Ball. 123 
 
 SIR : I demand satisfaction for the instills yon have heaped 
 upon me this evening. Unless within three days you ask my 
 pardon in writing, you will meet me Friday afternoon at five 
 
 o'clock, at Cafe Fr , and you will there name me your 
 
 second, and we shall further agree upon weapons, time, and 
 place. 
 
 With true respect (Mit wahrcr Hochachtung), 
 
 BARON MAX VON WEISSKOPF. 
 
 The letter dropped into her lap and she 
 stared at him with a blank, frightened gaze. 
 " You will ask his pardon, won't you ? " she said 
 at last beseechingly. 
 
 " Never," answered he fiercely. 
 
 " Not for my sake ? " And she bent over 
 toward him and seized his arm. 
 
 " Not for all the world." 
 
 " But it is merely a matter of form." 
 
 " Makes no difference." 
 
 She flung herself over into the corner of the 
 sofa, covered her face with her hands, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " Miss Ruth," cried he, while his emotion 
 came near choking him. " I shall go mad if you 
 don't stop crying. What is my life worth ? There 
 is not the thing in all the world which I wouldn't 
 do for you." And as if frightened at his own 
 words, he tore the door open and rushed out.
 
 124 -^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Ruth's Journal. 
 
 RUTH had promised her friends to keep a 
 journal during her stay abroad, and then 
 read it to them on her return. She began it 
 much against her will, but after her acquaintance 
 with Varberg her life seemed so much richer, and 
 even the commonest events gained fresh import ; 
 and with every week her journal swelled in bulk. 
 We make the following extracts : 
 
 June 3, 1 8 . Until yesterday I had really 
 not been aware that I was in Europe. Now I 
 begin to understand what Europe means ; and 
 strange to say, I owe it all to him to my 
 mysterious pursuer whom the beadle in St. 
 Thomas's had to show out of the church. If 
 any other man had done such a thing, I think 
 I should have been angry with him ; but the 
 situation was really too comical, and his grand 
 air and the imperturbable mien with which
 
 RutKs JovrnaL 125 
 
 he marched down the aisle gained him my 
 heartiest admiration. I knew I should meet 
 him again, and stfll, I confess, I was frightened 
 when I did meet him. His character is so 
 perfectly in keeping with the spirit of mediaeval 
 times as I have imagined it, that it seems a pity 
 that the modernized dress should refuse to cany 
 out the illusion. And when I came so suddenly 
 upon him in the forest under the Venusberg, I, 
 certainty without knowing it, repaid him in his 
 own coin ; he pursued me three months ago into 
 St. Thomas's ; I unconsciously or let me say 
 deliberately, only to make the parallel perfect 
 followed his footsteps to this altar of nature, as I 
 know he would have expressed it, and disturbed 
 his devotion. May he and Lady Venus forgive 
 me. But if I hadn't come, I have no doubt 
 he would have shared the fete of Tannhauser. 
 
 Jttxf 4, 18 . This morning I was waked up 
 by the sound of music. I peeped through the 
 curtain ; I saw a whole orchestra of horn and 
 stringed instruments stationed right under my 
 window. They played Luther's hymn, " Ein' 
 feste Burg ist unser Gott," and it was rendered 
 with an artistic precision which I should have 
 3*
 
 126 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 thought creditable in Thomas's orchestra. And 
 these are but strolling street musicians ! Ah 
 wie wunderschon ! It is Germany all over. Mr. 
 Varberg did not call to-day, and I confess that I 
 feel just a little bit disappointed. 
 
 June 7, 1 8 . He doesn't seem to be in a 
 hurry about renewing the acquaintance. I shall 
 treat him very stiffly when he does come. No, 
 I won't either, for then I should betray that I 
 have been thinking of him, and I wouldn't have 
 him know that for anything. 
 
 June 9, 1 8 . He did call to-day, and we 
 had a delightful walk through Rosenthal. I like 
 him more, the more I see of him. There is a 
 peculiar warmth and intensity in all that he says ; 
 his answers and even his most trifling remarks 
 frequently startle me, and still they seem so 
 natural that I wonder I didn't think of saying 
 the very same thing myself. 
 
 Jnne 11, 18 . We went to church together 
 this morning. The minister laid down the law 
 heavily, and described with a charming minute- 
 ness the tortures of the damned in hell. I feel 
 confident that such a sermon could never have 
 been preached in Boston at least not in this
 
 RutKs Journal. 127 
 
 century. Mr. Varberg was all devotion, and sat 
 there as sober and as imperturbable as a rock. I 
 was rather amused at the zeal of the old parson ; 
 and when he spoke about the seething tar, I 
 couldn't help smiling ; and still I was not realty 
 so irreverent as I seemed. As we left the church 
 I asked Mr. Varberg if he believed in hefl. He 
 answered that he did, although hardly in the 
 sense which this old preacher attached to it. I 
 asked him in what sense then. Now I only 
 wish I could repeat his answer just as he gave 
 it, but I am afraid I can't. The meaning, how- 
 ever, was that God was all love, and would not 
 condemn any man to eternal punishment. The 
 man's life here developed a spiritual organism 
 within him, which, if he had been wicked, would 
 find its proper sphere beyond the grave in the 
 society of the wicked, or what we call helL 
 Heaven would be wretchedness to him, and 
 he would voluntarily seek the fellowship of 
 those who shared his tastes and sympathies. 
 Thus hell, although by no means happy, would 
 afford, relatively speaking, the greatest happiness 
 of which such men were capable. " Then," I 
 answered thoughtlessly (and I am truly shocked
 
 128 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 at the irreverence of the remark), " I don't see 
 why the devils in hell should not be quite as 
 comfortable as the angels in heaven." 
 
 He looked at me half reproachfully, gave a 
 brief polite answer, and changed the subject. 
 
 Now I should like to know why I always 
 perforce must behave irreverently, not to say 
 frivolously, in Mr. Varberg's presence. He evi- 
 dently believes that there is not the thing in 
 heaven or on earth which I have any respect for. 
 And the fact that he believes this to be my char- 
 acter, in some mysterious way compels me to 
 enter into the role which he kindly chooses to 
 assign to me. I shouldn't wonder if it was sheer 
 delicacy on my part, a fear of hurting his feel- 
 ings by convincing him that he has been mistaken 
 in his opinion of me. 
 
 June 13, 1 8 . We walked up through the 
 fields along the river this afternoon, and there I 
 saw for the first time in my life a stork. He stood 
 pensively on one leg, just as in Hans Christian 
 Andersen's stories. Mr. Varberg disapproved of 
 the man who rode into town in a cart drawn by 
 his wife and a big black dog. He sat coolly 
 smoking on a sack of hay. I saw the color
 
 RutJis Journal. 129 
 
 mounting to V.'s cheeks, and his behavior was 
 so magnificent I can find no other word for it 
 that I could not but feel grateful to him with all 
 my heart. In his usual quiet manner he went 
 to a tree, cut a huge whip, stripped off the 
 leaves, and with the politest bow presented it 
 to the man in the cart. The poor Teuton 
 stared at him in stupid wonder, and his face was 
 so pitiful to behold that I almost felt inclined 
 to take his part. He tumbled out of his cart 
 with a suddenness as if the whip had been 
 applied to his own back, and walked off mur- 
 muring something between his teeth. Now who 
 would have thought Mr. V. capable of such 
 a joke? What especially amused me was the 
 supreme coolness and dignity which he pre- 
 served during the whole performance. If I do 
 or say anything ludicrous in his presence, I am 
 always conscious of a vague sense of guilt ; I 
 know that he disapproves of me. Nevertheless 
 it was very becoming to him. 
 
 June 1 6, 1 8 . O, if I only knew how I 
 appear in his eyes; If I could only imagine 
 what he thinks of me ! I feel at times as if that 
 cairn blue eye of.his was reading the most secret
 
 130 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 thoughts of my heart. I often think of what he 
 said about authors. They have no business to 
 have personal relations with their fellow mortals ; 
 they are not bound by the same obligations as 
 other men. This was at least what I gathered 
 from what he said to me that afternoon in 
 Rosenthal. Now if it could be possible that 
 it was merely this sort of literary interest he 
 takes in me, I should at all events have to 
 admit that he gave me fair warning. Oh, no, 
 it can never be possible ; it would be unwor- 
 thy of him ; he is incapable of doing anything 
 so ungenerous. To steal into a young girl's 
 heart only to decipher it, and coolly take his 
 notes, while she suspected nothing ! What am 
 I saying ? What has Mr. Varberg got to do with 
 my heart? What does it matter to me whether 
 he has a favorable or an unfavorable opinion of 
 me? He is going away in three weeks, and I 
 shall probably never see him again. 
 
 June 20, 1 8 . I have often said to myself 
 that it is a matter of indifference to me what he 
 thinks of me. I wish it was ; but it isn't. I 
 blame myself daily for appearing to him as it 
 were in a false disguise. I am afraid of betray-
 
 RutKs Journal. 131 
 
 ing what I think and feel, and therefore, against 
 my will, I play the sceptic, and the consequence 
 is that he believes me heartless and frivolous. 
 And still there is a strange fascination about an 
 assumed role. I think girls almost always have 
 an instinct to conceal their real nature, and if 
 for no other reason, then for the mere excitement 
 of it. I know it is deceitful and wrong, but I 
 can't help it. 
 
 June 23, 1 8 . I got angry with Mr. Var- 
 berg to-day, although I know it was very foolish 
 of me. He said that what he especially liked 
 about America was that there these delightful 
 intellectual friendships could exist between men 
 and women without leading necessarily to a more 
 intimate relation. Here in Europe society 
 frowned upon them, and no European woman 
 was capable of appreciating such a mere intel- 
 lectual devotion. I disliked the sentiment very 
 much, and I came very near saying so ; but I 
 conquered myself and stammered a faint " Yes," 
 and felt in my heart a detestable hypocrite. 
 Why does he say such things to me ? I wonder. 
 
 jfunf 26, 1 8 . Turning over the leaves of 
 my journal, I find that it is all full of Mr. Var-
 
 132 A Norseman 's Pilgrimage. 
 
 berg. I didn't know that I had written so much 
 about him. How can I read this to my friends 
 it Boston when I return home ? When they say 
 to me, " Well, Ruth, read to us what you have 
 seen in Europe," how mortifying to me, if I have 
 to sit down and read to them about a young 
 man by the name of Olaf Varberg. I like the 
 name Olaf, although I don't know if I pronounce 
 it right. It is so quaint. 
 
 June 27, 1 8 . I feel so strangely to day. I 
 don't know what is the matter with me. Dearie 
 tried to ridicule him, and said he looked as sol- 
 emn as a deacon ; then she insisted that he 
 curled his hair and his moustache, and I am 
 sure there isn't a word of truth in it. I- told 
 Dearie so too, but Dearie was in a contrary 
 mood, and aggravated me beyond endurance, 
 and somehow or other I couldn't manage her as 
 well as usual. O dear! I wish he wouldn't 
 come here any more. I can't bear to be teased 
 about him ; but I can't bear to have him stay 
 away either.
 
 Catastropfic. 133 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Catastrophe. 
 
 T T was the day after the ball. Ruth was sit- 
 * ting at the window in the parlor, pensively 
 resting her chin upon her folded hands. Her 
 cheeks were very pale, and her long, dark lashes 
 hid the anxious glance of the eyes. 
 
 " It was very foolish in me to cry last night," 
 she thought, " and if he comes to-day, I shall do 
 my best to bewilder him. What could he think 
 of me?" 
 
 Nevertheless her heart was heavy, although 
 she was loath to admit it, even to herself; she 
 was rather provoked at herself for taking such a 
 lively interest in his doings. All the night the 
 thought of Varberg had haunted her ; she had 
 seen him lying half dead on the green grass, the 
 light quenched in his eye, the paleness of death 
 upon his cheeks and his parted lips, and the gore 
 darkening his blonde locks. And she imagined
 
 134 ^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 herself bending down over him, folding his hands 
 upon his breast, and kissing his cold forehead, 
 . while her tears fell hot and fast upon his face. 
 Now, if Varberg had actually been dead, she might 
 have done all this ; at all events, she would sin- 
 cerely have mourned him ; but unhappily he was 
 yet alive, and she was angry with him. It seemed 
 especially hard to forgive him that he had been 
 witness to that involuntary outburst of emotion 
 on her part nay, that he had, although through 
 no fault of his own, been the occasion of it. 
 
 " If he chooses to kill himself, or have some- 
 body else kill him, what does that matter to 
 me ? " she asked herself repeatedly, and she 
 came to the cheerful conclusion that Varberg's 
 life or death concerned her no more than the 
 man in the moon. 
 
 Then there was a knock at the door, and a 
 quick flush shot over Ruth's cheeks. Varberg 
 entered ; she advanced to the middle of the floor 
 and shook hands with him. He seemed more 
 than usually grave and reserved ; and she no- 
 ticed the newness of all he had on, even to the 
 silk hat and the gloves ; he impressed her as a 
 man who was going to his own funeral. Vari-
 
 The Catastrophe. 155 
 
 ous indifferent topics of conversation were taken 
 up and again dropped. The words froze as they 
 fefl from the lips, and each seemed to be pursuing 
 his own track of thought unaided and unaccom- 
 panied by the other. 
 
 " You are so strange to-day, Mr. Varberg," 
 said Ruth at last. 
 
 " I confess I feel a little oppressed ; I came 
 here to you to be cheered." 
 
 "How shall I cheer you then? What do 
 you propose to do ? " 
 
 " Anything you like." 
 
 "Well, then let us abuse our friends," said 
 she with a kind of joyous vehemence. " I know 
 of nothing that is more apt to cheer me." 
 
 " I don't know that we have any friends in 
 common," replied Varberg with a feint smile. 
 " And for each to abuse his own, when his good 
 points would hardly be appreciated by the other, 
 would be very unprofitable work." 
 
 "Certainly we have friends in common; 
 there is, for instance, Weisskopf, the Baron." 
 
 "Well, what "do you think of him? " And 
 the gloom again gathered on Varberg's brow. 
 
 "Perhaps 'you don't know that he called
 
 136 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 here this morning and asked for you. He had 
 been at your rooms, but did not find you. I in- 
 vited him in, and like all Germans he smokes 
 detestable tobacco. I have been airing the room 
 for several hours since he left. Indeed, he sat 
 puffing away like a young steam-engine." 
 
 " But that hardly expresses your opinion of 
 him. If you wish to cultivate his acquaintance, 
 you have to accept him as a Teuton, or not at all." 
 
 " Mr. Varberg," cried Ruth laughing, " I 
 haven't accepted him in any sense whatever. 
 He is to me simply a phenomenon ; and as such 
 I enjoy him, and dismiss him when I find him no 
 more entertaining." 
 
 " Is that the way you do with all your 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Certainly. But some of my friends I hope 
 will continue to entertain me as long as I live. 
 You can't blame me for speaking in this way. 
 You have taught it me yourself. To you, if I 
 may trust your own words, men are merely psy- 
 chological phenomena, and I with the rest. Now 
 I am beginning to profit by your teachings." 
 
 Varberg made no answer ; but his eye rested 
 half reproachfully on Ruth, and he silently cursed
 
 The CatastropJie. 137 
 
 the fate that had made her so fair. There was a 
 feverish uneasiness in her gayety that pained 
 and distressed him. "What can have wrought 
 this change in her ? " he questioned himself ; and 
 then added with a sigh, " Femina semper muta- 
 bile et varium" It was a comforting thought 
 that it was merely the experience of the whole 
 world which was repeating itself in him. Ruth 
 in the meanwhile, piqued at his silence, went on 
 in the same strain. 
 
 " Weisskopf," she said, " is an exceedingly 
 entertaining phenomenon. But there is some- 
 thing of the adventurer about him, which, how- 
 ever, makes him no less interesting as a phenome- 
 non. I regret to say that I always distrust him ; 
 and especially when he talks about his own gal- 
 lant deeds, I am aware that he does not always 
 expect to be pinned down to a literal inter- 
 pretation. Then he has a way of paying one the 
 most ridiculous compliments with a Jiauteur and 
 a magnificence which border on the sublime. 
 My own opinions, if I have the impudence to 
 have any, he treats with a gentle forbearance 
 which would irritate me beyond endurance, if I 
 didn't find the situation novel enough to be in-
 
 138 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 teresting. My serious remarks he listens to with 
 an indulgent smile, and then leaves them unan- 
 swered or dismisses them with a jest, as if they 
 were too insignificant to merit his attention. 
 And the end of it invariably is that I am some- 
 how or other compelled to assume the role which 
 he pleases to give me, and I feel like an irrespon- 
 sible child, and even talk and act like one. But 
 Mr. Varberg, you are not listening to me," she 
 cried, after a moment's pause. "Whither are 
 your thoughts wandering? Is it the fair-haired 
 maidens of Norway you are dreaming about ? " 
 
 " You do me injustice, Miss Copley," an- 
 swered he, rising from the sofa. " But I have 
 no doubt the fresh air would do us both good, 
 after the exertions of yesterday. Would you 
 not favor me with your company?" 
 
 " Certainly," she answered, and walked to- 
 ward the door. " In the meanwhile, while I 
 put on my hat, you may amuse yourself with 
 the ' Leipziger Tageblatt.' Here it is. There 
 is a picture in it of a Russian Internationalist, 
 who has run away from St. Petersburg with a 
 large amount of money, and the description as 
 well as the picture, as my aunt remarked this
 
 The Catastrophe. 139 
 
 morning, bears a strong resemblance to you. So 
 you bad better be on your guard, or you might 
 be sent to Siberia." 
 
 And she laughed a loud, unnatural laugh, and 
 ran out of the room. He took up the paper, 
 and found there a portrait which really did not 
 look unlike him. What especially startled him 
 was the notice that the criminal had a slight scar 
 over his right eye, which was another point of re- 
 semblance. Ruth returned. He laid the paper 
 away, and thought no more of it. On the stair- 
 case they met Mrs. Elder and Dearie, who had 
 been out shopping ; they stopped for a moment, 
 exchanged the usual greetings, and parted. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and the broad 
 gravel paths of Rosenthal were almost empty. 
 Here and there a couple of students lay idly 
 smoking on the grass, and in some thick-leafed 
 copse a loose -coated journeyman lingered in 
 amorous luxury with the mistress of his heart. 
 The air was rich and warm, and a luminous, 
 misty gauze spread a faint glamour through the 
 atmosphere. Swarms of gnats hovered in an 
 airy dance under the sunny linden crowns, and 
 the murmurous music of their wings impercepti-
 
 140 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 bly blended with the summer stillness; and now 
 and then a large black insect buzzed with 
 " heedless hum " across the path, and lost itself 
 in the gloom of a neighboring thicket. It was 
 difficult to think of the new world, with its busy 
 life and its noisy bustle, on a day like this ; indeed, 
 it seemed hard to persuade one's self that Wall 
 Street and Broadway were not all a dream, a 
 grotesque invention of a capricious fancy. 
 These were at least Varberg's reflections, and 
 even Ruth's mind was gently attuned ; she 
 forgot the resentment she had lately harbored 
 against her friend, and began to talk in her old 
 easy, confidential way. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Varberg," said she, " you know 
 me too well to be angry with me, if I return 
 once more to this fatal subject. But tell me 
 truly and honestly whether you think that a 
 man's honor can be saved by his having his ear 
 or his nose cut off, or his face disfigured by an 
 unsightly scar ? " 
 
 "An honest question deserves an honest 
 answer,' 1 replied he. " In the abstract, I disap- 
 prove of duelling as decidedly as you do. But 
 a time-honored custom, which has been handed
 
 The Catastrophe. 141 
 
 down to us by our forefathers, we cannot afford 
 to ignore." 
 
 "Aha," ejaculated she; "then it is your 
 romantic notions of chivalry that interfere with 
 your better judgment ! And truly, if it were for 
 the honor of some beloved maiden that you 
 drew your sword, I should myself find some 
 excuse for it. But, after all, losing your life for 
 your lady love, or rescuing her from death and 
 then marrying her, is a very old-fashioned sort 
 of thing, and as a theme of fiction it has been so 
 well worn out by our novelists and romancers 
 that at last nobody really believes in it. If I 
 should want to sacrifice my life, I should invent 
 some other way which nobody had ever tried 
 before." 
 
 " And how do you know that it is not for 
 the sake of some beloved maiden that I propose 
 to fight ? " 
 
 She turned her head abruptly, and a deep 
 blush mounted to her cheeks. 
 
 " If you were a German," she began, with 
 her face still averted, " I should not attempt to 
 contradict you. But you are an American
 
 142 ^ Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 citizen, and are not bound to conform to the 
 customs of the Germans." 
 
 " True ; but when you are in Rome you do 
 as the Romans do." 
 
 The evening wore on, and without heeding 
 whither their steps carried them, they hastened 
 forward. The last red glow of the sunset lay 
 like a band of flame along the horizon, and the 
 moon, as if by surprise, burst forth full and clear 
 from behind its vapory citadel ; it spread its 
 lustre over the dim blue sky, and the thin 
 clouds were fringed with a pale, ghostly gold. 
 Now and then some lonely quail raised its shrill 
 cry from the distant meadows, the crickets 
 chirped drowsily in the grass, and a warm sum- 
 mer wind breathed with a faint rushing through 
 the crowns of the beeches and linden trees. 
 
 "I wonder where we are?" said Ruth, lay- 
 ing her hand upon his arm. " It seems all so 
 strange and unfamiliar." 
 
 " I don't think I have ever been here before," 
 answered Varberg, while he gently drew her arm 
 through his. " But nevertheless this whole land- 
 scape appears to me so remotely familiar, that I 
 cannot but think that I must have seen it some-
 
 The Catastrophe. 143 
 
 where, perhaps in a dream or in a vision. And 
 if I had seen you here for the first time, I should 
 have recognized you at once, for you are as much 
 a part of the landscape as the linden trees and 
 the chirp of the crickets." 
 
 " Ah, you flatter me,'' she replied musingly, 
 " although," she added with a smile, " the com- 
 parison with the crickets ought not to make me 
 vain. But if you will listen to my chirp, I 
 think it is high time that we think of finding 
 our way home." 
 
 Ruth and Varberg had both a talent for 
 losing their way. When in each other's com- 
 pany they forgot everything except their own 
 happiness. Now they wandered about through 
 the broad moonlit avenues, in the vague hope of 
 sometime reaching the city. The vast calm of 
 the night, the placid massiveness of the shadows 
 and the fragile woof of cloud, which spread like 
 a fairy frostwork over the sky, chimed together 
 into a world-wide, silent chant, a voiceless mel- 
 ody of wonder. And although he felt the still- 
 ness sinking into his heart and diffusing its 
 blessed sense of peace through his whole being, 
 he was still conscious of one wakeful, dimly-
 
 144 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 defined desire, which came and went, and ever 
 evaded the grasp of his thought. It was as if 
 he expected a miracle to be wrought somehow, 
 without his own agency; and whenever he 
 looked up into Ruth's eyes, and saw her fair 
 young face smitten into marble by the rays of 
 the moon, he believed that the miracle was near, 
 and the blood throbbed more swiftly 'through 
 his pulses. At length they saw the roofs of the 
 city shimmering between the leaves, and the 
 fatal confession hovered upon his lips ; but just 
 at that moment they heard harsh laughter close 
 by, and caught sight of two men, one of whom 
 stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, while 
 the other lay outstretched upon the grass. The 
 more able-bodied of the two helped his compan- 
 ion to his feet, and they both reeled out into the 
 road. 
 
 " Come, let us go back and take another 
 way," said Ruth, drawing her veil down over 
 her face. 
 
 "You are not afraid of two miserable drunk- 
 ards, I hope ? " answered Varberg, and walked on. 
 
 The men steered straight against them. 
 
