. On a day when Hund had gone down to fish in
the fiord, the wife took an axe, and hacked and hewed at the bridge, yet
it still looked firm and solid; and that night, as Hund sat waiting in
his workshop, there struck upon his ears a piercing cry, and a crashing
of logs and rolling rock, and then again the dull roaring of the torrent
far below.

"But the woman did not die unavenged, for that winter a man, skating far
down the fiord, noticed a curious object embedded in the ice; and when,
stooping, he looked closer, he saw two corpses, one gripping the other
by the throat, and the bodies were the bodies of Hund and his young
wife.

"Since then, they say the woman of the saeter haunts Hund's house, and
if she sees a light within she taps upon the door, and no man may keep
her out. Many, at different times, have tried to occupy the house, but
strange tales are told of them. 'Men do not live at Hund's saeter,' said
my old grey-haired friend, concluding his tale, 'they die there.' I have
persuaded some of the braver of the villagers to bring what provisions
and other necessaries we require up to a plateau about a mile from the
house and leave them there. That is the most I have been able to do. It
comes somewhat as a shock to one to find men and women--fairly educated
and intelligent as many of them are--slaves to fears that one would
expect a child to laugh at. But there is no reasoning with
superstition."

_Extract from the same letter, but from a part seemingly written
a day or two later:_

"At home I should have forgotten such a tale an hour after I had heard
it, but these mountain fastnesses seem strangely fit to be the last
stronghold of the supernatural. The woman haunts me already. At night,
instead of working, I find myself listening for her tapping at the door;
and yesterday an incident occurred that makes me fear for my own common
sense. I had gone out for a long walk alone, and the twilight was
thickening into darkness as I neared home. Suddenly looking up from my
reverie, I saw, standing on a knoll the other side of the ravine, the
figure of a woman. She held a cloak about her head, and I could not see
her face. I took off my cap, and called out a good-night to her, but she
never moved or spoke. Then, God knows why, for my brain was full of
other thoughts at the time, a clammy chill crept over me, and my tongue
grew dry and parched. I stood rooted to the spot, staring at her acro