 " Ah, mein Liebchen," said the one, and
 
 The Catastrophe. 145 
 
 Varberg in an instant recognized Weisskopfs 
 voice, although it was unnaturally hoarse and 
 drowsy. "Don't make yourself so precious;" 
 and he stretched out his arm to pull away the 
 veil from Ruth's face. 
 
 " Step aside," cried Varberg, " or 111 strike 
 you down on the spot." 
 
 tt Strike me down on the spot ah ? " droned 
 the Baron in the same drunken tone. " You are 
 in a fighting mood, are you? " 
 
 Ruth stood pale and erect, but she trembled 
 over her whole body. Weisskopf made another 
 stretch toward her, but before he had time to 
 reach her Varberg sprang forward, seized him by 
 the throat, threw him down on the ground, and 
 put his knees on his chest. 
 
 " Now, you impudent wretch," said he in a 
 hoarse whisper, ** if you dare stir, I shall strike 
 you dead." 
 
 The Baron's companion in the meanwhile 
 stood howling " Police," at the top of his voice, 
 and while the victim still lay groaning in the pow- 
 erful grip of his assailant's fist, Varberg felt him- 
 self suddenly seized by the shoulders and vio- 
 lently flung over to the other side of the road. 
 7
 
 146 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 He had hardly time to recover from his surprise, 
 when he was again grabbed by the neck, and 
 found himself struggling in the arms of two 
 burly Teutons in policemen's uniforms. Weiss- 
 kopf, who had been considerably sobered by the 
 sudden encounter, rose to his feet, and explained 
 to the policemen that he had been unexpectedly 
 assaulted, and he was just recounting the details 
 of the affair when Ruth stepped close up to him, 
 lifted her veil, and gazed him in the eye. He 
 tumbled backward, as if hit by an invisible 
 hand, and staggered away between the trees ; 
 his companion followed. Varberg vainly at- 
 tempted to conciliate the officers of the law; 
 and Ruth, her voice choked with emotion, 
 prayed them to let him depart in peace. But 
 the Teutons, in their official zeal, were deaf to 
 all remonstrances, and hustled their victim about 
 as if he had been the most atrocious criminal in 
 the world. 
 
 " Yes, yes, we know all about it," roared one 
 of them. " We have long been on the track of 
 you ; and we knew we should find you at last. 
 You will have a chance of explaining all that 
 to-morrow."
 
 The Catastrophe. 147 
 
 " But I protest. I am an American citizen." 
 
 " You can protest to-morrow." 
 
 "Then allow me at least," said Varberg 
 calmly, " to procure a carriage for this lady. She 
 has, at all events, nothing to do with this. 
 Moreover, you need not tear me to pieces. I 
 shall follow you of my own accord." 
 
 After a brief consultation they decided to 
 grant this request, and without more ado they 
 conducted Ruth down to the corner of Frank- 
 furter Strasse, where a carriage was found. 
 
 " My dear Miss Ruth," said Varberg, as they 
 were about to part, " don't let this disturb you. 
 To-morrow it will all be cleared up, and I shall 
 come at once to see you." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Varberg," answered she, while a 
 tear glittered in her eye, " all these indignities 
 you have to suffer on my account. O dear, 
 what shall I do?" 
 
 The policemen slammed the door to, and 
 hurried him off. An hour later he sat on a hard 
 wooden bench, in a narrow prison cell, and phi- 
 losophized on the vanity of human happiness. 
 A damp, musty smell of masonry pervaded the 
 air, and in spite of the warmth he shivered.
 
 148 A Norscmarfs Pilgrimage. 
 
 The moonlight streamed in through the small 
 iron-barred window, high up on the wall, and a 
 narrow strip of pale blue sky, dimmed by the 
 dingy glass, gazed in upon him, and mocked 
 him with its vague suggestion of freedom. A 
 month earlier, when visiting Wartburg, he had 
 imagined himself in the romantic capacity of a 
 prisoner ; now the dreary reality stared him in 
 face, and the romance had utterly vanished. 
 The jailer brought him a quarter section of a 
 black bread and a jug of water, but he refused to 
 touch either. He heard the rattling of chains 
 somewhere at the other end of the corridor; the 
 door of his cell was locked and barred on the 
 outside, and the retiring steps of the jailer 
 re-echoed with an uncomfortable regularity and 
 sharpness under the stone vaults. 
 
 It was after midnight when at last he threw 
 himself down on his straw mattress, and toward 
 morning he fell asleep. He dreamed that he was 
 at Wartburg, and that he was sitting under a 
 huge poplar at the foot of the Venusberg. The 
 leaves of the poplar clanked with strange me- 
 tallic voices, which fell upon his ear like the 
 subdued tinkling of a vast chorus of infinitely
 
 The Catastrophe. 149 
 
 small bells. Hard by stood a couple of fragrant, 
 maidenly birches, which breathed forth an anx- 
 ious hush, and rustled faintly and soothingly, 
 but under the birch copse grew clusters of 
 ghostly flowers, which, eagerly raised their fragile 
 cups of crimson, ruby, and amethyst toward 
 the silent moon, and gathered its rays, until 
 they were filled to the brim; and then they 
 bent their heads droopingly to the earth, and 
 Vanished like a spark that is quenched. All 
 of a sudden, while Varberg sat gazing upon 
 this wondrous spectacle, the hill was rent in 
 twain, and there sat Lady Venus on her gold- 
 en throne, and beckoned to him with a joy- 
 ous smile on her countenance. A delicious 
 shudder ran through his frame ; he arose, and 
 stood for a moment wavering. Lady Venus 
 arose, too, and descended from her throne, and 
 now he saw that it was Ruth. He rushed for- 
 ward to throw himself at her feet, but out of 
 the ground there came an old man with a gray 
 moustache, and that was the faithful Eckart, 
 but it was also Olafs own grandfather, whom he 
 had left behind him in Norway.
 
 150 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " Flee, youth, flee," cried the old man ; " in 
 her embrace lurk death and eternal damnation." 
 
 Varberg turned to fly; but first he would 
 look once more upon that young joyous face ; 
 and the longer he looked the fairer she grew, 
 and the harder it became to part from her. 
 
 "Death and damnation," cried the faithful 
 Eckart, and Olaf summoned all his strength and 
 tore himself away ; but a net of fine invisible 
 threads seemed to wind itself about his arms 
 and feet, until at length he could not advance an 
 inch further. Turning once more, he saw that 
 her hair had grown to an immense length, and 
 encompassed the woods far and near. 
 
 " Flee now, if thou canst," said she with the 
 same joyous smile, and the voice was Ruth's. 
 He rushed back, thrust down his old grand- 
 father, and in an ineffable rapture clasped her 
 tightly to his breast. The hill closed behind 
 him, and in the same moment he awoke. There 
 were the bare stone walls, the iron-barred win- 
 dow, and a belated star which still glimmered 
 feebly on the sky. He was indeed a prisoner, 
 but in the Leipsic jail, not in the Venusberg.
 
 To the Rescue. 151 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 To the Rescue. 
 
 A T ten o'clock the next morning Varberg was 
 *** summoned to appear before the police 
 court. The judge, a moon-faced, bald-headed 
 man of a very imposing front, sat behind the 
 bar, and the Baron von Weisskopf, the traces of 
 yesterday's carousal still visible on his counte- 
 nance, was on the witness stand. The usual 
 questions about name, position, etc., were 
 promptly answered. " You say that this gentle- 
 man attacked you in Rosenthal," said the judge 
 to Weisskopf. 
 
 " I do, your honor," replied the latter, while 
 he reddened to the edge of his hair, and was 
 evidently very much ashamed of himself. 
 
 " With an intent to rob you ? " 
 
 " I think not, your honor ; I should rather 
 say that he was slightly drunk, and didn't know 
 exactly what he was doing."
 
 152 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 Varberg sent the Baron a keen, scornful look; 
 but he disdained to contradict him, for fear of 
 implicating Ruth in an affair that would neces- 
 sarily bring her into an unpleasant position, and 
 which after all could lead to nothing worse than 
 a fine of five or ten dollars. After some further 
 cross-examination, the case was dismissed, and 
 Varberg paid his fine on the spot. He was just 
 about to leave the court when one of the police- 
 men who had assisted at his arrest rushed up to 
 the judge, laid a photograph down on the desk 
 before him, and began to talk and gesticulate 
 eagerly. Varberg finally concluded that he must 
 be the subject of their discussion, for the judge 
 now glanced at him, and now again at the pho- 
 tograph ; as he was about to depart, the police- 
 man called him back, and ordered him to remain. 
 
 " You say that you are an American citizen," 
 said his honor. " Have you any passport to 
 show that this is actually the case? " 
 
 " Passports are no longer used in civilized 
 countries," replied Olaf. " I have none." 
 
 The judge raised his eyebrows, and nodded 
 significantly to the policeman.
 
 To the Rescue. 153 
 
 " You don't happen to know the name Fedor 
 Voriakoff? " continued he. 
 
 " I do not, sir." 
 
 " And you have never been in Russia ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 Quick as lightning flashed through the unfor- 
 tunate Norseman's brain what Ruth had told 
 him the day before about his resemblance to the 
 Russian Internationalist. He suddenly grew 
 "very red in his face ; the judge noticed it. nodded 
 again contentedly, and said : 
 
 " At all events, we shall have to detain you 
 here, until you can prove to us satisfactorily 
 who you are." 
 
 " That may be very difficult, sir, as I have no 
 friends here in Leipsic." 
 
 The policeman in the meanwhile took the 
 measure of Varberg's height, and narrowly 
 viewed his face, all of which our hero endured 
 with a calm composure, well worthy of the Viking 
 race. After some more questioning and other 
 ceremonies he was conducted back to the cell 
 which he had previously occupied. He de- 
 manded pen and ink, and immediately sat down 
 to write a note to the American consul, stating 
 7*
 
 154 ^ Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 his difficulty, and asking what he had to do. 
 Toward evening he received a polite reply, 
 informing him that, as he had no papers to prove 
 his citizenship, he, the consul, had no means of 
 helping him. 
 
 Two days later everything was disorder and 
 confusion in the house with the old-fashioned 
 archway. The vacation had commenced, and 
 Mrs. Elder and her nieces had received an invi- 
 tation to come and spend the summer with 
 some friends in England. Half-packed trunks 
 and a half a dozen bandboxes of various sizes 
 and colors lay scattered about on the floor, and 
 the tables and chairs were covered with books, 
 hats, ribbons, and freshly ironed skirts and 
 dresses. Dearie was running about the room 
 busying herself with packing, and Ruth was sit- 
 ting at the window in her usual attitude, resting 
 her chin upon her folded hands. Her face wore 
 a grave, almost sad expression ; her cheeks were 
 pale, and her eyes looked large and lustrous. 
 Suddenly she arose, then stopped in the middle 
 of the floor, as if struggling with some great 
 resolution. She hastily put on her hat, threw a
 
 To the Rescue. 155 
 
 light shawl about her shoulders, and walked 
 toward the door. 
 
 " Ruth, where are you going ? " cried Dearie. 
 " Supper will be ready in a few minutes." 
 
 " I am going out to take a walk." 
 
 "This is indeed a most extraordinary time 
 for taking a walk," replied the cousin. " If I 
 were you, I should certainly not trouble myself 
 so much about a man whom I had hardly known 
 for four weeks." 
 
 " Fortunately you don't know what I am 
 troubling myself about," said Ruth scornfully, 
 and hastened away. Dearie was mystified ; she 
 could not imagine how this change had come 
 over her cousin ; why she was so pale and 
 distracted, and why she had walked about as in 
 a dream the whole day. But Dearie contented 
 herself with exclaiming, " Well, I must say ! " 
 and went on packing. If she had read the 
 Leipsic paper for that morning, she might per- 
 haps have found the clue to the mystery. 
 
 Ruth hurried up one street and down 
 another ; her feet were as if benumbed ; the 
 ground seemed to swell and again to sink be- 
 neath her tread, and she hardly knew where she
 
 156 A ^Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 was stepping. Unconsciously she pressed her 
 lips together, and kept her eyes steadfastly 
 fixed on the stones in the pavement. She 
 could not get rid of the feeling that she was 
 doing something wrong, or at least unwomanly, 
 and now and then she cast a shy glance at some 
 passer-by, as if fearing that her face should 
 betray her secret. With a beating heart she 
 mounted the broad stone staircase of the jail, 
 and inquired of the woman who was sweeping 
 the hall, where she could find the jailer. The 
 woman looked wonderingly at her, then mur- 
 mured something between her teeth, and after 
 some minutes returned with a rough, ruddy- 
 bearded Hercules who held a large bunch of 
 keys in his hand. 
 
 "What do you want?" asked he brusquely, 
 striking the keys against his thigh. 
 
 " I want to see a friend," answered Ruth in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " Have you a permit?" 
 
 "No; I didn't know that it was necessary." 
 
 " I can't let you in without that. You may 
 perhaps get one from the assistant master of the 
 police in the office across the street."
 
 To the Rescue 157 
 
 And he turned his back on her, and, marched 
 away, rattling violently with his keys. 
 
 Ruth crossed the street and entered the office. 
 There were two or three showily dressed gentle- 
 men standing at the bar talking with the officer. 
 She pulled her veil down over her face ; and 
 seated herself at the door in the hope that they 
 would soon go away. But they took their time ; 
 and at last the officer locked his desk, and put 
 on his hat. She had to conquer her pride ; ad- 
 vanced to the bar, and in a voice which, in spite 
 of her efforts, trembled a little, she asked 
 for permission to visit the supposed Russian 
 prisoner. 
 
 " What is your relation to him ? " asked the 
 master of the police. " Are you his wife ? " 
 
 " No," she stammered feebly ; her face burned 
 as with fever, and she felt as if she were going to 
 sink into the floor. 
 
 " What are you then ? " inquired her tormen- 
 tor harshly." 
 
 " I am his friend." 
 
 " Ah, she is his friend," repeated he, turning 
 to the gentlemen, who both glanced insolently
 
 158 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 at her, and then burst into laughter. " No, we 
 don't admit friends" 
 
 That was too much for her. Her indignation 
 was kindled within her, and her womanly wrath 
 mastered her grief. She threw her veil back, 
 raised her head, and advanced a step toward the 
 officer. 
 
 " Sir," said she, in a tone which at once de- 
 manded respect, " what right have you to insult a 
 lady who comes here to ask of you what it is not 
 in your power to deny her? The gentleman 
 whom I wish to see has been convicted of no 
 crime, and his case is simply that of mistaken 
 identity. Now he needs the assistance of his 
 friends to prove who he is. If you refuse me ad- 
 mission, I shall procure it to-morrow through the 
 American consul ; and I shall take care to have 
 your behavior toward me duly reported." 
 
 The Teuton was not a little bewildered at 
 this unexpected outburst. He stood for a min- 
 ute with a perplexed frown on his 'brow, as if 
 meditating whether he ought to be angry or not ; 
 then, with a surly mien, he scratched his name to 
 a printed permit, and handed it to Ruth. The 
 sun was near its setting as she reached the street ;
 
 To tlie Rescue. 159 
 
 she again entered the gloomy edifice, and has- 
 tened onward through the dark, cool vaults. 
 She presented her paper at the jailer's lodge, 
 and was conducted by the same ruddy-bearded 
 Hercules through a labyrinth of corridors, stairs, 
 and galleries, until at length they stopped at a 
 small door, which was heavily bolted, and more- 
 over secured by a huge iron bar. 
 
 " Ah," thought Ruth, " here he has had to 
 spend three long days, and all on my account, 
 because he was good, and brave, and generous ! " 
 
 The door groaned on its hinges as the jailer 
 pushed it open. Ruth steeled her nerves, and 
 determined not to give away to any grief or 
 emotion. She peered into the cell, and by the 
 glimmer of the departing daylight saw a stoop- 
 ing figure seated on a wooden stool, close to the 
 wall. He did not stir as she entered, but re- 
 mained in the same attitude, with his head rest- 
 ing on his hands. A sudden fright seized her ; 
 she bent down over him, laid her hand on his 
 shoulder, and whispered, " Mr. Varberg ! " He 
 sprang up then again staggered backward 
 against the wall.
 
 160 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " Miss Ruth ! " he exclaimed. " Can I trust 
 my eyes?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Varberg," answered she, " it is I. 
 I have come here to see what I can do to get 
 you away from this horrible place. We are all 
 going to start for France and England in a few 
 days ; so, you see there is no time to be lost." 
 
 " It is very kind of you to think of me in my 
 present misfortune ; but I am afraid nothing can 
 be done. I have given up all hope. I shall 
 probably have to go to Russia, and there they 
 will find out their mistake ; but I thank you a 
 thousand times for coming to tell me good-by." 
 
 " I did not come to tell you good-by, and 
 still lest did I come to be thanked," answered 
 Ruth calmly (and he did not suspect what that 
 calmness cost her) ; " I came to consult with 
 you, and then to act. First, have you no official 
 document, issued in the United States, or any 
 communication from people who are known to 
 the authorities here ? " 
 
 He opened his eyes widely it was strange 
 to hear her talk in that calm, practical way and 
 after some hesitation he replied : 
 
 " No ; nothing that I can think of."
 
 To the Rescue. 161 
 
 " Have you not a letter of credit ?" . 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "And where is it?" 
 
 " It is in my desk, at my lodgings." 
 
 " Then, please write a note to your landlady 
 requesting her to send me this letter of credit at 
 once. Or better, if you will give me the key to 
 the desk, I will send for it myself. You have 
 probably drawn money on it several times since 
 your arrival here ? " 
 
 " Every other week, for the last six months." 
 
 "Then leave the rest to me. By to-morrow 
 night you shall be out. Now, good-night. I 
 can never hope to repay the debt I owe you ! " 
 and she reached out her hand to him. He 
 seized it and pressed it to his lips ; but the hand 
 was cold, and it trembled. Varberg was deeply 
 moved. How cruelly had he not judged and 
 misunderstood this young girl ! There she stood, 
 apparently proud and erect, and talked in a com- 
 posed, business-like way, while the cold perspira- 
 tion burst from her brow, and her frame trem- 
 bled with suppressed emotion. If it had not 
 been ungenerous to take advantage of this 
 moment's excitement, he would have thrown
 
 1 62 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 himself at her feet, and begged her to forgive 
 and to love him. He still held her hand in 
 both his, and looked up into her large dark eyes, 
 which glistened with the lustre of a gathering 
 tear. He noticed a slight nervous quivering 
 of the upper lip, but otherwise her features 
 showed no sign of unusual feeling. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Ruth," said he warmly, " how 
 good and how noble you are, and how sadly I 
 have misjudged you ! " 
 
 " I am not so good as you think," answered 
 she, attempting to smile. " Good night ! " 
 
 The rusty hinges groaned ; with a sharp click 
 the key turned in the lock, and with a heavy 
 thump the iron bar was pushed before the door. 
 He strained his ear to catch the sound of her 
 receding footsteps ; but they were too light he 
 did not hear them. He sprang forward and 
 struck his hand against his forehead. 
 
 " Good God ! " cried he, staring around him 
 on the gray, naked walls. " Where am I ? " 
 
 He threw himself down on the hard straw 
 mattress, covered his face with his hands, and 
 breathed heavily. He had hardly tasted of 
 food for two days, and overwhelmed with weari-
 
 To the Rescue 163 
 
 ness and exhaustion, he fell into a troubled, 
 feverish sleep. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to recount in detail 
 Ruth's adventures during the next day, and the 
 means by which she procured her friend's 
 release. Having obtained the letter of credit, 
 she called on the banker with whom Varberg 
 had his account, briefly stated to him what had 
 happened, and asked for his assistance. She 
 called his attention to the fact that the letter 
 was dated December last, while the Russian 
 criminal, according to the advertisement, had 
 not disappeared until March of the present year, 
 which in itself was sufficient proof that the two 
 persons could not be identical. The banker, 
 moved by her beauty and her earnestness, rather 
 than by any sympathy for the persecuted Norse- 
 man, promised her to present the case at once to 
 the authorities. But justice is slow in Germany, 
 as elsewhere, and it was not until nearly ten 
 o'clock in the evening that the herculean jailer, 
 accompanied by an assistant of the police, 
 opened the door of Varberg's cell, and told him 
 that he was at liberty to depart. He was not 
 American enough at that moment to think of
 
 164 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 claiming redress or satisfaction ; his only thought 
 was whether Ruth had left Leipsic or not, and 
 the only redress he wished was an hour's happi- 
 ness with her. 
 
 It was a dark night, and a thick, impenetra- 
 ble fog brooded over the empty streets. The 
 watchman's horn sounded from the cupola of 
 the court-house and startled a feeble echo from 
 the opposite side of the square, and the watch- 
 man of St. Thomas's answered with a long, 
 dolorous note. The lantern in the church 
 steeple hung as if suspended in mid-air, and 
 glimmered faintly in the dreary solitude of the 
 fog. Varberg rushed like a madman through 
 the desolate city. His head swam ; he felt 
 faint and dizzy, and his knees almost refused to 
 support the burden of his body. Nevertheless 
 all his soul was rilled with one strong desire, and 
 this desire imparted strength to his tottering 
 limbs. He hastily crossed the promenade, 
 swung himself over the garden fence, and stood 
 anxiously peering through the gloom. The 
 great dusky facade of the building stared upon 
 him with a spectre-like frown, and the last spark 
 of hope was quenched within him. No friendly
 
 To tJie Rescue. 165 
 
 light beckoned to him from her window. She 
 slept all the city slept all was gloom and 
 desolation. 
 
 Hour after hour he wandered about in the 
 wet garden, now slipping in the muddy walks, 
 now stumbling over a flower-bed or a tree root. 
 The lilacs shook their cold tears over his head ; 
 the night folded him in its clammy arms, and 
 pressed its chilly kiss upon his forehead, until he 
 shuddered through every nerve and fibre. An 
 intolerable hunger tormented him, and his hands 
 and feet were benumbed with cold and exhaus- 
 tion ; but all hotels and restaurants were dosed, 
 and moreover he had forgotten to reclaim his 
 purse and his papers, of which he had been 
 deprived at the time of his arrest. Toward 
 morning he sauntered wearily to his lodgings, 
 and by the watchman's assistance gained access 
 to the house. His landlady, dressed in a light 
 light negligee, met him in the hall, and was so 
 frightened at his appearance that she came near 
 fainting. 
 
 "Mein lieber Doctor, wo sind sie dock 
 gewesen ! " cried she, as she recovered her 
 senses.
 
 1 66 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " Ich bin im Gcfdngniss gewesen" answered 
 he absently. 
 
 During the greater part of that day ne slept, 
 and when, toward evening, he sought the house 
 with the archway, the nest was empty and the 
 bird had flown.
 
 The Clock Strikes. 167 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Clock Strikes. 
 
 T~\ URING the next week time hung heavily 
 *~~ on Varberg's hands; hour after hour he 
 went aimlessly strolling through Rosenthal, and 
 when he became weary of this kind of amuse- 
 ment he would drop into some random restau- 
 rant, where he was sure of finding acquaintances, 
 and there he would sit distractedly devouring 
 one dish of ice-cream after the other, and pas- 
 sively suffer himself to be imposed upon by wait- 
 ers and fellow students. His unexpected arrest 
 had prevented him from meeting the Baron at the 
 time appointed, and his further apprehensions 
 regarding the duel were at last removed by a 
 note from his opponent, dated Fulda, in which 
 the writer informed him that " circumstances " 
 had compelled him to leave the city, and that 
 consequently he. withdrew his challenge. Here 
 he was even 'deprived of the opportunity to
 
 1 68 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 perform an heroic act, which in some measure 
 would have relieved the dreary emptiness of his 
 existence ; for if he had fought the duel, it would 
 have been done for Ruth's sake, and if he had 
 been offered the chance of refusing it, it would 
 have been an equally heroic deed, which she 
 would have treasured up in her heart, and which 
 would have raised him in her estimation. But 
 fate persisted in turning his tragic plots into 
 farces, and he had no choice but to accept the 
 humiliating position of a farcical hero. In another 
 week the University semester would close, and 
 he would point his course northward, where his 
 old grandparents and his sister were eagerly 
 awaiting him. Strange to say, however, within 
 these last weeks all his enthusiasm for his native 
 land, with its rugged rocks and its fair-haired 
 damsels, had cooled, and he became seriously 
 alarmed at the prospect of appearing among his 
 relatives in this new character of an apathetic 
 cosmopolitan. 
 
 Leipsic seemed the mere wraith of its own 
 self after Ruth had gone. The mornings were 
 what a romanticist would have termed " impu- 
 dently awake," the noonday hour was as if lulled
 
 The Clock Strikes. 169 
 
 into a heavy fever doze, and the sultry night gave 
 neither rest nor comfort. It lasted some time 
 before he reached the conclusion that Ruth 
 must have left so suddenly because she didn't 
 desire to see him ; he would have gladly dis- 
 missed the thought of such a duplicity, as he 
 called it, on her part, but a hundred unwelcome 
 arguments thronged to its support, until he was 
 forced to accept the situation, humiliating 
 though it be. He had noticed that she treated 
 him coldly the day after that fatal ball, and the 
 reason for this he sought in the little scene in 
 the night when she had in his presence yielded 
 to a burst of grief, of emotion, or of nervousness, 
 or God knows what it was ; and he had ungen- 
 erously accepted it as an evidence of her inter- 
 est in him, and had then fled like a coward, 
 perhaps, because he feared that a delay would 
 necessarily have led him to betray those feelings 
 which, as he flattered himself, he had hitherto 
 scrupulously concealed. She had humiliated 
 herself before him : what then could be more 
 natural than that she wished to get as far away 
 from him as possible? That she had exerted 
 herself in his. 'behalf, and procured his release 
 8
 
 170 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 from the arrest, might have been a deliberate 
 and even a selfish act. She had herself been 
 the innocent cause of his imprisonment, and a 
 simple sense of justice and duty had impelled 
 her to explain the misunderstanding. She 
 would not yield him the privilege of suffering 
 for her sake ; he was to have no claim upon her 
 sympathies, perhaps not even upon her friendship 
 and her gratitude. It was this gloomy train of 
 thought which incessantly occupied Varberg's 
 fancy during the last week of his stay at Leipsic. 
 " Alas," said he to himself, as he promenaded 
 meditatively up and down on the floor, " our 
 account is even, our tale is told." And that 
 same night he wrote a poem which began thus : 
 
 A sleepless, joyless nay, and deathless passion ! 
 
 A few days before his departure he received 
 letters from Norway, in which his grandfather, 
 grandmother, and Brynhild (each according to 
 his or her own fashion) expressed their joy at 
 the prospect of seeing him. It made him feel 
 wretched and guilty, for he could not but consider 
 how little he had done to merit the endearing 
 names they bestowed upon him. How little had
 
 The Clock Strikes. 171 
 
 he thought of them during these many months 
 while they had been counting the days until his 
 return ! And even now, although he acknowl- 
 edged the injustice, he was as powerless as ever 
 to repair it. In a state of utter disgust, he at 
 length boarded the train which was to take him 
 by way of Frankfort to Strasbourg, whence he 
 expected to continue the journey to Paris, then 
 cross the channel, and take steamer from Lon- 
 don to Norway. As the train moved out of the 
 depot, a party of students began to sing : " Wo 
 ist des Deutschen Vaterland ? " and Varberg 
 involuntarily applied the sentiment of the song 
 to himself, and profoundly sympathized with this 
 poet, who, without intending it, has expressed 
 so strikingly how vague to a German mind is 
 the idea of the German fatherland. 
 
 The wheels rattled away over the rails, the 
 smoke whirled past the windows, and the jolly 
 companions in the next car kept up an incessant 
 brawl, and seemed nothing daunted either by the 
 heat or by the ingenious discomfort of their quar- 
 ters. Varberg being alone with an old gentleman 
 in his coupt, pressed himself up into a corner, 
 shut his eyes, a'nd allowed his mind to roam idly
 
 172 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 wherever it listed. First he imagined himself 
 writing a letter to Ruth, in which he assumed an 
 air of cheerful unconcern, assured her in the 
 politest phrases of his heartfelt interest in all her 
 doings, and expressed the hope that the future 
 might afford him an opportunity of proving how 
 highly he prized her good opinion and her 
 friendship. Such a letter would evidently re- 
 move all fear of further misunderstandings, and 
 would no doubt rehabilitate him in her estima- 
 tion. And however much his literary half, 
 which was fond of asserting its independence, 
 approved of this plan, his more human self con- 
 demned it as a piece of dishonesty and coward- 
 ice. Moreover, there was this obstacle, that he 
 had no idea of where Ruth was, and had conse- 
 quently no means of reaching her. It was the 
 helplessness of his situation, or, more probably, 
 the gloominess of the prospect which lay before 
 him a long, empty life without her which 
 called up to his mind the thought of death. In 
 an altogether irresponsible mood he let one 
 fancy succeed another, until he imagined him- 
 self dead, and saw Ruth sitting in the parlor in 
 Leipsic, with the morning paper in her hand ;
 
 The Clock Strikes. 173 
 
 suddenly she turns pale, starts up with a fright- 
 ened look, and hastens out of the room. In an 
 hour she returns : but her eyes are red and 
 swollen, and her upper lip quivers just a little, as 
 it always did whenever she tried to conquer an 
 overwhelming emotion. Mrs. Elder anxiously 
 inquires what has happened, and Ruth points 
 silently to the paper, which Mrs. Elder gazes at 
 with a profound air, although she cannot read a 
 word of it. Varberg found this a very pleasing 
 kind of a reverie, and took a fierce satisfaction in 
 thinking that now, when it was too late, she had 
 at last discovered his worth. After all, what 
 greater happiness could he desire than to have 
 her shed tears over him, and to have her cherish 
 a tender, regretful memory of him ? These were 
 the reflections of Varberg the author, who was 
 at times not free from sentimentality. " And 
 then she would go and marry somebody else," 
 suggested a prosaic voice in his breast, and he 
 had to own that this was only too probable, 
 which at once cut short the reverie. 
 
 In the evening he took supper in Frankfort, 
 and reached Strasbourg about four o'clock the 
 following morning. He took up his lodgings in
 
 174 ^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 the Inn of the Holy Spirit, on account of its 
 association with Goethe's youth, although it was 
 by no means the best hotel in the city. He left 
 orders to be waked up at eight, but the servant 
 was probably too sleepy to understand him ; and 
 to his utter disgust, he found that it was not far 
 from noon when finally he was roused by the 
 jingling of a bell out in the hall. He made a 
 hasty toilet, and a still hastier breakfast, con- 
 sulted his guide-book in regard to the situation 
 of the Cathedral, and started out in the hope 
 that his good instinct would lead him by the 
 directest way to the object of his search. He 
 bestowed but a passing glance upon the time- 
 blackened fronts of the houses, with their queer 
 old-worldish look and their many-gabled way- 
 wardness ; the pretty Alsatian girls, in their pic- 
 turesque attire, with the white embroidered 
 aprons, half covering the front of their short 
 skirts, interested him but little. He noticed 
 that most of them carried hymn-books and a 
 folded handkerchief in their hands, which re- 
 minded him of the possibility of its being Sun- 
 day. And immediately a Sabbath feeling stole 
 over him ; he noticed a certain festive look in
 
 Tht Clock Strikes. 175 
 
 the gray houses, and in the freshly swept streets ; 
 the sky looked serener, the sunshine clearer, and 
 nature seemed to be breathing with a fuller 
 breast than before. He unconsciously slack- 
 ened his speed and bent his head, and half for- 
 got where he was going, when suddenly a mighty 
 rush of metallic clangor fell upon the silence like 
 an avalanche, startling the repose of a mountain 
 ravine into a cataract of sonorous thunder. Var- 
 berg swiftly raised his eyes and for an instant 
 he lost his breath. There, is the broad, affluent 
 light of the noonday, rose the solemn presence 
 of the minster with its sculptured facade, serenely 
 grave, majestic, and withal joyous and fantasti- 
 cally graceful. He had indeed, as Lowell says, 
 " taken his minster unawares." 
 
 The lofty spire climbed, with grand aspira- 
 tion, for and ever farther up into the pure blue 
 space, and as his spirit caught its ethereal sug- 
 gestion, a proud sense of kinship stirred in the 
 Norseman's bosom, and an exhilarating thrill of 
 happiness shot through his nerves. His frame 
 seemed to swell into larger proportions ; he in- 
 voluntarily raised his head, and his breast ex- 
 panded with a 'magnificent consciousness of
 
 176 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 strength. The artistic purpose of his life assumed 
 a fresh magnitude, and mere personal concerns 
 appeared small and sordid, and faded away into 
 nothingness. 
 
 " Thank heaven, I have at last found my 
 own true self again," he murmured. " And I 
 need not blush to meet my old grandfather's 
 eye, and own myself a true and honest Norse- 
 man." 
 
 " And as for that incipient love affair," he 
 added mentally, " I am glad that it is all over, 
 and that Fate was wiser than I." 
 
 The minute hand of the Cathedral clock was 
 was fast approaching twelve ; Varberg reluc- 
 tantly tore himself loose from the spell of con- 
 templation, and entered the church through the 
 middle portal. A large crowd of people had gath- 
 ered about the famous astronomical clock, await- 
 ing the appearance of Christ and his twelve apos- 
 tles. Varberg hurried up the aisle, regardless of 
 the worshippers, who knelt solitary or in scattered 
 groups about the shrine of some cherished saint, 
 and he succeeded in elbowing his way through 
 the crowd, and in gaining a favorable position 
 among the first rows of the spectators. Inside
 
 The Clock Strikes. 177 
 
 the railing a Frenchman, in a semi-clerical attire, 
 and, somehow or other, with the appearance of 
 a degraded ecclesiastic, stood violently gestic- 
 ulating, as he pointed out and described the nu- 
 merous complications of this eighth wonder of 
 the world. As the hour of noon arrived, and all 
 were breathlessly expectant, the throng became 
 denser about the railing, and everybody stood on 
 tiptoe, endeavoring to look over his neighbor's 
 head. The hush became intenser ; the French- 
 man raised his hand solemnly ; Varberg bent 
 forward, and saw two deep dark eyes glowing 
 upon him. In the same instant there came a 
 surprised " Oh." All heads were swiftly turned, 
 but fortunately then the Four Ages of Man gave 
 the signal, and struck the four quarters of the 
 hour. But Olaf what did he heed the Four 
 Ages ? The old skeleton, Father Time, struck 
 twelve blows on his bell, the angel on the first 
 gallery jingled on his instrument, and the twelve 
 apostles moved out and made an abrupt bow be- 
 fore the figure of the Saviour; but on Olafs 
 senses all these musical noises buzzed and 
 hummed remotely, like the rush of distant waters. 
 
 He desperately clung to the possibility of a de- 
 8*
 
 178 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 lusion, but soon the uncertainty culminated in 
 the conviction that these eyes could belong to 
 none other than Ruth ; he looked once more 
 there was no room for doubt ; it was Ruth. 
 While the clock still kept up its noise, he strove 
 hard to collect his thoughts ; Ruth had again 
 turned her head, and was apparently absorbed 
 in the miraculous mechanism. The cock flapped 
 his wings, and crowed thrice, and a chorus of 
 ghostly echoes answered from the remotest re- 
 cesses of the church. There was something shud- 
 deringly gay in this shrill metallic voice, which 
 struck mockingly against the solemn vaults, then 
 as it were suddenly froze, dropping down dead 
 or vanishing in mid air. It reminded Varberg 
 of the sensation he had had when entering the 
 Chamber of Horrors in Mme. Toussaud's wax- 
 works in London. As the people began to dis- 
 perse, and the old Frenchman prepared to draw 
 the curtain before the clock, he advanced a step, 
 and stood at Ruth's side. 
 
 " There is evidently a destiny which shapes 
 our ends, Miss Copley," said he, holding out his 
 hand to her. " I am so mystified that I almost 
 shudder, both with surprise and pleasure."
 
 The Clock Strikes. 179 
 
 " You say that you are pleased to see me, 
 Mr. Varberg," answered she, with a strange 
 questioning glance in her eye, " but I must 
 confess you look anything but pleased. Now 
 what shall I choose to believe ? your words or 
 your face ? " 
 
 " I thought we knew each other too well to 
 misinterpret each other's faces in that way," 
 replied Olaf, and attempted to smile. " If I 
 should in this moment accept the testimony of 
 your own face, I should reach anything but a 
 flattering conclusion. But by the way, where 
 are your aunt and your cousin ? " 
 
 " Dearie is here in the church somewhere, 
 but aunt was too tired to go ; she hasn't been 
 quite well since we left Leipsic, and I suppose 
 we shall have to stay here for a few days, until 
 she is rested." 
 
 Side by side they walked down the aisle, 
 asking and answering such indifferent questions 
 as spontaneously fall from the lips when people 
 meet after a brief separation. Ruth was pro- 
 voked with herself for having given utterance to 
 her surprise at seeing him ; and she was half
 
 180 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 angry with him for having made no such 
 betrayal of his feelings. 
 
 " He didn't even come to tell me good-by, 
 although he had promised to do so," she 
 thought. " Now I shall do my best to show 
 how little I care." And she went on construct- 
 ing ingeniously revengeful plans against Varberg, 
 of how she would snub and ignore him, so as to 
 remove the impression which she feared that her 
 late efforts in his behalf must have given him ; 
 but at the bottom of her heart there lurked a 
 dread, which almost amounted to a conviction, 
 that he had it in his power to frustrate all her 
 fierce resolutions. In her present revengeful 
 mood, however, she was loath to confess to any 
 such weakness, and she persevered in plotting, 
 until she grew almost cheerful in the contempla- 
 tion of her own shrewd devices. 
 
 " Miss Copley," began he at last in a low 
 voice, as they stopped before the sculptured 
 monument of the Bishop of Lichtenberg, " I 
 have as yet had no opportunity to thank you for 
 your " 
 
 " Pray don't," she interrupted him hastily. 
 " You have nothing to thank me for. What I
 
 The Clock Strikes. 181 
 
 did was nothing but my simple duty a duty to 
 myself rather than to you." 
 
 "Ah," he muttered sadly, as he fixed a 
 grave reproachful glance upon her. " I under- 
 stand. You need have no fear, however, of my 
 misinterpreting your motives. I know you too 
 well to suspect you of sentimentality, and if I 
 was bold to infer that a friendly regard for me 
 prompted your action, then I beg a hundred 
 times your forgiveness. I promise you, I shall 
 never think so again." 
 
 She saw in a moment that she had cruelly 
 misjudged him ; that she had been selfish and 
 ungenerous; but she was not in a humor to 
 make any such confession, and she forcibly ban- 
 ished the unwelcome thought, shook her head 
 impatiently, and said, "Mr. Varberg, what 
 makes you so stupid to-day ? You didn't use to 
 be so before. Why not talk about something 
 more cheerful ? It can do us no good to dwell 
 upon that which is past. What is done cannot 
 be helped." 
 
 He was about to answer ; but just then they 
 were discovered by Miss Bailey, who, quite for- 
 getful of where she was, came running toward
 
 1 82 A Norseman^ s Pilgrimage. 
 
 them, seized Varberg's hand, and exclaimed, 
 " Why, Mr. Varberg, who in the world would 
 have expected to find you here? How delight- 
 ful that you have come. Both Ruth and I have 
 been very much in need of a gentleman to take 
 us around, and we have been wishing a million 
 times that you were here." 
 
 Ruth scowled and pinched her cousin in the 
 arm ; but innocent Dearie, not understanding the 
 hint, tore her arm loose, and cried out, " But, 
 Ruth, why do you pinch me ? " The situation 
 was truly embarrassing; Varberg hastened to 
 inquire more particularly after Mrs. Elder's 
 health, and Dearie answered with a circumstan- 
 tial account of their movements since they had 
 left Leipsic. 
 
 " I thought you were going directly to Eng- 
 land," said he, in order to say something. 
 
 " So we were," replied Dearie, while they 
 followed Ruth, who was hastily approaching the 
 door. " But Ruth had taken it into her head 
 that she wanted to see the Saxon Switzerland, 
 and so we went to Dresden and stayed a few 
 days in the mountains. Now we are going from 
 here to Paris, and then to London ; and we ex-
 
 The Clock Strikes. 183 
 
 pect to spend the summer with some relatives 
 of ours in Northumberland." 
 
 As they reached the street Ruth again joined 
 them, but she left to Dearie and Varberg to cany 
 on the conversation, and only now and then threw 
 in an indifferent remark. She carried her head 
 proudly, and in his eyes she looked even taller 
 and more queenly than usual ; but he noticed a 
 burning red spot upon her pale cheek, and the 
 restlessness of her glance betrayed her inward 
 agitation. At the door of Hotel de Paris they 
 stopped. Dearie urged him to come in and dine 
 with them, but he politely refused. 
 
 " But aunt would be so glad to see you." 
 
 " I shall have the pleasure of calling upon her 
 before leaving the city." 
 
 "Then we shall expect you this afternoon. 
 You will be sure to come, won't you?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 For more than two hours he loitered leisurely 
 about the city, listening for awhile to the mili- 
 tary band which played in the Place d'Armes, 
 criticising the statues of Guttenberg and Mar- 
 shal Saxe, and 'indulging in philosophical rev- 
 eries at the sight of the desolation which the late
 
 184 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 siege has left behind it. No friendly ivy drapes 
 the nudity of these fire-blackened ruins of the 
 Neu-Kirche and the great Municipal Library, 
 and time has not yet softened those sharp broken 
 lines into anything like picturesqueness and pa- 
 thetic harmony. Masses of dtbris still lie un- 
 disturbed in the angles of the court, and the 
 black walls, in melancholy defiance, loom up 
 against the clear blue sky. Varberg was the 
 more impressed by all that he saw because, in 
 his present mood, a sad spectacle had a pro- 
 founder significance to him than a cheerful one. 
 He would gladly have persuaded himself that 
 Ruth's conduct was a matter of indifference to 
 him ; and when at length he was forced to face 
 the truth, he vainly attempted to put a humor- 
 ous interpretation upon it, and ended with piti- 
 lessly deriding himself for his cowardly depend- 
 ence upon a woman's whims. 
 
 The Inn of the Holy Ghost lives on the 
 memory of Goethe, as indeed many other sec- 
 ond-rate hotels on the continent do. The com- 
 pany which Varberg met at the table d'hdte was 
 not by any means select ; but to his surprise he 
 found it almost exclusively French, and little
 
 The Clock Strikes. 185 
 
 keenness of insight was required to discover, 
 that the Teutonic language grated on Gallic 
 ears. He concluded from the frown of the 
 little gentleman opposite, with the martial mous- 
 tache and the threadbare coat, that there was 
 some mistake prevailing in regard to his nation- 
 ality; and in order to remove the unfavorable 
 impression, he took pains to address the waiter 
 in French. But the little gentleman's frown 
 grew fiercer, and a half-bucolic individual, who 
 sat dozing over a plate of fruit and a bottle of 
 wine, suddenly waked up, quaffed his last glass 
 at one draught, and rose from the table. The 
 waiters brought the dinner, and Varberg fell to 
 eating ; and the Frenchman, to whom silence 
 was even more repugnant than the Germans, 
 gradually relented, bent over toward the stran- 
 ger, and asked, " Is this the first time you visit 
 France, sir?" 
 
 Varberg replied that it was. 
 
 " Then," continued the little man, who prob- 
 ably was ignorant of the Treaty of Versailles 
 and the removal of the boundary, " there is a 
 great pleasure in store for you. This country
 
 1 86 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 is even more beautiful than Italy, and I have 
 been there too." 
 
 " You say this country" remarked Olaf ; " do 
 you mean France or Germany ? " 
 
 A tremendous scowl darkened the face of the 
 Gaul, and his eyes secerned to shoot sparks. 
 
 "Are you a German, sir ? " he cried. 
 
 " I am not." 
 
 " What are you then, if I may ask ? " 
 
 Varberg had to debate the question before 
 answering. Hitherto he had always called him- 
 self a Norwegian, but he felt no longer his 
 former pride in the name. The memory of his 
 old grandfather shot through his brain ; then 
 came the alluring thought of Ruth, and it 
 seemed as if the two were irreconcilable oppo- 
 nents who fought for the possession of his heart. 
 A treacherous blush burned on his cheek, and 
 after a moment's reflection he said, " I am an 
 American." And to drown the voice of con- 
 science he emptied a glass of Rhenish. 
 
 Again Ruth had conquered.
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 The Cat/if dral Tower. 
 
 T T was about five o'clock in the afternoon when 
 -- Varberg handed his card to a waiter in 
 Hotel de Paris, with the request that it should 
 be carried to Mrs. Elder. In the meanwhile he 
 was shown into a reading room, where, quite 
 unexpectedly, he found Ruth seated at a table, 
 apparently absorbed in a German newspaper. 
 Her recent agitation had left no trace behind ; 
 she seemed as cheerful and unconcerned as if 
 nothing had happened. As she caught sight of 
 Varberg she arose from her seat, came toward 
 him and offered him her hand in her own easy, 
 natural way. 
 
 " Ah, I am glad you did not play the truant 
 again," said she laughing as she gave him a place 
 at her side on the sofa. " By the way, what 
 horribly stupid things these foreign newspapers 
 are. I have been trying to amuse myself with
 
 1 88 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 the ' Kolnische Zeitung,' but I find it a very 
 dreary sort of business. Not even an interesting 
 obituary notice." 
 
 " Then you read obituary notices for amuse- 
 ment ? '' remarked he with a little show of surprise. 
 
 " Well, call it what you please," answered 
 she carelessly. " They are always the first thing 
 I read in a newspaper. And now, tell me hon- 
 estly, don't you, too, feel just a little bit disap- 
 pointed when you glance through an obituary 
 column and don't find a single name you know 
 in it?" 
 
 She asked the question with such evident 
 sincerity that he couldn't help laughing. 
 
 " Well, yes, when I think of it," he said, " I 
 must confess that I have had a similar sensation. 
 However, as regards the German newspapers, 
 you are hardly just when you say that they are 
 dull because they don't interest you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am perfectly just. I have 
 talked with German ladies about it, and they 
 say that they never find the papers worth read- 
 ing ; and at home I should be just as likely to 
 forget to eat my breakfast as to omit reading the 
 morning paper."
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 189 
 
 At this moment the servant announced .that 
 Mrs. Elder was ready to receive Mr. Varberg, 
 and both mounted the stairs together. On the 
 way he revolved in his mind what could have 
 wrought this sudden change in Ruth, and he 
 hastily recalled the words which had passed 
 between them in the morning, vainly seeking a 
 clue to the mystery. 
 
 " I should like to know," reflected he, 4l what 
 sort of introverted logic it is which governs her 
 mental machinery. And, after all," he added, 
 as she opened the door to him, "what would be 
 the good of it ? If I could comprehend her, I 
 should probably not find her half so delightful. 
 I must accept her as I accept a miracle, and the 
 fairest miracle which God ever wrought." 
 
 He found Mrs. Elder seated in a large easy- 
 chair and propped up in pillows. She was amia- 
 ble, placid, and exhaustive as usual. 
 
 " How happy you ought to be, Mr. Varberg," 
 said she, after having languidly expressed her 
 delight at seeing him, "who are going to a 
 country of snow and glaciers, while we shall 
 have to languish here in this insufferable heat." 
 
 To Mrs. Elder's obstinate fancy, Norway was,
 
 190 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 even at midsummer, an interminable Arctic snow 
 field. She had evidently not profited by the 
 Norseman's teachings, and on this occasion he 
 meekly coincided with her, and gave up all 
 further attempts at conversion. 
 
 " We have just been spending some time in 
 Dresden," resumed the old lady after a brief 
 silence, " and we have been very much de- 
 lighted with the galleries. But we should have 
 enjoyed them more if we had had you to explain 
 the pictures to us." 
 
 " No, with your permission, aunt," Ruth 
 interposed, "I shall have to object to that. 
 You will forgive me, Mr. Varberg, if I say that 
 I, at least, enjoyed the galleries the better for 
 being alone. An art critic like yourself may be 
 a very valuable cicerone for one who travels for 
 instruction. But I only went to have a pleasant 
 time ; and in your presence I should never have 
 dared to pass my irreverential criticism upon all 
 those stilted saints and martyrs, and they in 
 return would not have had the courage to take 
 me into their confidence, and discourse with me 
 humanly and show me their humorous as well 
 as their official and pious side. With your keen
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 191 
 
 eye passing judgment upon them, they would 
 have been simply grave and graceful and 
 decorous." 
 
 " I was not aware," replied Varberg laugh r 
 ing, " that my humble presence could be so awe- 
 inspinng. 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Varberg, you know you dis- 
 approve of jokes, and even saints are not always 
 deficient in humor." 
 
 " Well, if you say so. I will try to believe 
 that you are right. But then you must favor 
 me with a specimen of your criticism ; perhaps 
 I am not so lacking in appreciation as you think. 
 What is your opinion, say, of the Holbein 
 Madonna?" 
 
 u Well, she is not humorous, I admit. But I 
 read more of motherly sadness than of motherly 
 pride in her countenance. That sickly looking 
 child evidently belongs to those homely, Dutchy 
 looking Burgomaster folks who are kneeling in 
 the foreground. The prim apostles of Raphael 
 and his clique, with their graceful attitudes and 
 their faultless draperies, I enjoyed thoroughly. I 
 imagined myself running a pin into their arms 
 or tumbling theit curls, and I wondered if they
 
 192 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 would then know how to preserve their studied 
 dignity. The roasting saints of Ribera and 
 Velasquez I also grew very fond of, and as for 
 the Dutch nymphs, and fawns, and peasants, 
 their humor is as broad as the daylight, and 
 there is no need of straining the interpretation." 
 
 " If you have nothing worse to report," said 
 he, " then on my own account, I sincerely regret 
 my absence. You might have taught me many 
 a useful lesson, and opened my eyes to things 
 which I should never have discovered of my own 
 accord." 
 
 " Oh, no, I should only have horrified you 
 by admiring the wrong thing, and I should have 
 lost fifty per cent, in your estimation." 
 
 Mrs. Elder and Dearie now related their 
 experiences, and the conversation took another 
 turn. After half an hour's talk, Varberg invited 
 the ladies to accompany him on a walk through 
 the city; but Dearie declared she could not 
 leave her aunt, and so the end of it was that 
 Ruth and Varberg went alone. 
 
 Strasbourg, even in its gayest holiday attire, 
 wears an aspect of idyllic drowsiness. It is not 
 an aspiring city. All its grandeur lies in the
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 193 
 
 past; it wears upon its brow an habitual air 
 of mystery, and its romantic suggestiveness 
 will yield to the gentlest touch of fancy ; and 
 then it lapses into a profound reverie, from 
 which not even the rough voice of the nine- 
 teenth century can rouse it. This was in brief 
 the substance of Varberg's remarks, as he walked 
 with Ruth through the narrow street which leads 
 from the Kleber Platz up to the Cathedral. She 
 listened for awhile patiently, but at last she 
 looked almost imploringly at him and said, " Now 
 please, don't let us be profound. You take a 
 peculiar pleasure in going beyond my depth, 
 but this time I shan't let you. By the way, do 
 you remember the young lady with the yellow 
 hair whom I told you to talk nonsense to at the 
 ball in Leipsic." 
 
 " Of course I remember her." 
 
 " Well, that time you succeeded admirably. 
 She confessed to me the next day that she 
 thought you were the brightest man she had 
 ever met with. In fact, she was half in love 
 with you. I know it is unkind in me to tell you 
 of it, but you will probably never see her again, 
 so it makes no difference, Now, why do you
 
 194 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 reserve all your brightness for others, and vent 
 all your learning on poor me ? " 
 
 " Miss Ruth, you are incorrigible," he broke 
 forth, looking pleased rather in spite of himself. 
 " You needn't say, however, that I am going be- 
 yond your depth, for your own answers contra- 
 dict you. I might rather turn your accusation 
 Against yourself. I never know what you are 
 going to do or say next. Indeed, you are a per- 
 petual puzzle to me." 
 
 " Then you ought to feel thankful, Mr. Var- 
 berg," retorted she with that arch look of hers, 
 " that you have at last found something which 
 you don't understand." 
 
 "To understand a woman, and especially you ! 
 What a presumption ! I should as soon under- 
 take to square the circle." 
 
 " That is well enough to say," she answered. 
 " But apropos of Strasbourg : you have praised 
 this city so much that I feel like abusing it. Tell 
 me, would you really like to live here ? Don't 
 you think that everything looks insufferably 
 sleepy ? " 
 
 " What you call sleepiness is the very thing 
 which delights me. This vague mediaeval gla-
 
 TJie Cathedral Tower. 195 
 
 mour which still hangs brooding over this colos- 
 sal tomb of history softens the voice and muffles 
 the footfall of the noisy life of to-day " 
 
 " Wait one moment ! " cried Ruth. " You 
 are scattering pearls to the winds. Wait, till I 
 can get my note-book." 
 
 "Only look at our own cities," continued 
 Varberg, without heeding the interruption, " and 
 the contrast cannot but strike you. Take, for 
 instance, New York, or even your much cherished 
 Boston, and artistically speaking, what is there 
 to it ? A rigidly formal, monotonous heap of 
 brick and mortar, pitilessly new, glaringly angu- 
 lar, wide awake, and unrelieved by any sugges- 
 tion of sentiment, poetry, or romance." 
 
 " What an outrage ! " exclaimed she, and 
 stopped abruptly in the street. " Remember, I 
 was born in Boston, and am as loyal to my coun- 
 try as you are to Strasbourg. If a man could 
 live on picturesqueness, I should find it reason- 
 able enough that you prefer this musty old nest 
 to a bright, wide-awake New England town. If 
 I were the magistrate of Strasbourg," she added 
 jocosely, " I think I should order a semi-annual 
 bombardment onty to rouse the inhabitants from
 
 196 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 their torpor. With us we have at least an occa- 
 sional murder, or an elopement, or at all events, 
 a run-away team, to enliven the public sentiment ; 
 but it seems that even the horses here are too 
 decorous to indulge in any sort of frivolity." 
 
 They stood on the square before the cathe- 
 dral, and the combative spirit died out in the 
 minds of both. It seemed no longer the same 
 church they had seen in the morning. In the 
 broad light of the noon it wore an air of epic 
 grandeur and repose ; now the intenser mood of 
 the evening had quickened its stone pulses with a 
 new life, and with grand lyrical impulse the huge 
 labyrinthine texture of arch, buttress, and tracery 
 started up into the red, faintly-flushed sky. The 
 colossal facade, bathed in the deep-tinged gold 
 of the late sun, lent by its contrast a touch of 
 terror to the massive gloom which filled the re- 
 cesses of the eastern buttresses. 
 
 " That man's name was not 'writ in water,' " 
 remarked Ruth, " who built this church as an 
 epitaph on himself." 
 
 " It is not the epitaph of a man," replied Var- 
 berg, " but the monument of ten generations." 
 
 " What a pity that the south tower is wanting,
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 197 
 
 and that the present spire, somehow or other, 
 refuses to carry out the noble purpose of the 
 facade. That florid and fantastic style of the 
 fifteenth century " 
 
 His features must have betrayed his astonish- 
 ment, and Ruth, seeing his comically perplexed 
 look, could no longer retain her composure, but 
 burst out into ringing laughter. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " you are the easiest man to 
 impose upon that I ever knew. I read it all in 
 Baedeker this morning, and I thought I would 
 like to try it on you, just to see how you would 
 take it." 
 
 " Well, and what is the result of your experi- 
 ment? " asked Varberg, joining in her laughter, 
 because he felt that it was expected of him. 
 " However, next time when you may wish to 
 impose upon me, I should advise you to choose a 
 less accessible source than Baedeker." 
 
 " Now, don't be exasperating, if you please ; " 
 and Ruth, as if quite by accident, laid her arm 
 in his and looked up into his face in the most 
 bewitching manner. What was there in that 
 look which chased the blood to his cheeks, and 
 made his pulses quicken ? " Did he misunder-
 
 1 98 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 stand me? Is he offended with me?" was all 
 it seemed to say ; but to him it carried a far pro- 
 founder meaning. It revealed to him his own 
 utter helplessness in the grasp of the passion 
 which had so mercilessly clutched at the very 
 roots of his heart. He felt himself as the vic- 
 tim of some fatal destiny, which with cruel joy 
 calmly frustrated every plan and purpose of his 
 life. And all the while he stood with a dis- 
 tracted smile about his lips ; but his eyes were 
 sad, and a gathering gloom clouded his brow. 
 The interrogation marks in Ruth's eyes grew 
 until at last she broke forth in a voice of alarm : 
 " But, Mr. Varberg, you are not really angry 
 with me, are you ? " 
 
 "Ah, Miss Ruth," he murmured vacantly; 
 " I angry with you ? I wish I could be angry 
 with you. I should be a happier man if I could." 
 
 " Yes, I know you like to mystify me," she 
 answered musingly; and then, as if trying to 
 banish the importunate thought which his words 
 suggested, she added in a merrier tone, " And 
 this time I ought to confess that you have suc- 
 ceeded admirably." 
 
 At this moment an old French guide half
 
 The Cathedral Tomer. 199 
 
 timidly approached them, and in a husky, sepul- 
 chral voice offered to conduct them through the 
 church and up into the tower. He had a most 
 pathetic air of shabbiness and humiliation, as if 
 he had been doomed to bear upon his shoulders 
 all the burden and disgrace of the late war. An 
 ex-military coat of uncertain color hung loosely 
 about his limbs, and his moustache had a decided 
 shade of green, like a certain kind of moss which 
 grows upon the branches of the pine. Indeed, 
 as Ruth remarked, he was a most pathetic char- 
 acter, and she was at once prepossessed in his 
 favor. As they passed under the wide portal, he 
 began to tefl them the old story of Erwin of 
 Steinbach, the architect of the facade, and his 
 lovely daughter Sabina; but Ruth interrupted 
 him, saying that she knew as much about them 
 as he did. The disconcerted guide then humbly 
 called their attention to the carved stone statues 
 which adorned the niches of the side portals. 
 
 " It is the twelve foolish virgins," he said. 
 
 "The twelve foolish virgins!" exclaimed 
 Ruth. "Were they all twelve foolish? Be- 
 sides, I did not know that there were more than 
 ten of them.
 
 2OO A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " The twelve foolish virgins," repeated the 
 guide meekly. 
 
 " That man is a genuine pessimist," said she, 
 in English, turning to Varberg. " He has even 
 less confidence in the sex than you have. He 
 must have been cruelly jilted." 
 
 " I should call that rather a rash conclusion," 
 answered he. " You think, then, that pessimism 
 is the natural result of blighted hopes." 
 
 " Usually it is. And still I do not deny that 
 there are those who are born pessimists." 
 
 They entered the church and walked up the 
 full length of the nave, to a side chapel where a 
 tonsured priest had gathered a small flock of the 
 faithful, to whom he was delivering a half- 
 humorous discourse on the life and character of 
 St. Joseph. This man of God had been neg- 
 lected of late, he said, but it was a great 
 mistake ; for he was a most helpful and efficient 
 saint. 
 
 There is at all times a potent fascination 
 about these miracles in stone, which we call 
 Gothic cathedrals. But on a summer night, 
 when the sun, in its downward course, pours a 
 quivering stream of splendor through the win-
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 201 
 
 dows of combined amethyst, topaz, and rose, 
 when the air burns with all the deepest tinges 
 of a tenfold intensified rainbow, and the gloom, 
 with a dim suffusion of color, hovers indistinctly 
 remote under the arched vaults overhead, then 
 nature finishes in its own perfect spirit what the 
 builders have left undone, and effaces the boun- 
 dary line between the human and the divine. 
 
 " Somebody has said that the Gothic ar- 
 chitecture is a divine revelation," whispered 
 Ruth as, leaning on Varberg's arm, she moved 
 down the south aisle. " Do you remember who 
 said it ? " 
 
 " I think it is Ruskin." 
 
 " To be sure, so it is. I think I now under- 
 stand what he means. I admit too that on our 
 side of the ocean we don't know what a church 
 is. Our domestic little coops, with carpeted 
 floor and a velvet-cushioned sofa for the minister 
 to sprawl on, may do well enough for a social 
 chat and a tea meeting, but they are hardly fit 
 for worship. A place like this doesn't invite to 
 familiarity. A tea-meeting here would strike 
 even the rigidest Down East Puritan as absurdly 
 incongruous, if n'ot sacrilegious." 
 9*
 
 2O2 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 " I suppose our churches are the logical 
 results of our republicanism," answered Varberg. 
 " We like to be on familiar terms with God as 
 with every one else." 
 
 " Perhaps," murmured Ruth absently, and 
 gazed up to the great sun-illumined windows. 
 Heavy drops of deep crimson, blue, and golden 
 light grazed the clustered shafts of the columns, 
 thrilling the dead stone into a brief blush of 
 life. 
 
 "How beautiful," said she, " and still how 
 sad ! I should turn Catholic within a year, if I 
 were doomed to visit this church daily.' * 
 
 The guide ventured to remind them, that if 
 they wished to visit the tower, there was no 
 time to be lost. At Varberg's suggestion, a little 
 sallow-faced sacristan opened a small door in the 
 transept, and let them out only a few steps from 
 the entrance to the tower. The ascent was 
 rather a laborious one, and before they had 
 mounted the three hundred and thirtieth step, 
 Ruth had at least ten times regretted her rash 
 resolution into which, as she insisted, her friend 
 had craftily beguiled her. Although he knew 
 himself innocent of any such intent, he had had
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 203 
 
 too long an experience to think of contradicting 
 her ; he only rendered her every possible assist- 
 ance, reflecting all the while that the very help- 
 lessness of a beautiful woman makes her tenfold 
 dear and lovable. Having inspected the great 
 bell, and borrowed a stool at the warden's lodge, 
 they hastened out on the platform ; then as by 
 a common impulse came to a sudden stop, and 
 let their eyes range out over the magnificent 
 landscape, spread out before them. 
 
 " Isn't it grand ? " exlaimed Ruth ecstatically. 
 
 "If I only could forgive myself," began Var- 
 berg, with a malicious twinkle in his eye, " for 
 beguiling you " 
 
 " Now don't be preposterous," she demanded 
 imperiously ; and as if it were he who had made 
 a martyr of himself, she turned a beaming coun- 
 tenance upon him, and added triumphantly, 
 M Now don't you feel paid for your trouble ? " 
 
 "Yes,** he added, hardly able to restrain his 
 laughter, " I feel under infinite obligation to you." 
 
 " Oh," she cried, with an impatient toss of 
 her head, " how provoking you can be! " 
 
 He placed the stool near the railing on the 
 unfinished southern tower, and she sat down.
 
 2O4 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 Eastward toward Germany, the Black Forest re- 
 gion, made immortal by Auerbach's tales, lay 
 steeped in purple gloom, and the broad plains 
 of Lorraine glowed with the warm hazy light of 
 the evening. Toward the north and west the 
 chain of the Vosges stood dimly blue and ethe- 
 real, and closing the view toward the south, 
 the sun-flushed peaks of the Jura traced them- 
 selves faintly upon the far horizon, glimmer- 
 ing with the airiest tints of delicate crimson and 
 rose. On the square below, men moved about 
 like little black spots, and the sombre, steep- 
 roofed houses, with the stork's nest under the 
 masoned chimney, sent forth feeble columns of 
 smoke which rose lazily and vanished into the 
 thin air. Varberg read with the profoundest 
 reverence the name of Goethe, carved by the 
 poet himself in the stone while he was a student 
 in the University of Strasbourg. Ruth as usual 
 could not summon any sentiment at the sight of 
 that name, and remained provokingly cold while 
 her companion improvised a little eulogy. 
 
 " Tell me, Miss Ruth," he said at last, " what 
 is your reason for disliking Goethe so much ? "
 
 The CatJiedral Tower. 205 
 
 "Well," she answered emphatically, "he 
 wasn't a good man." 
 
 Now Varberg had not forgotten that hardly 
 three weeks ago Ruth had declared to him that 
 she hated good young men, and he was greatly 
 tempted to remind her of it; but he had long 
 ago ceased to wonder at the contradictions in 
 her character; he merely accepted them as 
 psychological facts, which he stored in his mind 
 for future use. Goethe had done the same, and 
 very likely that was the very reason why she 
 hated him. 
 
 " Goethe was not a good man," remarked Olaf, 
 " and therefore you dislike him as an author." 
 
 " Of course," she replied, with an air as if 
 that was the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 The setting sun now kindled the western sky 
 with a great blaze of color ; the windows of the 
 houses on the opposite side of the square burned 
 with its fiery reflection, and the huge shadow 
 of the cathedral, visibly lengthening, moved 
 slowly eastward shrouding the street in deep- 
 ening glamour. Varberg seated himself on the 
 battlement of the tower, and while Ruth was 
 apparently absorbed in the sunset, stole frequent
 
 206 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 glimpses of her fair young features. They both 
 yielded to the magic of the situation, and uncon- 
 sciously lapsed into silence. The strangeness of 
 the scene the vast stillness, and the deep-toned 
 richness of the evening imperceptibly wrought 
 upon their senses and soothed the noisier im- 
 pulses of their hearts ; a feeling of sympathy and 
 mutual understanding stole over them ; their 
 eyes met with a quick response, and a smile, 
 more eloquent than words, reassured both that 
 the last film of the cloud which had during the 
 day had been hovering between them was at 
 length dispersed. Thus it happened that in 
 those brief moments he dared to face the reso- 
 lution which in spite of misgivings, counterplots, 
 and his own wish to the contrary, he had 
 dimly foreseen as the inevitable end of their 
 acquaintance. " It is no whim or fancy," he 
 said to himself; "it is a passion, interwoven 
 with the very fibres of my soul. It is useless 
 to strive against the current." And with a 
 composure which would have appeared pre- 
 posterous to himself, had he thought of view- 
 ing it objectively, he matured step by step the 
 later movements of the campaign, and weighed
 
 TJte Cathedral Tower. 207 
 
 the chances of failure or success as coolly as if it 
 had been the fate of some helpless stranger 
 which had been submitted to his disinterested 
 decision. He would not propose to Ruth at 
 once, partly because he wished to gain time, 
 partly because he was by no means convinced 
 that she loved him. Indeed, it seemed such an 
 absurd thing that any woman should love him, 
 that he was more likely to reach a negative con- 
 clusion. In the meanwhile he would try to 
 induce her to pay a visit to Norway, then invite 
 her to spend a month or so in his grandfather's 
 house, and if their relation continued to develop 
 in the same direction as heretofore, the climax 
 would be inevitable. But what could Ruth be 
 thinking about, as she sat there, smiling to her- 
 self with that look of profound abstraction in her 
 eyes? Evidently the sunset was no longer occu- 
 pying her attention. Perhaps she involuntarily 
 answered this mental question by the remark 
 she made. 
 
 " After all, I think you are a very good 
 American, Mr. Varberg," she said, as if taking 
 up the thread of a conversation dropped only 
 a minute before. " In spite of all your admiration
 
 208 A Norseman? s Pilgrimage. 
 
 of the old world, you show plainly that in your 
 heart of hearts your sympathy is with the new." 
 
 " To my mind, Miss Ruth," he answered with 
 an energy which startled her, " the new world 
 means you, and what a truism it would be to 
 say that in th'is acceptation the new world is 
 dearer to me than the old." 
 
 He hardly realized that he was on the verge 
 of a declaration ; but Ruth felt it, and she grew 
 visibly uneasy. With a sudden jerk she thrust 
 the end of her parasol into a little hole in the 
 battlement, and began assiduously to dig out 
 the gravel ; then she discovered some object 
 down on the square which for the moment 
 absorbed all her attention. 
 
 " What a queer bird the stork is," she said 
 at last, with a cheery unconcern, which would 
 have been a death-blow to his hopes had it 
 not contrasted so absurdly with the agitation of 
 her manner. Had she known, however, the 
 association of ideas in his mind, she would 
 hardly have made that remark about the stork. 
 His knowledge of that bird had been derived 
 from Hans Christian Andersen's stories. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, after a moment's hesita-
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 209 
 
 tion, " the stork is a queer bird. It is the bird 
 of happiness." 
 
 "The bird of happiness," she murmured, 
 gazing vacantly out into the blue space. 
 
 " Pardon me, monsieur" said a creaking voice 
 close to Varberg's ear ; " but it 9 time to close 
 the church." There stood the shabby little 
 guide, with his cap in his hand, and smiled and 
 bowed deferentially. Ruth and Varberg rose, 
 gave one long look of farewell to the magnificent 
 landscape, and began their descent in silence. 
 Having reached the street, they dismissed the 
 guide, who gave them as a souvenir a picture 
 of four pigs, which, when folded up, represented 
 the likeness of the third Napoleon. 
 
 " You are evidently not an admirer of the 
 ex-Emperor," remarked Varberg. 
 
 "The Emperor? God bless him!" replied 
 the old man pathetically. "The other guides 
 all have this picture, and I must do what the 
 rest do. Monsieur" he added in a tone of inex- 
 pressible sadness, " I was born in this city, and 
 I have not the money to go away." And he 
 wagged his head and shuffled along, while the
 
 2io A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 wooden heels of his shoes clattered mournfully 
 against the pavement. 
 
 They had intended to go directly to the 
 hotel, but for some reason or other they did not 
 do it. For more than an hour they wandered 
 about on the amparts of the city, conscious all 
 the while of a latent excitement which, as they 
 half expected, might at any moment break the 
 frail bonds of conventionalism. Ruth was not 
 at all sure that she desired it ; perhaps if she 
 had put the question boldly to herself, she 
 would have decided that she positively dreaded 
 it. But she was enough of a woman to love 
 excitement for its own sake ; and as she did not 
 feel it incumbent upon her to solve the problem 
 one way or the other, she simply yielded to the 
 fascination which the very uncertainty exerted 
 over her, and allowed herself to drift onward 
 with the fluctuating emotions of the moment, 
 regardless of whither they carried her. In fact, 
 they were both in that delightfully impersonal 
 mood which men are too apt to indulge when 
 in novel or absurd situations. Varberg, in the 
 meanwhile, had framed at least twenty res- 
 olutions in regard to the decisive question of
 
 The Cathedral Tower. 211 
 
 Ruth's visit to Norway ; but he felt that much 
 depended upon the shape in which it was put, 
 and although an accomplished linguist, he could 
 find no phrase worthy of embodying so serious a 
 sentiment. It was after nine o'clock when they 
 reached her hotel, and he had not yet spoken. 
 He accompanied her through the vestibule to 
 the foot of the staircase, where with fluttering 
 hearts, they both paused and gazed expectantly 
 into each other's faces. 
 
 " Miss Ruth," he said at last, holding her 
 hand in his, " I have one thing to ask of you. 
 Will you come and visit my home this summer, 
 and take Mrs. Elder and Dearie with you ? My 
 grandparents and all of us would be so happy to 
 see you." 
 
 She hesitated, dropped her eyes, and again 
 suddenly raising them, she said firmly, " I will." 
 
 " Is it a promise?" 
 
 " It is." And she quickly withdrew her hand 
 and ran up stairs. 
 
 The next morning Varberg took the train 
 for Paris. Four days later he landed in London, 
 and within a week "boarded the steamer which 
 was to carry him t6 the land of his birth.
 
 212 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Land of the Vikings. 
 
 T T was in the last days of July. Olaf had 
 -*- hastened away from Bergen, where the Eng- 
 lish boat had landed him, had boarded a Nor- 
 wegian steamer, and saw now from afar the blue 
 snow-peaked mountains which guarded the en- 
 trance to the valley of his birth. The sky was 
 one vast unruffled calm, the water glittered with 
 cool green and emerald reflections, and overhead 
 and far down in the deep the white clouds 
 floated airily through a limitless expanse of blue. 
 The young exile stood in the prow of the 
 steamer, and his heart throbbed as if it longed 
 to burst his bosom. His senses were keenly 
 awake ; every passing object, every fresh memory 
 traced its impressions clearly upon his mind, 
 and produced a quick succession of varying 
 emotions. It was as if this pure, bracing moun- 
 tain air had penetrated into his very soul, and
 
 The Land of ike Vikings. 213 
 
 was stimulating the slumbering energies of his 
 nature. And still he could not but own it he 
 was no longer that fresh, trusting, primitive 
 youth who, five years ago, started out from his 
 mountain home to conquer an unknown happiness 
 in the world beyond the sea. Would he now be 
 capable of making the sacrifice to which he had 
 then so cheerfully submitted ? He knew that he 
 would not. Even at this moment he feared that 
 the emotion he experienced was half spurious ; 
 he had never been more bewilderingly conscious 
 of the duality of his nature, and the contrast 
 between the warm-blooded impetuosity of the 
 youth who departed and the more consciously 
 self-critical mood of the man who returned, was 
 not altogether imaginary. During these many 
 years spent among strangers, he had had no 
 experiences which had really stirred the depths 
 of his heart, and he had accordingly imagined 
 that he had lost the power of loving. Then 
 came Ruth with all the wealth of her deep, 
 womanly nature, which she shielded beneath 
 the appearance of light-hearted skepticism and 
 caprice ; in her he had, as she herself expressed 
 it, found something which he did not understand,
 
 214 -^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 and after having vainly striven to reduce her to 
 logic, he had abandoned the attempt and loved 
 her instead. 
 
 " Would she understand this Norseland home 
 of mine? " he asked himself; " would she love it 
 as I do ? " 
 
 The steamer now cleared a steep headland ; 
 Varberg held his breath, then gave a shout, and 
 sprang up on the bridge. There, on the green 
 slope, close to the water, a white, stately man- 
 sion peeped forth from behind its dense screen 
 of foliage, and beckoned to him with a grave, 
 familiar eye of gentle reproach and welcome. 
 As soon as the steamer came into view, a large 
 flag flew up on the flag-pole at the point of the 
 pier, and a row of cannon stationed along the 
 beach boomed forth a joyous salute, which rolled 
 away over the surface of the water, and lost itself 
 in tumultuous echoes among the distant peaks of 
 the glaciers. It revealed such a vast perspective 
 of sound as almost to bewilder the sense with its 
 suggestion of limitless space and power. It was 
 to Varberg as if the very mountains were calling 
 to him with their granite voices, and sending 
 him from afar their stern greeting. They had
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 215 
 
 watched over him from his birth up, and had 
 sung their stormy lullabies at his cradle ; the 
 ever-watchful eye of their glaciers had witnessed 
 his boyish sports ; many a silent summer night 
 the pine woods had told him their sombre le- 
 gends, and the cataracts in quivering whispers 
 of spray had confided to him their tenderest 
 memories. Now, in one quick flash, his whole 
 past life spread out before him, and he saw, per- 
 haps for the first time in his life, what he had 
 renounced. 
 
 The steam whistle sounded thrice, and a 
 white-painted shallop (the same shallop which 
 once he had called his own) was thrust out from 
 the pier. In the stern stood an old gray-haired 
 man, and close to him sat a young girl with a light 
 straw hat on her head, and a mass of blonde 
 hair. There were two stalwart men at the oars, 
 and the young lady held the tiller. It needed 
 but a glance to convince Olaf that it was his old 
 grandfather and Brynhild, his sister. The boat 
 glided swiftly out over the glittering mirror of 
 the fjord, the gentle ripple about its bow undu- 
 lated in long, diverging lines over the glassy sur- 
 face, and every stroke of the oar sent little throngs
 
 216 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 of eddying bubbles floating shoreward in its wake. 
 Olaf stood intently watching all this, and it ap- 
 peared to him like some magnificent chapter in a 
 book, very beautiful, but absurdly unreal. He 
 also noticed that red and white streamers were 
 flying from the gables of the mansion, and that 
 handkerchiefs were waving to him from the bal- 
 cony, from the windows, and from the boat. The 
 whistle sounded for the third time, the engine 
 rumbled, and the wheels plashed and beat the 
 water into a mass of seething foam. He then 
 suddenly remembered where he was, tore off 
 his hat, and waved his pocket-handkerchief. The 
 gangway was lowered, and his grandfather, fol- 
 lowed by Brynhild, sprang up the steps as if he 
 had been a youth of twenty. Olaf leaped down 
 from the bridge ; then there was a scream, and 
 the young girl flung her arms about his neck, and 
 laughed and shed tears in an altogether irrational 
 manner. He kissed her, but could not think of 
 a word to say ; then gently released himself and 
 grasped the hand of his grandfather, who stood 
 gazing at him with a look of mingled tenderness 
 and surprise. 
 
 " My dear boy," he broke forth in a voice
 
 The Land of tJie Vikings. 217 
 
 which trembled with emotion, " God be praised 
 that He has given you back to us again. But, 
 to be sure, you have changed much." 
 
 " For the worse, do you think, grandfather ? " 
 said Olaf, summoning all the Norwegian which 
 for the moment was at his command. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, for the worse," cried Bryn- 
 hild, who was still clinging to her brother's arm 
 and gazing at him with moist wide-opened eyes ; 
 "why have you allowed your beard to grow? 
 You looked a great deal better as you were when 
 you left home." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear it. However, I can 
 hardly myself be held responsible for my looks. 
 But how is grandmother? " 
 
 And now followed a perfect torrent of ques- 
 tions such as may be more readily imagined 
 than told. The baggage was carried down into 
 the boat, the smoke-stack rolled out dense 
 volumes of smoke, and the slender escape-pipe 
 behind it sent forth an abrupt, provoked shriek, 
 and from sheer exhaustion lapsed into silence. 
 Olaf helped his sister down into the shallop, old 
 Mr. Varberg followed, and the oarsmen took 
 their seats on the row benches. The sun shone 
 10
 
 218 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 brightly and poured a flood of splendor upon 
 the glacier steeples ; the smooth waters sparkled 
 as if oversown with sunny jewels ; the air was 
 so inconceivably pure and transparent, the 
 meadows lay so soft and green under the brow of 
 the pine-covered cliffs, and every hill, every glen, 
 every mountain was an old acquaintance, and hid 
 in its stony breast an ore of golden memories. 
 A sense of joy and blessedness thrilled through 
 the young man's frame ; he was once more at 
 home, among those who knew and loved him. 
 The first feeling of bewilderment had vanished ; 
 the author lay a thousand miles behind him ; 
 now the moment asserted its right, and the past 
 years of exile faded away like the confused 
 phantoms of a dream. On the pier he was met 
 by the old servants of the family, who all 
 thronged forward to shake hands with him and 
 offer him their welcome. Some told him 
 that he had grown tall and handsome, others 
 that he looked very foreign, and others again 
 that he had not changed at all. 
 
 " And is this our little Olaf whom I used to 
 rock in my lap when he was a baby ? " said a 
 wrinkled little woman, in whom he recognized 
 his old nurse.
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 219 
 
 " And do you remember the time when you 
 cried for a whole day, and refused to eat, 
 because they had killed your cow Rosyside?" 
 asked the family milkmaid. 
 
 Yes, he well remembered that ; and the 
 good old soul was so touched that she shed 
 tears. These and numerous other questions 
 were asked and answered, while the company 
 moved up through the garden to the vestibule, 
 where Olafs grandmother stood, impatiently 
 awaiting his arrival. She kissed and embraced 
 him, wept over him, and said that now she 
 had found him, and he must never leave her 
 again. The servants remained standing at the 
 foot of the stairs, the men with their caps in 
 their hands, and the women giving vent to their 
 emotion in sighs, and wiping their eyes with 
 their aprons. It was a scene which, in its simple 
 impressiveness, touched the homeless heart of 
 the young wanderer. What a contrast to the 
 great noisy world beyond the sea! With his 
 grandmother and his sister on his arm, he 
 entered the great drawing-room, with its heavy 
 red curtains, its strange tapestries, and its long 
 ro\vs of ancestral portraits. In the middle of the
 
 22O A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 floor stood a large table, on which wine and 
 home-made cakes were spread in liberal profusion. 
 Old Judge Varberg called the servants in, poured 
 wine into the glasses, and then stationed himself 
 solemnly at the head of the table. He lifted his 
 glass, and all the others followed his example ; 
 whereupon he delivered a brief speech of wel- 
 come, in which he ingeniously avoided every 
 allusion to the cause of his grandson's departure, 
 as well as to the country in which he had spent 
 his years of exile. The toast was drunk, the 
 grandmother added her " Amen *' and the ser- 
 vants retired, having once more shaken hands 
 with the young heir of the house. 
 
 It was still early in the forenoon ; the sun- 
 shine glided stealthily in between the ample folds 
 of the window curtains, and lay in long streaks 
 and patches upon the uncarpeted floor. 
 
 The austere ancestors, with their powdered 
 wigs and pigtails, their lace-embroidered coats 
 and golden-hilted swords, looked solemnly down 
 upon their degenerate descendant, and the prim 
 ancestresses, in Arcadian costumes, and with 
 shepherds' staves in their hands, sent him mean- 
 ing glances of reproachful recognition.
 
 The Land of tkt Vikings. 221 
 
 " If you had lived in my time, I should have 
 known how to manage you," the grand old gentle- 
 man with the gold-headed cane seemed to say. 
 But the sweet-faced, timid little lady, who had 
 once been his wife, and whom Olaf in his boy- 
 hood so often had pitied, gazed tenderly at him, 
 as if to say, "Whatever you are, you are my own 
 flesh and blood. If your mother had been alive, 
 you would not have found it in your heart to 
 leave her." 
 
 If the painter could be trusted, there must 
 have been a singular disproportion between the 
 two as regards bodily stature ; for the old gentle- 
 man, although standing upon the earth, leaned 
 himself comfortably on the top of a stone light- 
 house, the lantern of which shed a feeble glim- 
 mer out upon the distant sea, while the wife, 
 whose waist was as thin as that of a wasp, was 
 seated in an easy-chair, the back of which loomed 
 up far above her head. It was this particular 
 Varberg who, some three hundred years ago, had 
 obtained from the' Danish government a monopoly 
 for building light-houses on the western coast of 
 Norway : and after that, he had lived like a little 
 king in his fjord, sending out his cruisers along
 
 222 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 the shore, and exacting toll from all passing ves- 
 sels. He had had a light-house engraved on his 
 seal, and had invariably written his name, " Var- 
 berg of the Light-house." The present Judge 
 Varberg, to whom nothing was more precious 
 than the traditions of his family, had scrupulously 
 preserved the title, while Olaf, to whom the 
 democratic convictions of his father were no less 
 sacred, had persisted in ignoring it. 
 
 But all thought of past dissensions and dis- 
 agreements vanished from Olaf s mind as he sat 
 there in the large, old-fashioned sofa, and listened 
 to the anxious questions and tender assurances 
 of those who in all the world were nearest and 
 dearest to him. On his right and left side sat 
 the old people, holding his hands in theirs, and at 
 his feet Brynhild was seated on a cricket, gazing 
 up into his face with large affectionate eyes. Such 
 a feeling of rest and security he had not experi- 
 enced in all his life, and if it had not been for 
 Ruth, he thought, he would have been content 
 to forget all his youthful ambitions, and to live 
 and die here in peace. 
 
 " But, my dear boy," said the old man, whose 
 features had assumed a look of concern whenever
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 223 
 
 Olaf had opened his mouth to speak, " you have 
 not forgotten your mother tongue, I hope. You 
 speak with English accent." 
 
 " I was not aware of that, grandfather," an- 
 swered Olaf, "but you must remember that I 
 have not once had occasion to speak my own 
 language during these five years. It may appear 
 incomprehensible to you, and many would even 
 call it affectation; but my daily experience 
 has taught me that our language, being the 
 mere external clothing of our thought, will, as 
 naturally as the thought itself, receive the im- 
 press and the coloring of the land in which we 
 live. I. should, therefore, find it as unnatural to 
 speak Norwegian in America as, a week from 
 now, I should call it absurd to speak English here. 
 But something of my American self still clings to 
 me, and my organs of speech, as well as every 
 other part of my being, will show it, at least for 
 a time." 
 
 " God forbid that it should be of long dura- 
 tion, my son," retorted the Judge earnestly, rose 
 from the sofa, and went out of the room. 
 
 It now became evident to Olaf that his 
 grandparents intentionally ignored that part of
 
 224 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 his life which he had spent abroad ; that they were 
 as bitterly opposed to the land of his adoption 
 to-day as they had been five years ago ; and that 
 in spite of his own protestations, they took it for 
 granted that he had now returned to repent of 
 his wild career and to settle down in his home 
 for the future, as a peaceful, conservative citizen. 
 
 They were no doubt ready enough to for- 
 give him, because, as the Judge had previously 
 expressed it, every young man had to sow his 
 wild oats, and this way was probably no worse 
 than a good many others. But Olaf did not 
 admit the guilt, and consequently asked no 
 forgiveness ; nevertheless, his discovery made 
 him very uncomfortable, not only because it 
 would debar him from the comfort of real confi- 
 dence, but perhaps rather because in the depth 
 of his heart there lurked a half-acknowledged 
 inclination to listen to the voice of prudence, to 
 choke the unprofitable ideals, to yield and 
 surrender. 
 
 Olaf's grandfather was a fine-looking old 
 gentleman of middle stature, and about seventy 
 years of age. He had a strong growth of white, 
 curly hair, a broad and massive forehead, and a
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 225 
 
 slightly aquiline nose. The clear gaze of his 
 calm blue eyes, as well as the firm lines about 
 his mouth, indicated a keen understanding and 
 a strong will, with perhaps a suggestion of 
 obstinacy ; but those eyes, which were usually so 
 calm and clear, were a truly Protean feature ; 
 for when the old gentleman played his violon- 
 cello, they seemed to grow deeper, softer, and 
 tenderer; and as the music gathered strength 
 and burst forth in triumphant strains of joy, they 
 would shine and sparkle with singular brilliancy. 
 On the whole, judging from his appearance, no 
 one would have believed that Mr. Varberg was 
 seventy years old ; his figure was quite erect, 
 and his motions were youthful and vigorous. 
 His wife was a venerable matron, tall and 
 robust, straight as a candle, and with a certain 
 abruptness in her bearing and manner. To be 
 sure, Time had dealt roughly with the beauty of 
 which she had once been so proud, and the 
 traces of age were clearly legible upon her 
 wrinkled brow ; but for all that she was still a 
 handsome old lady, and she did the honors at 
 her parties with as much dignity to-day as she 
 had done twenty years ago. It is no rare thing 
 10*
 
 226 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 to find that people who have lived in harmony 
 together for half a century bear a marked 
 resemblance to each other ; at all events, in the 
 case of Judge and Mrs. Varberg the observation 
 had been frequently made. They of course 
 laughed at it themselves as an absurdity ; but 
 even Olaf could not help noticing the same mix- 
 ture of determination and tenderness in the 
 features of both. Mrs. Varberg invariably wore 
 a white lace cap with dark blue ribbons and a 
 black silk gown. 
 
 When dinner was over, and coffee had been 
 served, the Judge asked his grandson if he 
 would not like to take a ride on horseback, to 
 which the latter willingly consented. A few 
 minutes later the horses were at the door, and 
 the old man appeared on the stairs, with 
 spurs and riding boots. Olaf, having quite 
 forgotten his grandfather's little weaknesses 
 thoughtlessly offered him his hand to help him 
 into the saddle. 
 
 " Bah ! " cried the Judge in a provoked voice, 
 and gave the youth a gentle blow over his 
 fingers ; " what do you take me to be ? Do you 
 think I am in my dotage ? Only see that you
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 227 
 
 get yourself safely into the saddle, and leave me 
 to take care of myself.** 
 
 The Judge had always prided himself on his 
 self-dependence, and did not like to be reminded 
 of his age. He at times himself referred to his 
 seventy years, but that was quite another 
 matter. He had been very impatient with his 
 physician when, three years ago, he had forbid- 
 den him to skate. It was all the sheerest non- 
 sense, he said, but nevertheless he heeded the 
 injunction. 
 
 The afternoon was bright and warm; the 
 air was soft and the sky pensively serene. The 
 breeze was fraught with the fragrance of birch 
 and wild flowers, with just a perceptible admix- 
 ture of the briny breath of the sea. For a 
 while they rode in silence along the smooth road, 
 which usually followed the capricious curves of 
 the numerous bays, and at times made a straight 
 cut across come jutting headland. Everywhere 
 the broad slope from the mountains down to the 
 fjord was carefully cultivated, and green meadow 
 and pasture land alternated with waving fields^ 
 well-tended orchards, and stray patches of birch 
 and alder groves.*
 
 228 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 "This river," said the Judge, pointing with 
 his riding-whip to a white torrent which dashed 
 down over a rocky incline, " separates my lands 
 from those of our friend the Colonel. Our pro- 
 perties, if united, would make the fairest estate 
 in the kingdom." 
 
 Olaf had nothing to say to this, but he grew 
 very hot about his ears, and felt exceedingly 
 uncomfortable. His grandfather's eyes rested 
 so steadily on him, and he was aware that much 
 depended upon the way he answered. Suddenly 
 a bright idea struck him. 
 
 " Yes," he said, straightening himself up in 
 the saddle ; " it would make a very fine estate 
 indeed. What a pity that the Colonel has not 
 a son, who might have married Brynhild. That 
 is, as far as I can see, the only way in which 
 your wish might be accomplished." 
 
 The old man's countenance fell ; but he 
 knew that it would not be prudent to push the 
 matter for the present. So he spurred his 
 horse ; Olaf followed his example, and they gal- 
 loped on to the bridge. 
 
 " This bridge," began the Judge, as the hoof- 
 beats of the horses clattered along the stone
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 229 
 
 pavement, " was built by my great-grandfather, 
 Olaf Varberg, who died in the year 1681. And 
 the structure is just as good to-day as it was two 
 hundred years ago." 
 
 " Yes, it appears to be an exceedingly well- 
 built structure," remarked Olaf approvingly. 
 
 Five minutes later they drew rein at the gate 
 of a large buff-colored mansion, which was half 
 hid behind a cluster of huge chestnut trees. 
 
 " If you have no objection, why not go in 
 and call upon your old friend the Colonel ? " said 
 the Judge quite en passant, as if the thing had 
 just occurred to him in the moment. 
 
 " Aha," thought Olaf; "that was what the 
 ride was for. The trap was skilfully laid, but 
 the game is too old to be caught." And in an- 
 swer to the question he added aloud, " I have 
 no objection. It makes no difference to me 
 whether I call on the Colonel to-day or some 
 other time, since the call has to be made." 
 
 They rode into the yard, where a footman 
 came to take charge of the horses. Another 
 servant showed them into the parlor, where the 
 old Colonel sat enveloped in a cloud of tobacco
 
 230 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 smoke, and with a heap of newspapers on the 
 table before him. 
 
 " Why, good evening, neighbor," cried the 
 host in a voice as if he were addressing a regi- 
 ment. " Rare guests, to be sure, and a thousand 
 times welcome ! " 
 
 The Colonel, who was a large portly gentle- 
 man, rose with difficulty from his leather-cush- 
 ioned easy chair, and hobbled toward the new- 
 comers. 
 
 " Well, neighbor, how is the gout?" inquired 
 the J-udge. 
 
 " The gout, sir ? Ah, pretty miserable 
 pretty miserable, my friend. Up and down, up 
 and down, like a three-wheeled wagon. And 
 this is your boy. Ah, yes, I think I recognize 
 him. I heard of his arrival. Well, you young 
 vagabond, you have come home at last, and de- 
 cided to live like a sensible mortal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 And how do you like it ? " 
 
 The Colonel laughed immoderately, and gave 
 Olafs hand a shake which tingled through the 
 marrow of his bones. 
 
 " Well, well," continued he, turning to the 
 Judge, who had in the meanwhile taken a seat
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 231 
 
 on the sofa ; " boys will be boys. We all have 
 our failings, and the wildest colts, it is said, 
 make the best horses." 
 
 Olaf felt the ire rising within him ; but he 
 struggled hard to keep calm. It seemed as if 
 everybody was determined to look upon him as 
 a sort of prodigal son, as a reformed reprobate 
 who needed the indulgence and forgiveness of 
 of his friends. That he had toiled bravely and 
 broken an honorable career for himself; that 
 he felt a manly pride in his achievements, and 
 meant to build upon the foundation he himself 
 had laid this no one seemed to suspect. And 
 while he sat there listening to the patronizing 
 remarks of this ancient chatterbox his indigna- 
 tion changed to pity. What did these be- 
 nighted mortals, who had spent all their days in 
 this remote corner of the world, where a new 
 idea was as rare a thing as an eclipse of the sun 
 what did they know of the great life in which 
 his lot was cast? what standard had they 
 whereby to measure him, and what right had 
 they to judge him ? While Olaf was diverting 
 himself with these and similar reflections, the 
 door was gently opened, and a young lady
 
 232 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 entered the room. She wore a light summer 
 dress which fell in stiff folds about her slender 
 body. She had grown taller since he saw her 
 last, and an expression of sweet, gentle sadness 
 dwelt in her features. Her complexion was 
 wonderfully clear ; her rich, yellow hair was 
 bound in a Grecian knot on the back of her 
 head, and a pure, lily-like beauty breathed from 
 her whole being. She first bowed to the Judge, 
 and then advanced to the window where Olaf 
 was sitting. He rose and shook hands with her. 
 
 "Ah, Olaf," she said in a hushed, gentle 
 voice ; " how kind in you that you came so soon 
 to see us. Father and I half feared that you 
 had forgotten us." 
 
 The young man murmured something about 
 the delight he experienced at seeing her, but in 
 his heart he felt guilty and miserable. 
 
 " And how large you have grown, Olaf," con- 
 tinued Thora, while her eyes dwelt with visible 
 pleasure on his countenance. "America has 
 not changed you so much as I feared it would. 
 Brynhild and I have talked about you so often, 
 and we both wondered how you would look when 
 you came back."
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 233 
 
 It was a luxury to him to hear her speak. It 
 was many a year since anybody had called him 
 by bis first name, and upon her lips it sounded so 
 sweetly and so exquisitely beautiful. 
 
 " I am happy to know that some one has 
 thought kindly of me, Thora," he answered 
 " You don't know what a strange experience it is 
 to come home after so long an absence. I am 
 so bewildered that I can hardly collect my senses 
 It all appears to me like a charming story, too 
 beautiful to be true." 
 
 " I am glad that you do find it beautiful here," 
 she replied, with a pensive smile, " for we feared 
 that after having travelled so much and seen so 
 many grand and beautiful things, you would 
 think everything very plain and simple here in 
 your old home. And we are all very plain peo- 
 ple, you know, and we don't hear much about 
 what is going on in the world. Father has told 
 me all about the war in France, and about the 
 advantages of the English constitution, but I 
 know he talks to me about such things only be- 
 cause he has nobody else to talk to, and I am 
 sure I find it very difficult to remember what he 
 explains to me,"
 
 234 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 He could not help smiling at her naivete ; 
 nevertheless her words, by their very simplicity, 
 impressed him deeply. He had long ago made 
 the acquaintance of such characters in books, 
 but he had quite forgotten that they also existed 
 in reality. Five years ago he had himself been 
 too much a part of this primitive life to be able 
 to view it objectively. Thora had then to him 
 been a beautiful young girl, and nothing more ; 
 now, in the capacity of an author, he discovered 
 a new side to her character, and she accordingly 
 assumed a fresh importance in his eyes. 
 
 The call was prolonged until almost an hour 
 had passed, and Olaf and Thora made rapid 
 advances in each other's favor. The two old 
 gentlemen in the meanwhile discussed the pros- 
 pects of the crops, the situation of King Ama- 
 deo, and the defeat of the Ultramontanes 
 in Germany ; but at times they paused to 
 exchange a meaning glance, while they watched 
 the young couple at the window with an air of 
 profound satisfaction. At length the horses 
 were brought to the door, and the visitors 
 reluctantly departed. On the homeward way 
 hardly a word was spoken. But as they dis-
 
 The Land of the Vikings. 235 
 
 mounted at the garden gate, the Judge laid his 
 arm on his grandson's shoulder (by the way, a 
 very unusual thing for him to do), and said, 
 " Well, how do you like the Colonel's daughter ? " 
 
 " She is a very beautiful girl," answered Olaf 
 hastily. 
 
 Many strange thoughts whirled about in Olaf 
 Varberg's head that night, as he retired to his 
 rooms those same rooms which had witnessed 
 his early struggles and dreams in his happy stu- 
 dent days. Everything was just as when he left 
 it. His favorite authors still stood in the book- 
 shelves as he had himself arranged them ; the 
 pictures hung in their old places upon the walls, 
 and gazed upon him with a familiar air of recog- 
 nition ; the carved furniture, with the green 
 damask covers, the large canopied bed, with its 
 flowered curtains all was unchanged ; it was as 
 if he had but yesterday stepped out of this room 
 as if these five years, with their manifold 
 experiences, had been but an empty dream, a 
 bewildered fancy. He had come here he 
 hardly knew why perhaps to enjoy a few brief 
 days of rest and now he found himself involved 
 in a new and hopeless struggle.
 
 236 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 He flung himself down in an easy-chair; 
 paper and ink lay before him on the table. 
 With a sudden resolution, he seized the pen and 
 wrote a long letter to Ruth. 
 
 " She must come," he murmured, as he 
 sealed the envelope ; " and for the rest, let me 
 trust to fortune."
 
 Ruth's Arrival. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 RutKs Arrival. 
 
 WO weeks had passed since Olaf s arrival 
 They had been veiy quiet and uneventful 
 weeks, but nevertheless fraught with strange and 
 novel experiences. Olaf had come to the con- 
 clusion that he was in fact the most complex 
 character that ever lived. Already while in 
 Leipsic had he discovered that the man and the 
 author in him were, so to speak, two distinct 
 individuals whose interests frequently clashed ; 
 Varberg the man had fallen in love with Ruth, 
 while Varberg the author had remained provok- 
 ingly cold. Now, to still further complicate the 
 problem, a fresh difficulty thrust itself upon his 
 attention. He found that his American life had 
 developed one side of his nature which here in 
 Norway he was forced to ignore; and his old 
 Norse self, which had slumbered so long, was
 
 238 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 now awakening and asserting its rights with 
 renewed power. 
 
 The days dragged along slowly and deli- 
 ciously, and nothing occurred to break their 
 calm, idyllic monotony. So Olaf had time 
 enough for self-contemplation ; and with the 
 introspective tendency peculiar to youth, he 
 groped vaguely about in the labyrinthine re- 
 cesses of his being, and, as I have said, ended 
 with deciding that he was the most complicated 
 phenomenon under the sun. What especially 
 perplexed him was his relation to Thora. He 
 saw her almost daily, rowed with her on the 
 fjord, took long walks with her through the 
 fragrant birch groves, and saw with secret alarm 
 their relation growing day by day more danger- 
 ously intimate. He did not seek her, neither 
 did she seek him ; but through some fatality 
 their paths would inevitably meet. He always 
 felt his heart beat faster when he saw her lithe 
 figure in the shimmering shadow of the leaves ; 
 and he was immediately transported into that 
 impersonal, romantic mood in which the mad- 
 dest words and deeds seem so perfectly natural 
 as almost to be trite and commonplace. Olaf,
 
 RutKs Arrival. 239 
 
 whose head was constantly filled with possible 
 plots for novels and dramas, at such times 
 assumed to himself a certain heroic character ; 
 he hovered high above the paltry realities of life, 
 and felt as irresponsible as if he had been the 
 Grand Mogul himself. He did not love Thora 
 at all events not in the sense in which he 
 loved Ruth ; but for all that, he was frequently 
 conscious of a mad desire to propose to her, not 
 because he was vain or heartless enough to trifle 
 with her affections, but only in order to act out 
 the plot, and to carry out the illusion to its last 
 consequences. The air was so soft and calm, 
 the sun burned so ethereally remote upon the 
 sky, the mountains stood so serenely gigantic in 
 the azure distance, the maiden at his side was 
 so bewilderingly fair, and the whole scene con- 
 trasted so gratefully with the tumult of life from 
 which he had lately escaped, as utterly to 
 remove it from the sphere of responsible reality. 
 It was all a beautiful idyllic romance of which 
 he was the hero and she the heroine, and in 
 romances people always propose, and his ro- 
 mantic sense of duty tempted him to do the 
 same. What Thora's emotions may have been,
 
 240 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 we are not authorized to say ; for Olaf s journals 
 contain no hint, and still less any decisive evi- 
 dence. She was a dutiful daughter, and was 
 probably aware that her father was not averse to 
 a connection of the two families ; but whether 
 her admirer was anything more to her than that 
 abstract possibility of a husband which any 
 young man of his attainments might have been, 
 will always remain a matter of doubt. 
 
 Olaf had told his grandparents that some 
 American friends would be visiting Norway dur- 
 ing the summer; they had showed him great 
 kindness during his stay in .Germany, he said, and 
 he hoped that there would be no objection to 
 his inviting them to spend a couple of weeks in 
 his home. He well knew that his request would 
 be willingly granted, and he had therefore had 
 no scruples in anticipating the decision. The 
 long-expected letter from Ruth arrived at last, 
 and during the next week the otherwise so quiet 
 household was in a flutter of expectation, and 
 the position, character, and appearance of the 
 American guests were the all-absorbing topic of 
 conversation. 
 
 It was a dim, warm evening an evening of
 
 Ruttis Arrii'i!. 241 
 
 deepest repose. The sun hung low over the 
 western mountain tops, and the horizon was 
 flushed with a faint crimson tint which shaded 
 imperceptibly into the upper regions of purer 
 blue. The water was as grave and placid as only 
 the fjords of Norway can be. The large flag 
 drowsed on its pole at the end of the pier, and 
 at Olafs direction a man was stationed on the 
 beach, ready to fire the cannon as soon as the 
 steamer came into view. And the signal was 
 given. The echo thundered away over the moun- 
 tains, and the huge, black boat came ploughing 
 a path of foam through the glittering billows. 
 Olaf and Brynhild, with two oarsmen, rowed 
 out to receive the visitors. On the bridge stood 
 a tall young lady, with a light straw hat on her 
 head, and a brightly-colored shawl thrown around 
 her shoulders ; she leaned over the railing and 
 waved her handkerchief, and Olaf and his sister 
 responded from the boat. There is no need of 
 dwelling on the scene of reception ; half an hour 
 later Ruth and Mrs. Elder entered the large 
 drawing-room, and Olaf was so proud and happy 
 that he felt inclined to shout or commit some 
 other breach of propriety. Dearie had decided 
 ii
 
 242 A, Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 to remain with her relatives in England. The 
 host and the hostess cordially welcomed the 
 guests at the door, and Brynhild, who could not 
 tear her eyes away from Ruth's countenance, 
 eagerly relieved the ladies of waterproofs, hats, 
 and shawls. 
 
 " How beautiful she is," murmured she in her 
 brother's ear, and he nodded and smiled triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 Mrs. Elder's features wore an air of mild 
 defiance and perplexity. Only a week ago, when 
 she had reluctantly yielded to Ruth's energetic 
 persuasions and accepted Olafs invitation, it had 
 been a serious question with her whether they 
 ought not to bring with them their own bedding, 
 and a small supply of provisions ; the worthy 
 old lady had even, with a secret relish, antici- 
 pated the patronizing attitude she, as a woman 
 of the world, was to assume toward the natives. 
 Now, all these pleasant prospects were spoiled ; 
 and as all Mrs. Elder's mental processes were 
 slow, it would necessarily take some time before 
 she could find herself at her ease in this surpris- 
 ingly novel situation. Having drunk the toast 
 of welcome, the guests retired with Brynhild to
 
 RutKs Arrival. 243 
 
 their rooms, and appeared again in time for 
 supper. The Judge, with not a little formality, 
 offered his arm to Mrs. Elder, Olaf hastened to 
 Ruth's side, and a young officer, who wrote in 
 the Judge's office, followed with Brynhild. 
 
 "And what is your impression of Norway, 
 madam ? " asked old Mr. Varberg, having brought 
 his lady to a seat at his side. 
 
 "Ah, you speak English," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Elder. " I didn't know that the natives of Nor- 
 way generally spoke English." 
 
 "No; the natives of Norway generally do 
 not," said the Judge emphatically. 
 
 Ruth grew uneasy ; she knew that her aunt 
 was treading on dangerous ground ; but Olaf 
 came to the rescue. 
 
 " I have been thinking of what we can do to 
 amuse our guests while they are staying with us," 
 he said, addressing himself to his grandfather. 
 " You know the resources of the place, as it is 
 to-day, better than I do. What, for instance, 
 would you propose for to-morrow ? " 
 
 " If the ladies are good climbers, you might 
 make an excursion to the glaciers." 
 
 All parties present evinced a vivid interest in
 
 244 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 this proposition, and numerous plans were sug- 
 gested. It was finally decided that the excur- 
 sion should be put off for a week, until more 
 visitors had arrived, and the Americans had ex- 
 hausted the wonders of the immediate vicinity. 
 
 Olaf, for some reason or other, was in high 
 spirits, and his good humor was of a contagious 
 kind and soon communicated itself to all the 
 rest. He beguiled Mrs. Elder into recounting 
 the incidents of their journey through France 
 and their sojourn in England, and craftily con- 
 trived to start his grandfather and Ruth on a 
 musical discussion concerning the relative merits 
 of the old Mozart and Beethoven and the new 
 Chopin and Wagner schools. Ruth expressed 
 her opinions clearly, and with a beautiful natural- 
 ness .and ease which evidently startled the old 
 gentleman more than he was willing to admit. 
 He was not accustomed to hear women talk in 
 that way ; and although he thoroughly enjoyed 
 this free exchange of opinions, he was old-fash- 
 ioned enough to question whether he really ap- 
 proved of the thing in the abstract. The grand- 
 mother, down at the other end of the table, was 
 positive that she did not ; to be sure, she did not
 
 RutKs Arrival. 245 
 
 understand English, and could not judge Ruth by 
 what she said; but seeing that she was bril- 
 liant and beautiful, she instinctively felt that her 
 arrival must mean something; and that this 
 young lady's influence over her grandson would 
 not be favorable to her own intentions with him 
 was self-evident. Her own ideas of American 
 young ladyhood, derived mostly from the ac- 
 counts of English travellers, had represented the 
 fair sex of our land as masculine, forward, and 
 unattractive, and with the generalizing tendency 
 of the feminine mind, she had immediately con- 
 cluded that Ruth, from an affectional point of 
 view, was altogether harmless. Could it be pos- 
 sible, she argued, that her boy was purposely 
 leading her astray when he spoke with such per- 
 fect coolness of extending their hospitality to 
 these foreigners? And she had blindly credited 
 his proposal to a certain manly pride which did 
 not allow him to receive without giving in re- 
 turn, and perhaps to a very 7 pardonable desire 
 to display the ancient wealth and glory of his 
 home. 
 
 When the meal was at an end the young 
 people rose, and, according to old Norse cus-
 
 246 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 torn, went up to the master and the mistress of 
 the house, shook hands with them, and said Tak 
 for Maden (Thanks for the food). Ruth imme- 
 diately caught these words, walked up to the 
 Judge and his wife, and held out her hand. 
 
 " Tak for Maden" she said. 
 
 The Judge grasped her hand, shook it heart- 
 ily, and looked immensely pleased. Olaf in the 
 meanwhile stood looking hard at Ruth, to dis- 
 cover if the old roguish twinkle was not lurking 
 in her eye ; but he only saw an open pleasant 
 smile, evidently provoked by her unsuccessful 
 attempt at pronouncing the foreign words. 
 
 " Ah," thought Olaf, and rubbed his hands 
 contentedly ; " she will have grandfather in love 
 with her before a week is past." 
 
 The sun was yet peeping above the horizon, 
 and the daylight still lingered. The air was as 
 warm as at midsummer. The old folks took 
 their seats out on the balcony, and the Judge 
 ordered cigars and the ingredients requisite for 
 making toddy. And there he sat smoking, and 
 at the same time carrying on rather a laborious 
 conversation with Mrs. Elder, acting as inter- 
 preter between her and his wife. Brynhild was
 
 RutKs Arrival. 247 
 
 occupied with her household duties, and Ruth 
 and Olaf had seized the opportunity to take a 
 walk on the beach. 
 
 "And now, Miss Ruth," he said, as soon as 
 they were alone, " you must tell me what you 
 think of Norway." 
 
 " To be candid," answered Ruth, " I don't 
 think at all. I find no time for thinking. I can 
 only see and enjoy. I have had many strange 
 notions about this remote sea-kingdom, which I 
 imagined to be your home, but my conjectures 
 were nothing like this grand reality. If I had 
 been consulted at the creation of the world, I 
 should have placed Paradise here, in this very 
 region." 
 
 " Ah, you haven't been here long yet," re- 
 monstrated Olaf, although he was secretly re* 
 joiced at her enthusiasm. " But if you had to 
 stay here in the winter, when the wind drives 
 huge drifts of black cloud in between the moun- 
 tains, and this calm glittering fjord is one vast 
 mass of dark foamy smoke, and the leafless trees 
 bend and moan under the scourge of the tem- 
 pest, then I am afraid you would change yo,ur 
 opinion, 1 '
 
 248 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 " But then one appreciates a warm and cosy 
 parlor the more; and if I could only have the 
 monthly magazines and all the reading matter 
 I wanted, I don't think it would be so terrible." 
 
 " Who is romantic now ? " exclaimed he laugh- 
 ingly. " Don't you remember how you ridiculed 
 me in Strasbourg for this same sort of talk?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; that was in Strasbourg, you know," 
 retorted she. " But now we are in Norway, and 
 that makes quite a difference." 
 
 Where the highway bordered on the beach, 
 there grew a couple of drooping birches, between 
 which there was a rough bench. It was rather 
 large for one, and would seat two without much 
 difficulty. Ruth and Olaf, found the spot 
 peculiarly inviting. It was high tide ; the mirror 
 of the water moved in smooth, pensive undula- 
 tions which caught a tinge of crimson from the 
 sunset, became transparent as they neared the 
 shore, and broke in a soft ripple upon the sand. 
 Large white sea-birds sailed calmly under the sky, 
 then plunged headlong into the fjord, whence 
 high spurts of spray rose and again fell hissing 
 over the shining surface. Olaf had never felt 
 prouder of his native land than in this moment ;
 
 Rutiis Arrival* 249 
 
 and the feet that Ruth deemed it worthy of her 
 admiration heightened a hundredfold his own 
 enjoyment. The enchantment of her presence 
 filled the air, and made it sweeter and richer to 
 breathe. The dreamy apathy which had pos- 
 sessed him before her arrival had vanished, and 
 the bright atmosphere which ever surrounded 
 her, like a bracing breath of the sea, had awak- 
 ened his senses to a keener delight in existence. 
 
 "Miss Ruth," he said at last, " I think I 
 know you better now than I ever did before. 
 These few hours have taught me well, I hardly 
 know what." 
 
 He was half prepared to have her ridicule 
 the sentiment or even resent it; but to his 
 surprise, she smiled in a pleased way, and an- 
 swered, "/ might with greater truth say the 
 same of you. What appeared anomalous to me 
 before, and often startled me, is now perfectly 
 intelligible. Having learned to comprehend the 
 country in which you have spent your early 
 years, knowing the length of your stay in Amer- 
 ica, and then considering your natural disposi- 
 tion supposing these three things to be knows 
 quantities, I think I could have calculated your
 
 250 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage. 
 
 character with the exactness of an algebraic 
 problem that is, if I had any head for mathe- 
 matics," she added with a merry laugh. " But 
 ^unfortunately I have not." 
 
 " Well, it is your good luck or my good luck 
 whatever you please that you are not gifted 
 in that direction," was his reply. " I should 
 dislike to be such an inevitable result of certain 
 iron forces in the making of which I had 
 myself no hand. Moreover, I am persuaded 
 that you cannot calculate human beings in that 
 fashion." 
 
 " Yes, with men you can, but with women it 
 is quite another matter. They are the results 
 of a thousand incalculable combinations, which 
 are too subtle for the mathematician to deal 
 with. Therefore the attempt on the part of a 
 man to account for the doings or the character 
 of a woman always ends in dire failure." 
 
 "But do you mean to imply that women 
 mutually understand each other?" 
 
 " At times. Yes." 
 
 " Ergo : women are greater mathematicians 
 than men, and there our logic stops." 
 
 " How provokingly stubborn you are," cried
 
 RutJis Arrival. 251 
 
 Ruth, and sprang up from her seat. " Now I 
 think it is time that we commenced to talk 
 about something else." 
 
 He was not in a mood to contradict her. 
 She might have persisted that the grass was 
 blue and the beach green, and he would joyfully 
 have consented. Tlj| sea kept up its vague 
 murmur in their ears ; the song-thrush, the 
 nightingale of Norway, warbled drowsily in the 
 crowns of the birch-trees, and the arctic summer 
 night shed its soft splendor around them. 
 They walked slowly along the strand, now 
 stopping to pick up a curious shell, now watch- 
 ing the flight of the large white-winged sea- 
 birds. 
 
 " How do people know when to go to bed 
 here ? " said Ruth, lifting her eyes to the great 
 sun-gilded peaks in the distance. " It must be 
 past nine o'clock now, and it is almost as light as 
 at noon. And still it is a different kind of light 
 as if the sun was a little bit weary, and was 
 good-humoredly coaxed into staying up a little 
 for our benefit. Somehow or other, I cannot get 
 out of the notion that all this has been gotten 
 up on my account, and that, as soon as I have 
 4
 
 252 A Norsemaiis Pilgrimage. 
 
 become domesticated, nature will again assume 
 its usual working-day appearance. I know it is 
 unpardonably conceited in me to think so ; but 
 after all it is a pleasant conceit. So, why 
 should I dismiss it ? 
 
 " I can see no earthly reason why you 
 should," answered Olaf. " Only wait a few days, 
 and I will arrange a sunset among the glaciers 
 for you, and, if possible, an avalanche which 
 will sweep away a few peasants' houses, and 
 some other theatrical effects of the same sort. 
 I dare say you will enjoy it hugely, and you will 
 probably never have such another experience in 
 all your life." 
 
 At the garden gate they met Brynhild, who 
 was just starting out in search of them. 
 
 " Grandmother was afraid you might be catch- 
 ing cold," she said, " and she wished me to bring 
 you this shawl." 
 
 " Thank you," said Ruth ; " there is no danger 
 of my catching cold in this temperature. But if 
 I can oblige anybody by putting on a shawl, I 
 will do it." 
 
 Olaf and his sister exchanged a rapid glance ;
 
 Rutlis Arrival. 253 
 
 both understood the old lady's tactics; but 
 Ruth seemed to have no suspicion. 
 
 " But you didn't tell me how people know 
 when to go to bed here," began Ruth. " If the 
 sun keeps on at this rate, I shall be dreadfully 
 mixed up about day and night." 
 
 "We go altogether by instinct. We go to 
 bed when we are tired, and get up when we feel 
 like it. And by a fortunate coincidence, we all 
 get tired about the same time, and when Bryn- 
 hild says that breakfast is on the table, we all 
 have a simultaneous impulse to rise." 
 
 " What a delightful way of living. I have no 
 doubt I shall soon get accustomed to it." 
 
 They walked up through the garden, and 
 joined the group on the balcony. As the clock 
 struck ten in the hall, the Judge rose, bade the 
 company good night, and retired. The ladies 
 soon followed his example. Olaf felt no desire 
 for sleep ; the great fact that Ruth had arrived 
 so filled his mind that it left no room for any 
 other thought. He lit a cigar and flung himself 
 down in his grandfather's easy-chair. It was still 
 light ; but just the faintest suggestion of twilight 
 (that clear, transparent twilight of the North)
 
 254 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 lingered in the air, and the sky was grave with 
 nocturnal blue. It had been such a great day 
 that the young man could not consent to go to 
 rest before having somehow made clear to him- 
 self its meaning and summed up its possible re- 
 sults. That he loved Ruth that was at least 
 certain ; he no longer feared to confess it to him- 
 self or even to her; and all the imagined difficul- 
 ties of uncongeniality of disposition and interests, 
 etc., which had so distressed him a month ago, 
 had vanished in mist. And as he weighed the 
 chances of Ruth's loving him, the thing did not 
 at least seem such an utter absurdity as at the 
 time when first he considered the question. In 
 the light of this new possibility, Olaf Varberg 
 hopefully viewed the life that lay before him. 
 With a joyful tumult of heart, he saw the 
 time when, sitting in his cosy study, he should 
 find himself in the situation so charmingly de- 
 scribed by Pliny in one of his letters. How 
 lightly would not the winged thoughts flow un- 
 der the spell of her presence ; how good-na- 
 turedly would he not suffer those little interrup- 
 tions when, leaning confidingly over the back of 
 his chair, she would glance down on the page on
 
 Ruttts Arrival. 255 
 
 which he was writing ; and what wild throbs of 
 happiness would not throng his bosom when he 
 read her affectionate sympathy in her eyes, and 
 that fine pride which only a wife can take in her 
 husband's real or imagined greatness. All this 
 he saw and felt, and the imaginary scene made 
 him as happy as if he had merely to reach out 
 his hand to make it real. Never had his duties 
 to himself and to her appeared more sacred to 
 him than in this moment ; never had the talent, 
 which he knew to be his, appeared such a great 
 and glorious thing; never had his purpose in life 
 been so strong and so clearly defined. In this 
 little reverie he was disturbed by a pair of soft 
 arms which were gently laid about his neck, and 
 a warm cheek, which was lightly pressed against 
 bis. Olaf was too bewildered to think ; he turned 
 his head quickly, and a shade of disappointment 
 flitted over bis features. It was Brynhild. 
 
 "Ah, is it you?" he said, perhaps a little 
 coldly. 
 
 Brynhild did not answer, but only wound 
 her arms more tightly about his neck, as if she 
 were afraid that somebody might come and tear 
 him away from her. Presently he felt his cheek
 
 256 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 growing wet, and he discovered that she was 
 weeping. 
 
 " But, my dear girl, what is the matter with 
 you ? " asked Olaf gently, drawing her down into 
 his lap. 
 
 " Oh, how lovely, how beautiful she is." 
 sobbed Brynhild, and hid her face on his bosom. 
 
 "Who is lovely? who is beautiful? I am 
 sure I don't understand you." 
 
 " Ah, your American lady. You never told 
 us that she looked like that." 
 
 " And you cry because she is lovelier and 
 more beautiful than you imagined her? " 
 
 " Oh, Olaf, you don't know," cried the girl, 
 with a fresh burst of grief. " We thought 
 Thora and I thought that that you would 
 always remain at home." 
 
 She started up as if frightened at her own 
 words, and almost ran into the house. Olaf 
 hardly knew why, but her words sent a pang 
 to his heart. His first impulse was to call after 
 her and demand an explanation ; but somehow 
 he imagined what she might have to tell him, 
 and on a second thought he concluded that there 
 are times when certainty is even worse than
 
 RutRs Arrival. 257 
 
 doubt. So he arose and walked up to his 
 rooms ; but his happy reverie was spoiled. 
 
 Ruth woke up with the sensation of having 
 slept for a fortnight when the maid called her 
 the next morning. And when the shining 
 coffee-pot was placed upon a little table before 
 her bed, and the fragrant brown liquid poured 
 into the china cups, she opened her eyes widely, 
 and asked why they had allowed her to sleep 
 until after dinner. She had a vague impression 
 that the German custom of drinking coffee 
 immediately on rising from the dinner-table pre- 
 vailed in Norway too (as indeed it does) ; but the 
 Norse fashion of drinking coffee while in bed she 
 was as yet unacquainted with. But, as she had 
 already declared, she was bound to respect the 
 national customs ; and to convince herself of her 
 own sincerity, she began with making a martyr 
 of herself by drinking more than she really 
 wanted. 
 
 This old house, with its spacious halls, its 
 quaint tapestry, and its air of good cheer and 
 large-handed hospitality, had strangely wrought 
 upon the young girl's fancy. And then this 
 stately old gentleman, with his stiff gait and his
 
 258 A. Norseman 's Pilgrimage. 
 
 old-fashioned chivalresqueness of manner, pos- 
 sessed a certain romantic fascination in her eyes ; 
 in her present mood she was half disposed to 
 regret that Olafs sojourn in her own land had 
 made him so hopelessly American and so utterly 
 disloyal to the traditions of his family. She 
 liked the old Judge immensely, and was natu- 
 rally anxious that he should like her. It was 
 therefore no mere comedy on her part, when, on 
 appearing for breakfast this morning, she pro- 
 fessed a vivid interest in the family pictures and 
 allowed their owner to conduct her through the 
 gallery and entertain her with the history and 
 incidents connected with each separate portrait. 
 If she had artfully plotted the conquest of the 
 old man, she could never have chosen a more 
 ingenious method. And when Olaf, who had 
 enjoyed a little nap after the coffee, entered the 
 drawing-room, he observed the pleased expres- 
 sion in his grandfather's countenance, and 
 secretly triumphed in Ruth's success. He was 
 unjust to her, however, when in his heart he 
 suspected her of design. 
 
 This vast, unrippled calm of the Northern 
 sky, the serenely idyllic mood of the late sum-
 
 RutJis Arrival. 259 
 
 mer, with its faint undulations of tone, by their 
 very novelty imparted to Ruth's mind an ever- 
 fresh sense of adventure. The days went by, 
 but all limits of time and space were, as it were, 
 blurred, and the question whether it was Sunday 
 or Monday concerned her no more than did the 
 household expenses of the Emperor of China. 
 All she knew was that she thought this a most 
 delightful way of living ; and as long as her aunt 
 showed no signs of impatience, she saw no rea- 
 son why she should trouble herself about the 
 morrow. The mornings were usually spent on 
 the fjord, rowing or fishing ; the afternoons were 
 devoted to rambles through the neighboring 
 birch grove ; and in the evening the Judge and 
 Ruth invariably had a " musical fight " about 
 Chopin, Liszt, and Beethoven, which usually 
 ended with a practical test of the merits of these 
 composers. Ruth did play Chopin superbly. 
 Those inarticulate sighs which at times seem to 
 be struggling through the gloom-fraught chords 
 of his nocturnes she rendered with a deep and 
 powerful pathos, as if she had herself expert 
 enced all this dim yearning and sorrow and 
 despair. The old -man would on such occasions
 
 260 A Norseman s Pilgrimage. 
 
 sit down at her side, at first intent upon finding 
 fault, then gradually forgetting his hostile inten-. 
 tions, until his eyes kindled with sympathetic ani- 
 mation ; and at last he would rise abruptly, and 
 begin to pace up and down the floor. Ruth saw 
 and enjoyed hertriumph, but she was too prudent 
 to take advantage of it; and the Judge, who was 
 just a little bit stubborn, sat down once more 
 and opened fire on Liszt, whom he attacked the 
 more fiercely because he had tacitly admitted 
 his defeat on Chopin. Then Ruth played one 
 of the " Rhapsodies Hongroises," and there was 
 another armistice. Nevertheless the Judge was 
 by no means positive whether he approved or 
 disapproved of this young American girl ; he 
 was sure that he admired her, but it was always 
 under a protest. In his opinion women had no 
 right to be so clever, so bright, and so self- 
 possessed ; in the good old times when he was 
 young, girls never spoke unless they were 
 addressed, and then they invariably blushed and 
 answered, in trembling monosyllables ; and a 
 young man, when in the company of ladies, 
 naturally assumed a slightly patronizing tone, 
 and was in return agreeably impressed with the
 
 Ruth's Arrival. 261 
 
 idea of his own importance. The Judge could 
 not but smile when he imagined the way Ruth 
 would meet a man who should approach her in 
 this manner. Then, it was not to be denied, 
 Ruth was an American, and America and revo- 
 lution were to his mind identical terms. Amer- 
 ica had been his evil demon ; it had sowed the 
 seed of discord in his family, had deprived him 
 of his only son, and now God only knew what 
 was to happen. The Judge felt that it was his 
 duty to dislike this young lady, and he did his 
 best ; but when he sat at her side, and saw the 
 fine intelligence of her dark eyes, and listened to 
 those bright little remarks of hers, which came 
 and went like a flash of the Aurora Borealis, 
 then he could only rebel in silence and own that 
 resistance was vain. But Ruth was happily 
 unconscious of all this : she came, saw, and 
 conquered.
 
 262 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Glacier Expedition. 
 
 " '"T^HERE was once a princess, who was the 
 * most beautiful princess in all the world," 
 exclaimed Olaf, as he saw Ruth emerging from 
 her room with a fine, fresh color on her cheeks, 
 and attired in the jaunty costume, which with 
 her aunt's aid she had improvised for the glacier 
 excursion. 
 
 " And there was once a prince, who was the 
 sauciest creature that ever lived," retorted Ruth, 
 pushed him aside, and ran down stairs. 
 
 It was about six o'clock in the morning. A 
 company of young people, including the youth- 
 ful e"lite of all the neighborhood, had gathered 
 down on the pier, and a couple of sturdy oars- 
 men, with yellow knee-breeches and red-peaked 
 caps, were engaged in clearing the boats. Tea- 
 kettles, lunch-baskets, and various articles of 
 wearing apparel were stowed away under the
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 263 
 
 row-benches, and the young lieutenants, who 
 liked to display their authority before the ladies, 
 shouted their orders in stentorian accents. Then 
 all of a sudden there was a hush ; the ladies put 
 their heads together and spoke in whispers, and 
 the gentlemen pulled at their waistcoats and 
 drew themselves up into martial attitudes. Ruth 
 was seen descending the garden terrace. They 
 had all heard about this wonderful American 
 beauty, but only few of them had seen her ; ru- 
 mor had been busy with her name even before 
 her arrival, and had magnified every circum- 
 stance connected with her into the most fabulous 
 dimensions. That she had come to marry the 
 grandson of the Judge seemed to be a settled 
 thing ; and it was told for certain that she owned 
 a bank of her own, and was rich enough to buy 
 out the whole parish. The parish shoemaker, who 
 was the authorized bearer of news, had reported 
 her to be " fairer and richer than the Queen of 
 England," taking it for granted that the Queen 
 of England was beyond dispute, by virtue of 
 her position, the most beautiful woman in the 
 world. He had also thrown out some dark hint 
 about " their doing things differently in America,"
 
 264 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 which by the parish gossips had been variously 
 construed ; but neither Ruth nor Olaf would 
 have been particularly nattered if they had 
 known of the doubt which existed in the minds 
 of many as to whether it was he or she who had 
 assumed the aggressive part in the marriage 
 question. It was natural enough that so mys- 
 terious a creature, even if she had not been so 
 loudly heralded, should have excited the curiosity 
 and wonder of the half-rustic neighbors ; now she 
 stood among them, but the halo of her rare 
 Southern beauty and the fabulous land from 
 which she hailed still seemed to remove her far 
 out of their sphere. She smiled and greeted 
 them in her own frank, friendly way, while they 
 thronged forward to be introduced. Then they 
 all took their seats in the boats, and the oarsmen 
 thrust out from the pier. 
 
 The morning fog was just rising from the 
 water, and drifted in fleecy fragments up along 
 the sides of the mountains. Stray bits of meadow 
 and wheat field lay glittering brightly with myr- 
 iad dewdrops, wherever the sun had made a rift 
 in the white veil of the mist. The fjord shone 
 with a soft summer freshness, as if it had just
 
 TJie Glacier Expedition. 265 
 
 awakened from a long and healthful sleep. On 
 all sides the huge uncertain forms of snow-hooded 
 peaks mirrored themselves in the cool ethereal 
 deep. Hundreds of sea birds were already on 
 the wing ; the shrill-voiced gull sailed majesti- 
 cally over the wakes of the boats, and hardly 
 twenty feet away the fearless, white-breasted 
 gannet plunged headlong into the tide and left 
 a patch of eddying bubbles where it had van- 
 ished. As the sun rose higher a light shiver ran 
 over the surface of the water, and its faint un- 
 dulations played in changing tints of reflected 
 blue and cool luminous green. 
 
 By some chance Thora Haraldson had come 
 to occupy the seat next to Ruth in the stern of 
 one of the boats. Olaf sat upon a cross bench op- 
 posite, dividing his attention between the land- 
 scape and the company. As his eyes fell upon 
 the fair group before him, the picturesque con- 
 trast between the two struck his artistic fancy, 
 and presently he found himself critically compar- 
 ing them and trying to account for their points 
 of difference. How frail and almost insignificant 
 looked this slender blue-eyed alpine maiden by 
 the side of that tall, brilliant, and magnificent
 
 266 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 beauty. And somehow she seemed to be con- 
 scious of her own insignificance, for she looked 
 with large innocent eyes up into Ruth's face, and 
 an expression of child-like wonder was visible in 
 her features. " Ah," philosophized Olaf, " it is the 
 problem of my life which stands embodied before 
 me. The one is the peaceful, simple life of the 
 North, with its small aims and cares, its domestic 
 virtues, and its calm, idyllic beauty. Love to 
 her means duty, a gentle submissiveness, and the 
 attachment bred by habit and mutual esteem. 
 But in the other's bosom lives a world of slum- 
 bering tumult, a host of glorious possibilities, 
 which though still shrunken in the bud, will one 
 day, when touched by the wakening warmth of 
 love, develop all the emotional wealth and gran- 
 deur of perfect womanhood. She is the flower 
 of a larger and intenser civilization, and all the 
 burning pulses of life which animate this great 
 century, unknown to herself, throb in her being. 
 And it is my own future which I love in her. I 
 too shall become a larger and a more perfect 
 man for what I give and what I receive in the 
 mystery of such a love. The past lies behind 
 me, and Ruth and love before me."
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 267 
 
 Olaf might have causd a sensation by pro- 
 posing then and there, if Ruth had not uncon- 
 sciouly interrupted his reverie. 
 
 " Mr. Olaf," said she (for she too had got into 
 the habit of calling him by that name because it 
 sounded so delightfully barbarous), " these moun- 
 tains don't always look so tall and magnificent, 
 do they?" 
 
 " Oh, not by any means," retorted Olaf, who 
 was in that moment capable of saying anything. 
 " Don't you see they are standing on tiptoe look- 
 ing over the edge of those clouds in order to 
 catch a glimpse of you ? It is not often that 
 they have the chance of seeing such a sight." 
 
 " Now, don't be absurd, pray," answered she, 
 and smiled, rather in spite of herself. " I'really 
 meant it quite seriously. I think you said some- 
 thing the other day about optical delusions 
 caused by the singular transparency of the air at 
 certain seasons of the year, or something of that 
 sort." 
 
 " Yes," said Olaf, with a malicious twinkle in 
 his eye ; " I did say something of that sort. I 
 said that when beautiful young ladies came here 
 to visit them, the mountains suddenly remember
 
 268 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 their youthful dreams, and they have just enough 
 of the dandy about them to make them anxious 
 to produce a good impression. Therefore they 
 wrap a picturesque cloak of sun-gilded mist 
 about their shoulders, cock their glittering hel- 
 mets of ice a little so as to look reckless, 
 straighten their aged backs, and shake off the 
 avalanches which slumbering centuries have 
 heaped up there. And then you would hardly 
 believe it strange tumultuous emotions awake 
 in their stony breasts, and warm the huge masses 
 of ice which have gathered in their beards ; 
 and the ice melts ; boisterous cataracts rush 
 down over their bosoms ; their sombre armors 
 of pine forest swell as if they were going to 
 burst, and hoarse, rumbling noises issue forth 
 from their glacial throats. Then they are only 
 trying if they haven't lost their voices. That 
 is how the mountains behave when they are 
 in love. And you know, Miss Ruth, all this is 
 not so absurd as it may sound to you ; for when 
 you have made conquests of grandfather, and 
 Brynhild, and myself, and all the rest of us, why 
 then should the mountains be exceptions? '' 
 "Why, Mr. Olaf," cried Ruth laughingly,
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 269 
 
 "you are certainly fibbing. All this was not 
 at all what you told me. But you do talk so 
 magnificently. Pray go on. You may say 
 whatever you please." 
 
 " But the trouble is I haven't got anything 
 more to say." 
 
 " Well, then, you may keep quiet. But by 
 the way, does your friend Hiss Thora speak 
 English?" 
 
 "I don't suppose she knows herself; proba- 
 bly she never tried." 
 
 " I do understand a little," said Thora timidly. 
 " But I cannot speak." 
 
 "Then Mr. Olaf will act as our interpreter. 
 Won't you, Mr. Olaf?" 
 
 * Oh, certainly." 
 
 And the conversation commenced. They 
 talked of Norway and of America, of the won- 
 ders of fjords and glaciers, and of their own 
 little private doings ; but where the thoughts 
 have to pass through the medium of an inter- 
 preter a conversation can never become con- 
 fidential. 
 
 It was still early morning when the rowers, 
 as if by mutual agreement, pulled up the drip-
 
 270 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 ping oars and poised them under their knees ; 
 the clear drops of water sparkled like sun- 
 smitten emeralds, and fell with a sharp metallic 
 click upon the shining surface. This was the 
 usual resting-place, and Olaf, in deference to 
 ancient custom, let a large jug of beer pass the 
 round among his crew. There was a slight cur- 
 rent jjerceptible, and the boats were allowed to 
 drift ; and as Ruth looked up she uttered a cry 
 of surprise, and gazed in frightened wonder 
 upon the vast panorama of desolation which 
 spread out before her. A minute ago they had 
 seen nothing but the huge promontory which 
 loomed up straight before them, and which 
 made them feel as if the boats in which they 
 were sitting were mere nutshells. Now, as if the 
 mountain wall had been raised like a back cur- 
 tain in a theatre, the view suddenly deepened ; 
 the sunshine itself became suffused as it were 
 with a bluish ice-tint, and as far as the eye could 
 reach, the granite Titans of the primeval world 
 raised their hoary heads in calm defiance of 
 heaven. The keen arrows of the sun smote 
 upon their shields of snow, and rebounded in 
 brilliant reflections from their icy helmets, and
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 271 
 
 the sombre shadows of the fjord below were 
 startled with rapid flushes of crimson, gold, and 
 violet. 
 
 " We are not going in there, are we ? " said 
 Ruth anxiously. " It looks to me as if the 
 whole thing was coming down. I really doubt 
 if it is safe to enter." 
 
 " My official duties compel me to travel here 
 every week," remarked one of the lieutenants, 
 who could speak a little English. " But it never 
 occurred to me to be frightened." 
 
 " Ah," said Ruth, with a smile. 
 
 " Why should I be frightened ? " continued 
 the martial youth, anxious to follow up his 
 triumph. 
 
 " No, I can't really see why you should," 
 replied she. " I am sure / shouldn't." 
 
 The gentleman's countenance fell, and he 
 hastened to volunteer his service at the oars. 
 The boats had now entered a narrow branch of 
 the fjord, one of the most wildly picturesque 
 regions which Norway or any other country has 
 to show. It looked like a mere narrow cleft 
 between two gigantic chains of mountains which 
 rose with a grand sweep, almost perpendicularly
 
 272 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 from the water. The bare steep sides were 
 thickly furrowed with the tracks of avalanches, 
 and at times, where the slope descended less 
 abruptly, wildernesses of debris and water- 
 carved bowlder rose like the stern mausoleums 
 of dead glaciers. Ruth was right it did seem 
 as if the mountains might at any moment take it 
 into their heads to close this rift, which evidently 
 some earthquake or similar revolution had burst 
 open while the earth was still young and enthu- 
 siastic. The company spoke in whispers, as if 
 they were afraid of waking some slumbering 
 Trold, whose very breath might be fraught with 
 destruction. The old Norse legends of St. Olaf 
 and the giants seem very credible things in a 
 scene like this. 
 
 Toward noon the boats were put in at a 
 little pier, where a boisterous torrent mingled 
 its passionate voice with the noonday silence of 
 the fjord. A low growth of stunted birch and 
 alder trees edged its banks, and large flocks of 
 goats were scattered through the bottom of the 
 broad ravine. 
 
 To the westward shone the vast expanse of 
 eternal snow ; a mighty arm of this illimitable
 
 TJie Glacier Expedition. 273 
 
 arctic field shot down through this very cleft, 
 the upper end of which it filled like a huge 
 wedge of silver. 
 
 " Now, here is a chance for your optical 
 illusions," said Olaf, as he stood with Ruth on 
 the strand. " How long do you suppose it 
 would take you to walk up to the edge of that 
 glacier ? " 
 
 " I should imagine about ten minutes," an- 
 swered she unsuspectingly. 
 
 " If you walk that distance in less than three- 
 quarters of an hour, I will pledge myself to climb 
 the peak over there in the same time." 
 
 Ruth laughed, and appealed to the lieu- 
 tenant, who, with outrageous disregard for her 
 feelings, decided that she might regard herself 
 as lucky if she reached the spot at all, and that 
 an hour was the minimum of time required. 
 The gentlemen were then called upon to assist 
 in unloading the boats, and Ruth, who was 
 beginning to feel the cold breath of the glacier, 
 allowed Olaf to wrap a shawl about her, and sat 
 down with Thora on the bank of the stream. 
 There was a brief debate whether they should 
 serve the dinner- here or up under the ice field,
 
 274 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 and as the sun shone brightly up there, while 
 the bottom of the cleft was filled with shadow, 
 the latter plan finally prevailed. Olaf now 
 began to feel his responsibility as host and, at 
 his sister's suggestion, during the upward 
 march devoted himself equally to all the ladies. 
 They were all very nice, some even pretty, but 
 although many of them had known him in his 
 boyhood, they seemed reluctant to recognize in 
 this tall, bearded gentleman the gay and light- 
 hearted youth who wrote verses and was the 
 lion of the parish balls five years ago. Then his 
 dress was of a foreign cut, and there was still a 
 perceptible accent in his speech. To be sure, he 
 was perfectly frank and friendly with them, but 
 for all that, his foreign sojourn had raised up an 
 insurmountable wall between him and them, and 
 if he had been attempting to talk to them across 
 the Atlantic Ocean the distance could not have 
 appeared greater. And Olaf, whose spiritual 
 organism was as sensitive as that of a mimosa, 
 was with every moment more impressed with 
 his own strangeness, until at last he was inclined 
 to look upon himself as a rhinoceros or some 
 rare animal escaped from a menagerie.
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 275 
 
 The ascent of the steep ravine soon told 
 on the strength of the ladies. Only Ruth kept 
 bravely in the front with her lieutenant, and her 
 merry laughter and her endurance stimulated 
 the ambition of the rest. The rugged path lay 
 along the edge of the glacier torrent, which 
 roared and foamed a hundred feet below, and 
 occasionally sent up a fierce gust of cold, shiver- 
 ing spray. Rude piles of erratic bowlder, inter- 
 spersed with solitary bushes of birch and juniper, 
 covered the sides of the ravine, and away toward 
 the west lay a huge mass of billowy ice, like a 
 cataract of molten silver suddenly congealed or 
 by some magic agency arrested in its course. 
 It was an hour past noon when the merry com- 
 pany halted under the brink of the glacier. 
 Olaf hastened to Ruth's side. He was curious 
 to see how this sight would impress her. 
 
 "What a fierce, wicked, terrible thing this 
 is," said she gravely, gazing on the wall of earth 
 and stone which the ice was pushing before it. 
 
 " Well, such things must be," remarked Olaf 
 philosophically. 
 
 " Now, don't you laugh at me," continued 
 Ruth in the same serious tone; "but do you
 
 276 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 really think that these grand monstrosities were 
 in the original plan of creation ? Or do you be- 
 lieve that they are accidental things which have 
 somehow been developed afterward ? I really 
 can't see the use of them." 
 
 " I am afraid I am not enough of a naturalist 
 to tell what their special use may be in the 
 cosmic economy," replied he. " But from an 
 aesthetic point of view it is easy to account for 
 their existence. You know, beauty is its own 
 excuse for being, as Emerson says, and you will 
 certainly not deny that this glacier is beautiful." 
 
 " No ; to be sure, it is beautiful," said the 
 girl. " But it is a beauty which makes me trem- 
 ble. There is something hard, and fierce, and 
 cruel in it. It is the same sort of beauty that 
 there is in a thunderstorm, and I am afraid I am 
 not heroic enough to enjoy it." 
 
 Indeed there is a suggestion of terror and of 
 stern demoniac will in these frozen masses of 
 wintry strength, and even the glory of a hun- 
 dred sunsets could not lend one tinge of serener 
 beauty to their cold, fierce sentiment of divine 
 grandeur and wrath. It is the God of the Old 
 Testament who dwells in the glaciers, and whose
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 277 
 
 voice makes itself heard in the midnight terror 
 of their avalanches. 
 
 The arctic sun, which even on a midsummer 
 noonday is far from the zenith of the sky, was 
 slowly journeying to the westward, and soon 
 stood almost behind the glacier. At a few miles' 
 distance, where its upper ridges touched the sky, 
 an army of sparkling steeples traced itself airily 
 upon the near horizon, while further toward the 
 north, where the plateau sloped downward, and 
 the outline of the ice seemed less jagged, the 
 boundless snow fields sent forth a vast blinding 
 glare which pained the eye beyond endurance. 
 But it was a joy to watch the manifold play of 
 the light upon the colossal ridges, as they loomed 
 skyward, and again abruptly descended in laby- 
 rinthine lines toward the wall of moraine which 
 bounded the lower plateau. Through their thin, 
 gracefully sculptured edges, as keen as that of a 
 billow in the act of breaking, shone a glittering 
 maze of delicate, star-shaped frost-flowers, and 
 gradually, as the ice-blocks became thicker and 
 more opaque, their color shaded through all the 
 paler tints of blue into the deepest sapphire 
 gloom. And looking upward over the crests of
 
 278 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 this whole mer de glace, a strange shimmering 
 sheen, like the ghosts of a thousand disembodied 
 colors, seemed to be floating in the air, strug- 
 gling to rise, but by some hidden power to be 
 fettered to the icy billows. 
 
 The more prosaic part of the company had, 
 in the meanwhile, been engaged in spreading the 
 dinner, upon some large blocks of stone about 
 fifty feet distant from the ice-wall. The charge 
 of the Judge's portable wine cellar Olaf willingly 
 surrendered to one of the officers. A rude fire- 
 place was built, the unopened lunch baskets ran- 
 sacked, and the guests seated in picturesque 
 little groups upon a grassplot near the banks of 
 the river. The sun was blazing bright and warm, 
 and what little wind there was blew toward the 
 glacier ; so the spirits of the young people grad- 
 ually thawed ; the shy little maidens laughed and 
 chattered, and the martial gentlemen joked ami- 
 ably, and recounted their hunting and camp 
 adventures. When the dinner was at an end, 
 Olaf startled the company by announcing his 
 intention of ascending the glacier. He first 
 asked the gentlemen if any of them was disposed 
 to accept his guidance, as he knew the topog-
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 279 
 
 raphy of the place from his boyhood ; and when 
 they refused, he appealed to the ladies. The 
 fair-haired damsels stared as if he had requested 
 them to take a balloon voyage with him; but 
 still greater was their wonder when Ruth rose 
 and said that she would be glad to put herself 
 under his charge. 
 
 "But I warn you beforehand that it is no 
 joking matter," said Olaf, who was perhaps him- 
 self somewhat startled ; " there are continually 
 loose blocks breaking away, and you know the 
 guide-books say that the ascent from this side is 
 dangerous. 
 
 * Oh, I have thick boots on," answered she, 
 with a critical glance at her feet, "and as for 
 the rest, it can be no more dangerous to me than 
 to you." 
 
 u You are the bravest girl that ever lived," 
 whispered he in her ear. " I am charmed to 
 have your company." 
 
 "Hypocrite! "laughed she. " Your face tells 
 a different story. But for all that, I am bound 
 to keep you to your word." 
 
 The young Norseman, used from his earliest 
 boyhood to mountain climbing, felt his heart
 
 280 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 leap within him at the glorious prospect of a 
 stroll over the eternal snow fields, with this fair 
 maiden of Southland birth. For to the arctic 
 fancy of a Norwegian, the name of America is 
 fragrant with the perfume of tropic vegetation 
 and southern romance ; and although Olaf had 
 spent four winters in New England, he made no 
 effort to rid himself for the time being from his 
 early hallucinations. He relieved Ruth of her 
 shawls, gave her his hand, and struck in upon 
 the path along the northern side of the ice-field. 
 
 "And when can we expect you back?" cried 
 Brynhild after them. 
 
 " We are not going to mount to the top," 
 shouted he ; " and if we are not back in an hour 
 and a half, you will never see us again, at least 
 not in the condition in which we departed." 
 
 Brynhild looked frightened ; but she knew 
 that her brother had always had his own way, 
 and that it would be of no use to interfere. 
 Ruth was not altogether unpractised in climbing ; 
 she had had a brief experience a month ago in 
 the Saxon Switzerland, and she now frequently 
 astonished her guide by the accuracy with which 
 she measured a distance wherever there v/as
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 281 
 
 occasion for a leap. The path crept with irregu- 
 lar steeps and windings along the edge of the 
 glacier, now and then losing itself in devious 
 " goat tracks " whenever a pile of scattered rocks 
 necessitated a departure from the ice-line. But 
 Olaf never hesitated in his course, and Ruth had 
 perfect confidence in his guidance. It was a 
 wonder to him that this girl, who had complained 
 of weariness when they ascended the Strasbourg 
 Cathedral, could step so briskly through this 
 stony wilderness, never losing her foothold, and 
 without a murmur of complaint. He put it 
 down mentally as another enigma of the feminine 
 character. But this keen, bracing mountain air 
 has a wonderfully stimulating effect. He already 
 felt the magic of its breath in the vigorous rush 
 of his own blood, and in Ruth's cheeks it had 
 kindled a glow of deeper color. There was 
 fire in her eye, and her voice had a rich and 
 joyous ring, born, as he fancied, of the splendor 
 and the excitement of the hour. After more 
 than half an hour's climb they reached a shel- 
 tered nook where a slender, sparsely-leafed birch, 
 frail as a frost-flower, stood trembling over the 
 glacial abyss. From hence they made a cautious
 
 282 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 excursion out on the ice, and again returned to 
 take a few moments' rest. Here in the lee of a 
 projecting rock and exposed to the southern sun, 
 some faintly-tinted alpine flowers had been 
 coaxed into life, and Olaf plucked them, gave 
 them to Ruth, and indulged in a little reverie 
 about their brief and joyless existence. Ruth 
 was in a sympathetic mood. She met his 
 thought half way and instinctively caught it 
 before it was uttered. The vast loneliness and 
 the dread desolation which surrounded them 
 seemed to bring them nearer together. There 
 was to him at that moment no woman in all the 
 world except Ruth ; he and she had been chosen 
 to inhabit and to rule the virgin earth. Far 
 down in the unseen deep rushed and boomed 
 the subterranean glacier torrents, like the voices 
 of eternity. And in his own heart pulsed a kin- 
 dred life, and a voice as mighty and eternal sang 
 in his own breast the ever fresh mystery of 
 creation. 
 
 " Mr. Olaf," said she, bending compassion- 
 ately over the flowers, " do you think these 
 poor shivering little things are really alive. 
 They seem to me the mere frozen breath of the
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 283 
 
 glacier. Excuse me ; I grow poetical without 
 knowing it." 
 
 " You need make no excuses," answered he, 
 and seated himself at her side under the birch 
 tree. " To be sure, I should call it a mere 
 semblance of life. And so are the lives of thou- 
 sands of men and women who eke out their 
 existence here in the constant struggle for daily 
 bread. What do they know of what life has to 
 offer?" 
 
 " But they seem healthy and robust enough ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but they count their years by 
 winters." 
 
 " How strange. And did you too, when you 
 lived here, say that you were so and so many 
 winters old ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did. But from the time I saw you, 
 Ruth, mine has been a summer life, and hence- 
 forth I shall number my age by its summers. 
 It all depends upon you, Ruth," he added in a 
 passionate whisper. " I love you." 
 
 A terrible crash was heard. A fierce, split- 
 ting noise shot through the glacier, and a huge 
 block of ice broke loose and tumbled do\vn into 
 the abyss, startling the silent air with a harsh,
 
 284 A Norseman's- Pilgrimage. 
 
 continuous peal, as of receding thunder. Ruth 
 gave a frightened cry, and in the bewilderment 
 of terror flung her arms around Olaf's neck and 
 clung fast to him. He sat calm, and did not 
 stir from the spot ; in the excitement of that 
 moment nothing could have moved or surprised 
 him. The dread thunder of the glacier seemed 
 but the fitting accompaniment to his declaration. 
 He quietly stooped down over the girl, gazed 
 into her frightened face, and kissed her. Then 
 it suddenly occurred to him that it might merely 
 have been her fright which had involuntarily 
 brought her into his embrace, and that possibly 
 he had been ungenerous in taking advantage of 
 her agitation. This suspicion drove the blood 
 to his face ; he swiftly released her from his 
 arms, and stammered something about mis- 
 takes and excuses. The girl, who was now 
 perfectly composed, opened her eyes wide in 
 astonishment ; then the ludicrous side of the 
 situation suddenly struck her. 
 
 "Why, Olaf," she cried, "don't be too con- 
 scientious, pray. If it is a mistake, it is at all 
 events rather late to retreat now. We shall have 
 to stand by it like heroes."
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 285 
 
 " Ruth," exclaimed he, with a happy laugh, 
 " you are incorrigible. To joke in a place and 
 in a moment like this ! " 
 
 The mention of the place started a fresh 
 fear in her mind. 
 
 " You don't suppose they can see us from 
 down there?" exclaimed she, and sprang up 
 from her seat. 
 
 "What if they do?" answered he com- 
 posedly. 
 
 "Not for all the world," said she fiercely. 
 " I would rather die than have them see us." 
 
 "Well, calm yourself then. If they had the 
 eyes of Argus, they could not see through that 
 rock." 
 
 The stillness of the wilderness grew with 
 every moment intenser ; the cold white face of 
 the glacier settled into something like a frown, 
 and the icy sheen upon its brow rose with a 
 sterner glare against the azure sky. To be sure, 
 summer had invaded its domain ; what was more 
 natural than that it should resent it? It was 
 probably a novel experience for the glacier to 
 have this glowing bit of summer, with its thou- 
 sand warm suggestions (one of which would be
 
 286 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 enough to thaw an iceberg), nestled here on its 
 very bosom. Something like this Olaf would 
 undoubtedly have thought, as he stood silently 
 regarding the glacier before beginning the de- 
 scent, if he had not just then been too happy to 
 have any thought at all. A vast, shapeless bliss 
 filled his being. It seemed such an inconceivable 
 privilege to be able to call Ruth by her first 
 name, leaving out the " Miss ; " and during the 
 delightful rambling talk which they carried on, 
 as long as the wilderness alone could hear them, 
 he frequently had to restrain himself for fear of 
 betraying how boyish he was in his glee. He 
 had always somehow had the idea that the 
 whole masculine sex were pining for Ruth, and 
 he could not but confess to himself that a sense 
 of triumph over his unsuccessful brethren added 
 to the keenness of his joy. A loud chorus of 
 voices welcomed them as they reached the bot- 
 tom of the ravine, and as it was already late in 
 the afternoon, they rested but a few minutes 
 and then continued their march to the fjord. 
 Brynhild whispered something to her brother 
 about monopolizing the American lady, and he, 
 in return, stared blankly at her, as if he could
 
 The Glacier Expedition. 287 
 
 not quite see what she meant, and then burst 
 out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He 
 had in one way or another to give vent to his 
 superabundant spirits, and this presented the 
 first occasion. 
 
 "And, after all, we did have the pleasure of 
 seeing you again in the same condition in which 
 you departed," said one of the lieutenants to 
 Olaf, as the boats were thrust out from the beach. 
 
 " No ; I beg your pardon," answered he 
 thoughtlessly ; " my condition has been con- 
 siderably changed by that glacier climb." 
 
 " Ah," said the lieutenant, and raised his eye- 
 brows significantly. 
 
 A quick blush sprang to Ruth's face, and she 
 sent Olaf an imploring glance. 
 
 Yes," continued he, in the same careless 
 voice ; " it has been an experience which prob- 
 ably" (with a mischievous glance at Ruth) 44 1 shall 
 never have the chance of repeating. It has in- 
 creased my store of knowledge, and given me a 
 glimpse of a side of the divine economy with 
 which I never expected to become acquainted." 
 
 And with us, you know, we have no glaciers 
 at all," interposed Ruth energetically.
 
 288 A. Norsemarfs Pilgrimage. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I understand," remarked the mar- 
 tial gentleman, with a disappointed look ; " it 
 must have been a very interesting experience 
 although a very cold one, I should judge," he 
 added, shivering. 
 
 Olaf was about to answer, but Ruth promptly 
 stopped him. 
 
 " You turned that very neatly," whispered 
 she, and smiled approvingly, as an hour later 
 they sat side by side in the stern of the 
 boat. 
 
 The sun sank below the horizon, the day- 
 light faded, and the golden crescent of the 
 moon rose from behind a snow-clad peak. It 
 shed its pale glimmer upon the water, which 
 shone with changing tints, playing between steel 
 blue and the usual lucid green. The evening 
 was calm ; hardly a ripple moved the mirror of 
 the fjord, save those evanescent undulations 
 which spread from the bows of the boats. The 
 young officers, who had good voices, sang the 
 famous Swedish duets " Gluntarne," and the 
 clear-toned echoes of the mountains set the 
 solemn, remote wildernesses a-trembling with
 
 Tho Glacier Expedition. 289 
 
 joyous melody. It was within an hour of mid- 
 night when they landed at the Judge's pier. 
 The hospitable mansion was prepared for their 
 reception. Only a few of the ladies followed 
 Thora to be the guests of the Colonel. 
 
 " What are you doing there, Ruth ? " asked 
 Olaf, as after some search he found his heroine 
 standing behind the curtain in one of the recesses 
 of the windows. 
 
 " Oh, it is it is only those glacier flowers," 
 answered she (and it was the first time in his 
 life that he had seen her confused); "those 
 flowers which reckoned their age by winters. 
 Oh, Olaf," she exclaimed, suddenly interrupting 
 herself, " tell me truly and honestly, don't you 
 think me dreadfully heartless ? " 
 
 "Heartless!" ejaculated he, as if such a 
 thing had never entered his head ; " how can 
 you imagine anything so absurd ? " 
 
 "Well, it isnt absurd," persisted the girl 
 vehemently. " I came to think of it to-day. I 
 hardly believe that I have said one friendly 
 word to you since we became acquainted. But 
 for all that you may be sure of one thing," she 
 13
 
 290 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 added in a hushed,, earnest tone, " and that is 
 that I love you." 
 
 The moon sailed swiftly through the noc- 
 turnal sky, the rising tide beat faintly against 
 the strand but Ruth and Olaf still lingered in 
 the curtained recess at the window.
 
 Conclusion. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Conclusion. 
 
 "C*OR two days Ruth and Olaf were successful 
 * in preserving the secrecy of their engage- 
 ment, but at the end of that time they both 
 tacitly, if not openly, admitted that for a self- 
 imposed duty it was a very arduous one. Ruth 
 had originally stipulated a week, and had even 
 had serious thoughts of a fortnight. And when 
 her lover was unable to see the expediency of 
 all her feminine diplomacy, and even ventured 
 to grumble, she would disarm him with a smile, 
 and then add in her own bewitching way, 
 " Well, you know, it is an admirable thing for 
 discipline." 
 
 But to-day Ruth had herself twice fallen out 
 of her r61e ; first at the breakfast table she had 
 called him by his first name, and an hour ago, as 
 he stood talking with his grandfather out on the 
 balcony, she had come up from behind, put her
 
 292 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 arm through his, and gazed into his face with a 
 sort of absent-minded tenderness, which would 
 have been sufficiently convincing to the old 
 gentleman, if he had not been too much inter- 
 ested in the discussion to notice her. Bryn- 
 hild's suspicions had been aroused long ago ; 
 and the soft joyous radiance of Ruth's eyes, the 
 deep abstraction of her look when she thought 
 herself unobserved, and even the occasional 
 abruptness of her motions, all went to confirm 
 her fears, and often made her waver in her 
 allegiance to the fair-haired Thora, who was to 
 have rebound the broken link and once more 
 reconciled the exile to his family and his 
 country. 
 
 But there was something about Ruth which 
 somehow made it seem a privilege to be allowed 
 to worship her ; and Brynhild's loyal nature could 
 not resist this influence ; moreover, she loved her 
 brother too well not to feel an intense interest 
 in the woman who apparently held his fate in 
 her hand. So these two soon became friends, 
 and many a time Ruth's secret hovered upon 
 her lips, and it was merely by virtue of an almost 
 superhuman effort .that she stayed her eager
 
 Conclusion. 293 
 
 tongue. Brynhild, on the other hand, felt an 
 equally irresistible desire to confide in Ruth the 
 early marriage plot with Thora, but on a second 
 thought she concluded that it would be ungener- 
 ous and cruel, and she forbore. Indeed, as the 
 days went by, and she read hi Ruth's dark eyes 
 the tale which they would fain have hidden, and 
 as she weighed the strong womanly fervor of a 
 love like hers against the pale dreamy devotion 
 of a nature like Thora's, she no longer wondered 
 at her brother's choice. 
 
 The heavy red curtains had been drawn 
 before the parlor windows ; the evening was cloudy 
 and a pleasant twilight filled the room. The 
 Judge and his wife had just retired ; Mrs. Elder 
 had been suffering with a headache during the 
 afternoon, and had not left her room since sup- 
 per. Ruth was sitting at the piano, playing 
 carelessly a bit of Schumann's Slumber-Song. 
 Olaf had thrown himself into a corner of the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Ruth," he said, * won't you please stop 
 making that noise and come and sit down here ? 
 I have something important to tell you." 
 
 Ruth stopped in the middle of a measure,
 
 294 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage. 
 
 wheeled round on the piano stool, and went to 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Ruth," began he (for he still gloried in her 
 name), " I have been very much worried to-day 
 by the thought of what grandfather will say when 
 he hears of this affair of ours. You know that 
 both he and grandmother have set their hearts 
 on keeping me at home. And I never mentioned 
 that possibility to you, I think." 
 
 " I have thought of that possibility, neverthe- 
 less," said she seriously. 
 
 " And what have you thought, dear?" 
 
 " I have thought that I would consent to live 
 even in Siberia, if you would only live there with 
 me." 
 
 " Well, it was merely a supposititious case. 
 You may be sure I want to live nowhere but in 
 America." 
 
 And he went on to explain to her his posi- 
 tion in his grandfather's house, reviewed the 
 family history from the very beginning, and ended 
 with declaring that he would go to the old 
 Judge to-morrow, tell him of his engagement, 
 and offer to renounce his inheritance. Ruth 
 entered enthusiastically into this plan, and saw
 
 Conclusion. 295 
 
 with secret pride the heroic figure Olaf would cut 
 when stepping forward to propose this magnani- 
 mous sacrifice. 
 
 " But," she added, checking herself abruptly, 
 11 how much do you suppose your grandfather is 
 worth ? " 
 
 " Ruth, I am ashamed of you," cried he laugh- 
 ing. " Who would have believed that you were 
 such a worldly creature. You approve of the 
 principle abstractly, but when you come to its 
 application in your own case or in mine, then 
 you begin to have doubts " 
 
 "You didn't answer my question, sir," inter- 
 rupted she earnestly. 
 
 " Well, grandfather is probably worth about 
 one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, of 
 which one half would fall to me." 
 
 " But that is a great deal of money, Olaf ; 
 only think how many nice things we could buy 
 for it." 
 
 Olaf instead of an answer flung his arms 
 about her, and if the journal be correct, I am 
 not sure but that their lips met by chance in the 
 the twilight. Then a sharp click was heard in 
 the next room, as- if a key was being turned in
 
 296 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 the lock, which was followed by approaching 
 footsteps. Ruth sprang up, as if she had been 
 shot, rushed to the looking-glass, and began 
 vigorously to smooth her hair, which had be- 
 come somewhat disarranged. In an instant the 
 door was opened, and the young girl in her be- 
 wilderment slipped behind the window curtain. 
 Unhappily the Judge had an exceedingly sensi- 
 tive ear, and the unfinished melody of the Slum- 
 ber-Song had been haunting him for the last half- 
 hour, and prevented him from falling asleep. 
 Now he appeared, wrapped in his embroidered 
 dressing-gown, sat quietly down at the piano, 
 took up the air in the very measure where Ruth 
 had been interrupted, and played it to the end. 
 Olaf crouched down in the sofa, and in his heart 
 he wished his grandfather a hundred miles away. 
 But by an unlucky accident the old gentleman 
 had confirmed himself in the habit of examining 
 fire-places and window fastenings a couple of times 
 before going to bed ; and, as he rose from the 
 piano, an evil destiny led him to the very window 
 where Ruth had sought a hiding-place. The 
 Judge drew the curtain gently aside. 
 
 " But, my dear," exclaimed he in a voice of
 
 Conclusion. 297 
 
 surprise, "are you playing hide-and-seek here, 
 all alone?" 
 
 Ruth felt her heart beating in her throat; 
 but she nerved herself for the moment, put on 
 an air of reckless defiance, and stood bolt up- 
 right before the Judge. Olaf perceived that it 
 was time for him to come to her rescue. 
 
 " Grandfather," he began bravely, taking 
 Ruth by the hand, " Ruth and I well, the fact 
 is that Ruth and I have found out that we 
 love one another." 
 
 " Ruth and you have found out that you 
 love one another, have you?" repeated the 
 Judge slowly, as if he were weighing each word. 
 " When did you find that out ? " 
 
 " I discovered my love for Ruth a long time 
 ago ; the very first time I saw her." 
 
 " And I did too a very long time ago," 
 echoed Ruth eagerly. 
 
 " I can readily believe that," said the old 
 man smiling, and seated himself on the piano 
 stool. "He probably behaved in such a way 
 that you must have been blind if you did not 
 see it." 
 
 ' You know I don't mean that," retorted the 
 13*
 
 298 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 girl, who felt her spirits rapidly reviving. " I 
 am sure you understand very well what I do 
 mean." 
 
 *" Well, well," sighed the Judge ; u young folks 
 will make strange discoveries in this world." 
 
 Then there was a long pause, during which 
 the Judge's breathing was painfully audible. 
 
 " Well," he said, raising his head abruptly, 
 " what can I do about it ? You haven't asked 
 my advice, and I am sorry that I have disturbed 
 you.'' 
 
 " We just want you to say that it is all right," 
 answered Ruth promptly. 
 
 " You want me to say that it is all right. 
 Aha ! But now, if I should say that it isn't all 
 right, what then ? " 
 
 " Then we should be very sorry indeed." 
 
 " Yes, we should never be perfectly happy if 
 we thought that we had grieved you," added 
 Olaf. 
 
 " I would not make you unhappy for any- 
 thing, children," said his grandfather, struggling 
 hard to keep his voice firm. " However, I know 
 that I can do but little here. You, my boy, 
 have long been beyond my reach. And I know
 
 Conclusion. 299 
 
 that it must be so, and accept what is inevitable. 
 Since you wish my consent in this matter, I 
 should be a wretch if I withheld it. I wish you 
 all the happiness that life has to offer." 
 
 He rose quickly and went to the door. 
 There he paused for a minute., and regarded 
 with a sad eye the young couple, who still stood 
 hand in hand before him in the twilight. 
 
 "Well, my dear/* he said, taking a step 
 toward Ruth, "if you are my daughter, I 
 probably have the privilege of kissing you 
 good night. 
 
 Ruth rushed toward him, and flung her arms 
 about his neck. And he kissed her tenderly, as 
 he would have kissed his own daughter ; but a 
 tear trembled in his eye trembled for a mo- 
 ment, and fell on the girl's forehead. 
 
 What remains of Ruth's and Varberg's story 
 may be briefly told, especially as the entries in 
 ,the latter's journal after this date are few and 
 irregular. They had a hard battle to fight the 
 next day with Olafs grandmother, but when she 
 had convinced herself that resistance was vain, 
 and moreover the. Judge took sides against her, 
 she gracefully succumbed, on the condition that
 
 300 A Norseman's Pilgrimage. 
 
 she should herself have the privilege of making 
 the wedding. Olaf remarks that since the en- 
 gagement was made public, his grandfather has 
 evinced a most extraordinary interest in Amer- 
 ica, and the grand republic furnishes inexhausti- 
 ble themes for conversation at breakfast, dinner, 
 and supper. It is also evident that the Judge 
 takes no little pride in exhibiting his accom- 
 plished American daughter-in-law to the gran- 
 dees of the parish. Old Mrs. Varberg, who 
 regards her husband as an oracle, is also 
 gradually relenting. Mrs. Elder has at last 
 become convinced that the Norwegians are not 
 identical with the Laplanders. 
 
 The last three entries I prefer to quote in the 
 language of my original. 
 
 September 10. To-day we received a cable 
 telegram from Ruth's father. He intends to 
 start with a Cunarder to-morrow, and promises 
 to be here in time for the wedding. 
 
 September 12. There is a rumor afloat, that 
 Colonel Haraldson has promised his daughter to 
 
 Lieutenant P , who writes in grandfather's 
 
 office. 
 
 September 15. Yesterday grandmother made
 
 Conclusion. 301 
 
 a large party for Ruth and me. Half the parish 
 was invited, and Ruth thinks it was a very mag- 
 nificent affair. Grandfather gave the toast, 
 which he ended with these words ; " And now 
 may God bless you, my children, be it in Nor- 
 way or in America." I translated the speech in 
 a whisper to Ruth, and she thought it wonder- 
 fully eloquent. It was very different from the 
 way grandfather used to talk about America 
 before she came, and she gloried the more in the 
 change because she naturally assumed to 
 herself the credit of having converted him. 
 
 THE END.